IT'S A DAWG'S LIFE

REMEMBERING . . . PAUL NEWMAN

Sat, 27 Sep 2008 19:35:19 GMT

Academy Award-winning actor Paul Newman passed from this life this morning, in California, losing a long battle with cancer. Newman was 83. He is survived by his longtime wife, actress Joanne Woodward, and several children.

Although his first box office hit was in the movie adaptation of Tennesse Williams' play, A Streetcar Named Desire, the first film I ever saw Paul Newman in was one of his biggest early hits, Hud, in which he played a hard-drinking and partying, wild young Texas rancher, with Knoxville, Tennessee's own Patricia Neal in the female co-starring role. It was a memorable performance that I've never forgotten since and he earned the Oscar he got for that role. I knew then, as I know now, that the man was a consummate actor and a master of his trade. Newman went on to prove that, in later years, with such hits as The Cincinnati Kid, Cool Hand Luke, Winning, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, The Sting (both of which he co-starred in with Robert Redford), and The Color of Money, for which he won his final Oscar. Every movie the man ever played in made money, a feat that few other actors could brag about. Newman was very shrewd at picking his pictures and roles. And he played them to perfection, always.

Paul Newman married actress Joanne Woodward (who also won an Oscar, for her role in All About Eve) in the 1950's, if I remember correctly, and neither of them ever looked back. Theirs was one of the happiest and most stable marriages in a community where divorces flow like water and couples change partners like people change their socks. Woodward co-starred with her husband in the auto-racing film, Winning, in 1969.

It was that film, shot at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, that launched Newman into a second career -- becoming an auto racer in real life. He actually drove a racing car in the film himself, under the coaching of professional drivers. He became interested in the sport and launched his own race team a few years afterward. He competed in various sports car events and even finished well up in the standings on several occasions. After he quit his active driving, he still remained active in the sport, co-owning a CART Indy racing team, which featured racing father and son legends Mario and Michael Andretti. They won many races for their team and Michael Andretti came within three laps of winning the Indianapolis 500 in the late 1980's, losing the race when an engine problem forced him to retire his car.

In the 1990's Paul Newman also started his own business, one for which he is probably best-known to the younger generation. Having been a gourmet cook for years, he gathered his own recipes and created Newman's Own brand, a line of salad dressings that he had concocted himself over the years. It was an instant hit, and the company remains in business to this day. I have sampled a couple of his dressings and can report that they are quite good indeed, living up to the advertising and promotion (although a bit pricey.) But, you get what you pay for, huh??

To say Paul Newman will be missed is an understatement. I missed his movie performances for years, since he retired from acting, and had to get my occasional "Newman fix" from television re-runs of his classic films. You still saw him hanging around the race tracks sometimes, especially at Indy, for the 500, but not as much as in the past. But, his food products, as well as his films will be his legacy forever. A good, decent man and a wonderful actor has left us and I am saddened by his passing.

Think I'll go to the store, buy some salad greens, and a bottle of Newman's Own dressing, and watch one of his old movies tonight.

10-7

THE GREAT 'DRILL BUT NO-DRILL' BILL

Mon, 22 Sep 2008 01:05:26 GMT

Well, our illustrious U.S. Congress has once again outdone itself!! Gee -- just what high fuel price-weary truckers and consumers wanted to hear, too!! We finally got a domestic drilling bill passed by the House of Representatives last week.

Or did we?? It turned out to be a no-drill bill, in reality.

The bill was a surprise to most in Congress. It was written in the middle of the night and put up for a floor vote the next morning, allowing no one an opportunity to read it. One congressman said you can always beware when something like this is done, because it's not going to be anything that you will like. It wasn't.

The bill purports to open up a small, meager bit of land for drilling in addition to the land already open, which isn't being drilled on. This new expansion won't be either, and for the same reason: Because there is either little or no oil to be found on that land, or it would be so expensive to recover that it isn't economically feasible to do so. Why else would the oil companies not drill on that land?? They are in business to make a profit, like any business is, and you can believe that they would be tapping wells there if it were profitable to do so. Common sense would tell anyone that, but the current leadership in Congress believes that average Americans are stupid and won't figure that out. Well, we're not stupid, and they risk a serious backlash in November, with stunts like this.

But, it gets better still. Oil shale production? Still off-limits. Nuclear power?? Ditto on any new plants. New refineries?? Nope. The ANWR?? Huh-uh. Nada. And offshore drilling?? Not within 50 miles of the coast (where most of the recoverable oil is known or suspected to be). Then, from 50 to 100 miles out, it's up to the state governments, but neighboring states must approve any drilling, also. Under Democratic state governments, like you have on the Left Coast and the Northeast, it will never happen. If Virginia wanted to allow drilling, New Jersey could veto it. No drilling allowed, otherwords. If Florida voted to allow it, North Carolina could block it. And, finally, from 100-200 miles out, to international waters, the federal government has the say-so on it. Last time I checked, the environmental lunatic-loving Democrats were in charge of Congress. So, nope again. No drilling.

House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-CA) plopped the bill down and said, "Okay, guys, here's your drilling bill!" Only it's a no-drilling bill, in reality. Nothing changes with this turkey; everything stays just like it now is. It will likely die in the Senate, but if it should survive, Pelosi & Company know that President Bush will veto it. Then the Dems can puff their chests out, look indignant, and say: "Well, we gave you a drilling bill, but he vetoed it!!" Yeah. Right. Sure you did. Uh-huh. This is an election year political ploy, designed to buy time until November, when the Democrats believe they'll get the whole ball of wax -- the House, the Senate, and the White House. But they sure won't with my vote, and I can't help thinking that many other angry Americans, tired of high fuel prices and sick of bowing to the whims of OPEC, will follow suit. Pelosi and the Democrat-led Conress have arrogantly thumbed their noses at average Americans, like you and me. The question before all you should be, what are you going to do about it on November 4th?? Are you going to keep this Democrat majority in power?? Or will you elect someone who will open up that land and let us tap our own natural resources??

