Contemplating the Uncontemplatable - Lawyers Again!!

  Well after much thought, and the input of friends and family, I am going to meet with a law firm that has contacted me through this blog and offered to help me pro bono get back “what is mine.” (their words not mine.) I trust lawyers less than I trust my ex, which is unfortunately pretty bad, but I would love to have all my trade tools and equipment, my family heirlooms, and my writing back.

  I am very torn over this decision at the moment because the last thing I want to do is make my ex's life more difficult than it probably already is, nor do I want to run up more bills for her because in the end it is only that animals and the children that suffer. Getting the missing pieces of my life back only to destroy hers in the process is not the right thing to do but maybe these guys have a better plan, though I have never known a lawyer that didn't want to start by going for the heart and settling for nothing less than ripping out the groin.

  I will keep my faithful readers updated.

Bonds

  There is something that draws bikers together as a group, a community of sorts. Riding that motorbike automatically enters you into a group that has a comraderie that I have seldom seen among other groups. Now I know the first thing jumping into the minds of most cagers is the nefarious motorbike gangs that they hear about in the news all the time, but that is not what I am referring to. What I am referring to is that simple little, at times almost invisible, wave that is exchanged between bikers as they pass each other.
   If you have been driving behind a person on a motorbike you may have noticed this action as two bikes pass each other in opposite directions. The left hand lifts off the grip and drops down to below the grip or lower and forms a sign, unique to every rider, as the rider coming in the other direction does exactly the same thing. If you blink you will miss it, it is so subtle in most cases, but between bikers it is enough to recognize that common mindset.
  They don't know each each other. They may never see each other again. But they know they have something in common between each other. A unique bond.
  It is always amusing as a rider when you come across someone new to the community. These are the riders who are driving down the highway at 60 miles an hour and joyfully raise their hand high in the air to greet the oncoming biker. We have all experienced the sensation as a kid of sticking our arms out the window and feeling the wind push your arm backwards. Well picture this happening to a hand that is quickly raised in acknowledgement to an oncoming rider. The picture the other riders laughter as he watches that hand counter rotate around the shoulder of the newbie rider, flinging it back behind them flailing in the wind. It doesn't take a new rider long to avoid that from happening again.
  Bonds are fragile things though. Temporary. Fleeting. If you don't work at keeping those bonds together they soon fracture and tear apart, sometimes never to be repaired. Even if you try to repair them they are never the same, and sometimes you do more damage than just leaving them be. Think of those repair jobs that you have seen where someone tried to repair something and when they were done all you had left was a piece of junk with extra glue out the seams, extra nails sticking out, doors or drawers not lining up, and just a general mess that would have been better off left alone. The person's doing the repair may have been motivated just to try and bring a thing a beauty back to original lustre or some semblance thereof – the best of intentions gone awry.
  Those are the thoughts going through my mind as I enjoyed a ride on one of the warmest days of summer, which is nearing an end all too soon. A couple of quotes come to mind as I contemplate this.    The first is from Emily Dickinson:

Hope is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul,

And sings the tune - - without the words,

And never stops at all.

  The second is from Christian Nevell Bovee:

“No man is happy without a delusion of some kind. Delusions are as necessary to our happiness as realities.”

  As an aside, while doing some research for a website I am developing for a client I came across some interesting images. I thought I would share these with you.

Riding The Curves With A Friend

  “Hold tight in the turns.”

  That, I believe was the closing line in a recent email from one of this blogs readers. (I don't know for sure because I was unfortunately a little quick with the delete key. I do apologize to this reader. I like to take the time to personally respond to all emails.) Now this may not mean much to those to don't ride a bike, but to those who do corners are an entirely different concept. Why? Counter steering!
  What is counter steering? Don't worry that you don't know because the fact is, even many motor bikers, though they do it every day, don't know what counter steering is. It is probably the most difficult concept for those who teach motorbike drivers courses to explain. The basic concept is this. You steer into the the turn but as you continue the turn, you counter steer, or steer out of the turn as you lean into the turn. This is counter-intuitive to those that don't ride a motorbike but the fact is the more you turn into a corner, the more upright a motorcycle stays. Combine staying upright with the concept of g-force which wants to pull you out of the corner and you find yourself either driving into the other lane of traffic, the ditch, or worse.
  Now add to this formula the loose gravel, pot holes, oil slicks and variety of obstacles that suddenly appear on the ground beneath your wheels as you lean deep into your turn, just encouraging your tires to loose traction and slip out from under you. Of course if you ride that turn truly fearlessly (or like a crazy lunatic depending on your point of view) you can find yourself leaning so far that your foot peg is scraping the ground just seeking out an opportunity to grab hold so your rubber completely removes itself from the road and your leathers (if you are smart) and skin embed into the rough pavement.
  Riding the curves on a motorbike can be exciting, enthralling, exhilarating, exasperating, scary, frightening, bone chilling, and death defying – all at the same time. Riding the curves in life is very much the same experience. You live your life with a final destination in mind (other than death), a goal of sorts. As you head towards your destination every once in a while you find yourself facing a curve in the road that you just have to ride out. You turn it to it, knowing it is taking you off track, so you counter steer, in an effort to get back on path. You might ride that curve a little fast. You might lean into it a little hard. The choice is always up to you on how you ride that curve, and in the end you are either going to find yourself pulling out, or crashing and burning. If you do find yourself pulling out you may find yourself heading in an entirely new direction.
  I recently had one of those curves thrown in my path. I had pretty much decided that I wanted nothing to do with animals anymore. Just as I put that down on paper I received a phone call from someone saying they had got one of my basset hounds from a rescue that had found it wandering the back country a couple hours north of Edmonton. Leaves me wondering what has happened with all the other animals. Anyway, to make a long story short, I have my old friend back and I love it. I won't be rushing out to add more animals to my life but having my old friend back in my life has raised my spirits and given me hope. This is a curve I had to lean hard into but as I pull out of it I am still heading in the same direction, only now I have a friend to accompany me.

Skill

A bit of a step out from my usual blog but I came across a video of a police officer in a motorbike rodeo that demonstrates some incredible skill. I would love to just attempt this course - as long as it wasn't on a bike I would have to repair when it dropped!! Check it out.
Incredible Riding Skill

Motorbike Zen - A New Website

Since starting this blog I have received a lot of email, much of it from perfect strangers. The writers offer words or encouragement, support, and understanding, but much of what I have received lately are from people who have used their motorbikes in their healing process as well. There have been some great stories and it occurred to me that I should not be the only person to hear them so I have created a new website called Motorbike Zen.
If you have a story of motorcycles and healing I encourage you to add it to the website.

Introspection - Two Steps Forward One Step Back

With my birthday imminent I find myself quite introspective. Not that the birthday is any milestone, but at 45 did expect to be at a much different point in my life, and definitely not a mere six months from starting every over again.
One of the most enjoyable experiences for me is hopping on my motorbike, strapping a tent and sleeping bag to the back, and heading out in a direction. Any direction. Choosing roads and turns because they look interesting or fun, or because someone you have met on your journey recommended a certain path. You may not get far fast, but the sites, the people, and the experience make it all worthwhile. Not that the journey is totally random. I always leave with a direction in mind, and usually an intended destination, and unfortunately a time line that returns me to the “responsibilities” of daily living.

Travelling this way does at time have its challenges, as you may expect. Not every road is as smooth as racing down the highway. Some of the roads you choose may have more winds and twists in than you expect, and while they may make the ride more exciting, slow down the trip significantly. Some roads, while providing a beautiful sideline to your journey, are dead ends and leave you backtracking for part of your trip before being able to resume direction to your ultimate destination. As long as you keep the rubber on the road and the shiny side up it's always a good journey, and the rough patches that make for part of the story.
I suppose, in retrospect, the way I enjoy riding my motor bike is a a metaphor for how I have lived my life. I remember as a young boy in North Bay, Ont., writing down my planned destination for my life in my journal. I was going to be a writer, a musician, and a craftsman living on a sprawling ranch with my own roaming herd of horses. I believe at the time my idea of the ranch was something about the size of the Ponderosa from Bonanza (which according to the internet would have been a mere 600,000 acres), but if you are going to dream, dream big! The route I was taking to get to that final destination was anything but direct, with plenty of side trips, but I was well on my way. Just didn't plan on a raging cager (in biker terminology) running me down before I could reach my destination.
I am six months out from that major life crash and that combined with the pending birthday finds me not only introspective, but confused, and pensive, and perhaps even bewildered and befuddled. The deeper I look the more confused I seem to get.
Writing has always been an intrinsic part of my life. Whether it has just been in my journals, or in letters and reports, in technical documents and text books and business plans, on the web, and in books and magazine articles, writing has been the one constant on my journey. Much of that writing sadly disappeared with my last partner (the raging cager I referred to earlier) and I fear is gone forever. Gratefully some of it has been found again in the forms of copies of my published books contained in the archives of the Canadian National Library. Writing did in fact save my life. Had I not used it to think out loud and communicate through this blog I am not sure (in fact I am very confident) that I would have made it through a very trying time.

Writing has always been, and will always be, the keystone in the bridge to the rest of my journey. Music on the other hand has sadly been waylaid somewhere along the roads I have taken. I am not sure at what point it was waylaid, or if it just simply faded into the background as other priorities in the moment took its place. If I had to pinpoint the time that music began to fade I think it faded away as certain friendships of my youth faded away. That road I took away from the music is one of those that I think I need to follow back to its source and head down a different route. There was a time when I would quickly learn any instrument I had the pleasure of touching (though drums simply eluded me). It was often a bit of a competition between my closest friend and I at who could master what instrument the best. I believe it is time to bring some of that music back. My guitars also disappeared with my writing but I think I am going to spend some time in the wood shop and build my own. An interesting challenge to my craftsman skills and, I hope, a motivator to play again.
The craftsman is well on its way. Through great teachers and coworkers I believe my skills as a blacksmith do qualify me as a craftsman and I truly love working with metal and wood. It is work but it is also very therapeutic at the same time. Of course all of my tools need to be replaced. This is one of those things that remains a source of confusion for me. How can someone who once proclaimed they loved you more than anything take everything that is you, everything you needed to continue your work and career, all of your family inheritances and history, and disappear with it leaving you literally sleeping in the streets in the middle of an ice cold winter? I just can't make sense of it or understand it, and while I know that holds me back there is a need within me to find an answer.
That being said, I have been given opportunities to continue with my blacksmithing, moving forward a step at a time, building my shop up again one tool at a time. I did it once before and I will do it again.

As for my dream of the Ponderosa, there is no room in my heart for that anymore. While I miss the work of being a farrier, and helping horses that needed help, the part they played in destroying a family makes them difficult to even look at for me. I realize that it was absolutely no fault of the horses, and that the obsession, and compulsion my partner had for horses was not healthy for her, me, or our family. I suppose that my guilt for allowing that problem to cause suffering for the horses and the family plays a big part in not having room in my heart for them anymore. The dogs I loved, my Saint Bernards and Basset Hounds disappeared as well and, while I enjoy being around my friend's dogs, I am still heart broke at the thought of Fritter and Glory not being in my life anymore. When I see a Basset or Saint my heart hits the floor and it is difficult to hold the tears back.
I think the dream of the Ranch has been crushed and I don't know what will fill that empty space yet. That is part of the search I am on I suppose. But the deep truth is there is another space that I struggle to fill. The space that was filled by a friend and partner that I could share my life was so brutally torn open that the jagged edges left behind don't really allow anyone else to fit into that hole. It is not that there haven't been beautiful, wonderful people who have cared about me and tried to fit into that space, but the truth is the most damaged thing in this entire experience has been my faith and trust in people. I am a loving and caring individual, and it cuts deep when I can't find it in myself to trust, care, and love others.
I know there is much more healing to take place. I don't know that there ever really be an opening for that friend and partner that I desire but just can't let in.
My birthday is a milestone to me. The beginning of beginning my life's journey over. Setting out on a new road with new directions and new choices, though this time with no destination really in site. It is the destination that I am searching for.
The journey begins as I climb onto my bike and head off into the sunset!

Cages & Cagers - Continued

Coffee with a close friend made me realize that my Cagers and Cages blog could use a little expanding. Her situation reminded me of another cage, one not of our own creation, that often closes in our lives, sickness.

This beautiful young woman recently found herself diagnosed with stage 3 cancer involving her kidney, liver, and lymph nodes. The options are simple – cut her open and remove what they can or leave it, because chemo apparently won't touch this cancer. This free spirit had this escape proof cage dropped over her from nowhere and she feels much like any animal would as a cage trapped them and closed around them. Scared. Angry. Bitter. Sad. Worried. All feelings which are cages of their own.
I know it it no real comparison for what my friend is currently facing, but I recently abandoned my motorbike for a couple of days, tired of riding in the rain, and used my van for my daily commute. The feeling of being enclosed in that shell as I drove to work was claustrophobic and smothering. I imagine this is only a small sample of how my friend and others feel when their lives are suddenly closed in by sickness and illness.
Shakespeare wrote “Now is the winter of our discontent, made glorious summer by this sun of York”. As a biker every winter is my winter of discontent as snow and ice keep me off my ride and and in my cage, but I get through it knowing the summer sun will free me once again. For my friend and others like her I wish that a summer sun comes for them, releasing them from their cages.

Cages & Cagers

Cager – according to the Urban Dictionary a popular word among motorcyclists and bicyclists for four wheeled motor vehicle drivers. The term is often used in a derogative sense, because the car body effectively forms a cage, isolating the said driver from having to interact with other road users.  Recent Harley Davidson commercials feautred this concept as a rider cruised through the city streets while everyone around him are locked in their cages.
I recently had the pleasure of an interaction with one of these cagers, driving down the road directly beside me in their hot little sportscar, music blaring so loud the car was bouncing with the base beats, mindlessly switching lanes directly into my side while on my other side a tractor trailer unit blocked my escape options. Behind us cars honked loudly seeing the impending accident but the sportscar driver was oblivious to sounds outside his cage. It wasn't until the sound of my boot against his passenger door echoed in his car that this driver even realized I was there.
My experience isn't unique among bikers unfortunately. It illustrates not only the hazards for bikers, but the way many of us live our lives. In a cage. Often of our own creation. Isolating us from others and from really interacting with the world around us.
These cages can take many forms and we all have one of some sort. Limiting our interactions to individuals of a certain social class, religious belief, or political belief is a cage. Living your life and making decisions based on certain books and theories is a cage. Dressing and decorating based on trends is a cage. If it's not a Harley it's not a real bike is a cage! If it is not a Dodge it is not a real truck is a cage!
All of these cages limit our interactions with others, and limit the way we enjoy and experience life. These cages though, are cages of our own creation that we can easily break out of. There are other cages though that while we may create them or innocently put ourselves in them, they are not so easily broken out of.
How many of us have the bars of our cages formed by debt, and find that cage getting smaller and smaller every day. We enter that debt innocently and with the best of intentions, though more often than not for things we want, rather than need, and regardless of your ability to pay that debt back, it still creates limits on your life, bars on your cage.
Then there are other cages even more severe and limiting. People find themselves in situations of abuse and violence, the bars on their cage created by their desire to appear happy, or preserve their family. Bars so strong that what it takes to break them often destroys the person trapped in that cage.

Age and Beauty!!

  I leaned against the soft leather seat of my Roadstar today at the gas pump, eating a chocolate bar before hitting the road again. The sun glistened of my new wax job and I idly rubbed a smudge on the fuel tank. I watch with interest as an old Ural with a sidecar pulled up to the other side of the pump. The bike was strapped down with gear and and older couple, as well weathered as their ride, climbed of the bike and out of the sidecar and stretched. I couldn't help but admire the old bike and this of course got me talking with its riders.

   The gentleman, a man I think was well into his 70's, happily volunteered every last detail about the Ural and its sidecar. Amazingly he could tell me where every scratch and ding came from and he did so with pride. “That machine is just like me,” he said. “I ain't so pretty myself but every line tells a tale and we earned every one of them.” And those lines, on the bike and the man, did have some amazing tales to tell as I found out when I took the opportunity to join the couple for a coffee.

A WWII Ural and Side Car

   This couple had been on the road since May, taking a ride they took 30 years ago on the same bike to Alaska where they planned to stay for a while. They had been forced to sell their farm in the early spring after a lifetime of farming. The woman, told me how the bankers got most of it and what they didn't get, the neighbours bought up at cents on a dollar at auction. “Never forgive those vultures,” she said quite vehemently.

   The good nature of some people shone through in their story as well. One of their neighbours had purchased that Ural bike and sidecar at the auction. A week later this couple stepped out the door of the house they were renting to find that bike pulling into their driveway, cleaned up and obviously tuned up. The rider climbed off the bike, handed over the helmet and said “she's got a lot of romantic rides left in her and you guys should be taking them.” He was their neighbour for as long as they could remember and he wouldn't take a cent for the bike. He just hopped into the truck his son had followed him in and left.

   “I just hated that man when he got that bike for next to nothing at the auction,” the woman said. “I knew it broke my husbands heart more than loosing the farm. That act though restored our faith in people. It was that day we decided to make this trip again and set our roots somewhere else.”

   The old guy laughed and added “We ain't got much time left in us to set roots, but we're like those funny little Japanese trees that roots are exposed and they are all bent out of shape and all. All that stress and hardship makes those things beautiful.”

   I couldn't agree with him more and watched longingly as they climbed onto their bike and headed North, wishing I could join them on the trip instead of just continuing on my daily commute.  As I continued by my ride home a passage came to mind from a book I had read called Cold Mountain.
I looked up the passage I had bookmarked when I got home.

   You could grieve endlessly for the loss of time and for the damage done therein. For the dead, and for your own lost self. But what the wisdom of the ages says is that we do well not to grieve on and on. And those old ones knew a thing or two and had some truth to tell, Inman said, for you can grieve your heart out and in the end you are still where you were. All your grief hasn't changed a thing. What you have lost will not be returned to you. It will always be lost. You're left with only your scars to mark the void. All you can choose to do is go on or not. But if you go on, it's knowing you carry your scars with you.

   I know I have added more than a few scars to my collection recently and I can only hope that as I carry them with me that they look as good on me as they did on that couple I just enjoyed coffee with. May their ride be safe and fun, and I hope they can bring some joy and wisdom to to others as they have to me.

Impromptu Phone Experiment

   Here is my motorcycle advice for the day. If you are going to carry your cell phone in your pocket do one of three things; make sure it is off, or make sure the keyboard lock is on, or make sure it is in a pocket in which keys are not going to get randomly pushed without your knowledge!!!

   If you haven't figured out where this is going, let me tell you. I for some strange reason placed my blackberry in my front pocket as I hopped on my bike for a quick hop of to the gas station. Now my phone rarely rings, but by the time I pulled into the service station it was vibrating away like crazy. I pulled it out to find multiple messages from people asking if everything was okay in one way or another. Many of the messages came from people I rarely talk to. This had me totally baffled. What did they know that I didn't?

   A little digging revealed that while I was cruising down the highway my phone had somehow had the right set of keys pushed to send out a text message consisting of a sad face and an angry face to many of the people on my contact list. For those on my list I do apologize for this, but it did turn out to be an interesting experiment of sorts. Of the numerous text messages my pocket sent out I got responses from only a few who were concerned about me and the contents of the text they just received. A couple of the responses came from people clear across the country and a couple from people I may have only spoken to a time or two. What was more telling was the ones who did not respond. Curious results to this impromptu experiment and I am still not quite sure how to interpret the results but I would like to say a deep thanks to those who responded with concern.

On a different subject, part of moving forward in my life is developing some new, healthy habits.  In the process of researching this I came across Zen Habits Blog .  It is worth taking a look at as you tour the internet.