America runs on oil. Our economy is a petroleum-based one and has been for most of the past 100 years. It's not just the cars and trucks that we drive, but our industry needs oil in order to operate. While it's true that the oil won't last forever, we still need to drill and refine it for now, to serve our needs until we can come up with a viable alternative energy source to replace it with. That replacement energy source hasn't been decided on as yet, and the technologies that do exist don't do so on anywhere near a large enough scale. Switching over could take as much as 25 years, and maybe longer, while the source is found and the technology is developed to utilize it safely and cheaply enough to be readily available to everyone. You can't force this issue, as the enviro-loonies and the Dems want to do; it's going to take time. Meanwhile, we need the oil for now. We have an abundance of it, and a few people block every effort we make to pump and utilize it. This is sheer madness and it has to stop!!

It's up to us -- us "stupid" average Americans. We control
Congress, with our votes. They may think they control us, but that's not true -- yet, anyway. I think that it's high time when we show them who their boss really is; not the Sierra Club and not Greenpeace, but US!! The time has come. Are any of you with me on this one??

10-7

MORE MILES, BUT STILL MILES FROM HOME

Sat, 13 Sep 2008 19:41:13 GMT

London, OH

Well, the good news is that I'm getting more miles lately, and doing less sitting. The bad news is that this is the second weekend in a row that I've been stuck out on the road. I've heard it said that a driver knows he's been on the road too long when his wife or girlfriend cooks him a delicious hot meal and when he finishes it, he leaves her a two-dollar tip on the table. Well, I don't think I'm quite at that point yet, but I'm getting close. I don't know why I can't get good miles AND get home every week, but the "trucking gremlins" have apparently decided that that's not to be the case, at least for now. I'm not really griping this time, though, because it's been so slow lately, and paychecks have been low, and I need the money, greedy capitalist pig that I am. Lots of money helps immensely when the bills come due.

I guess I was conspicuous by my absence from these pages last weekend. That was because I had no time. I got dispatched late Friday afternoon, had to contend with Chicago-area rush hour traffic, got into a truck stop even later that evening, dead-tired, and slept late Saturday. That was the only free day I had, as my load was the dreaded SUNDAY pickup and delivery variety. I got online and managed to read some of my e-mail, but was continuously hassled by electrical problems emanating from the voltage inverter which powers my laptop on the road. Problems which took the form of ominous beeps and buzzes from the inverter, calculated to (A.) get your attention and (B.) drive you completely NUTS!!

Something -- God only knows what -- had apparently convinced the thing that my laptop was overloading it. Well, duh!!! It's a freakin' 400 watt inverter -- at least 3 times more than would ever be necessary to power this laptop!! Heck, playing a DVD movie never overloads it, and that about steals all the memory and processing resources this machine has at its disposal! Put in the simplest possible terms, something was bullshitting my inverter and it was believing the B.S.

Those of you out there who have encountered similar electronic gremlins know as well as I do how frustrating they can be. I became frantic to SHUT THAT DAMNED INSANE BEEPING UP, RIGHT NOW!!! I flipped the power switch on the inverter to 'off,' forgetting, naturally, to save what I was working on and wiped out an entire masterpiece of a reply I was writing to a friend's e-mail message. Sigh. Reboot. Get back online. Start all over again. The inverter shut up -- for awhile. But 15 minutes later, it started beeping its false warning once again. Cursing ensued at that point and I'll leave that to your imaginations. Finally, in desperation, I began trying to SLAP some sense into the damned thing, as "reasoning" with it had proved futile. BEEP-BEEP! SMACK!! "Shut up!!" BZZZZZZ-BEEP-BEEP! SMACK!! "SHUT UP!! I SAID SHUT UP!!" And so on. I finished my personal e-mail, said "to hell with it" and shut the thing down.

And now this week, of course, I haven't heard a peep from it. Go figure!!

I got my load early Sunday morning, as scheduled. They had the pickup time PRECISELY set at EXACTLY 6:52 A.M., CDT, with no window on the time at all. Well -- okaaaaay, I thought. So, I was careful to punch in my 'arrived at shipper' message at that exact time. Nothing like being punctual, huh?? I was tempted to send my 'loaded at shipper' message at 6:53, but what the heck?? I'm not known to be a notorious smartass, as are some, and it would be out of character for me. So, I sent it in at 6:54 A.M. instead. Two minutes, to go into the shipping office, get my bills, go back to the truck, drop my empty in one spot, find my loaded trailer in another location, hook up to it, do a REALLY quick pre-trip on it, do the ritual with the gate guard and seal inspection, then hit the road. Not bad for a middle-aged old geezer, huh?? Now, if that ain't efficient, then what IS??? Since there's nobody in our dispatch office until noon on Sunday, they would have a hard time proving that I DIDN'T do it that fast, although common sense would indicate that I was faking it through my teeth!! But let them figure it out, I say!!

I had my two deliveries set at what I call "reefer hours." Late at night or in the pre-dawn morning, otherwords. They delivered in two different Detroit suburbs. I got the first one off quickly, before midnight, then cruised through what they now call "Dearbornistan" (due to the many Middle Eastern immigrants who live there) enroute to the final stop. This one took four hours and I got just enough of a nap in to get good and sleepy. But I napped more, after unloading, as they had no load for me, much as I expected. It was mid-morning before I got dispatched.

That, as it turned out, was the most waiting I did all week long, for a pleasant change. Everything seemed back to normal last week, with overnight deliveries on every trip and the miles began to rack up again. I ended the week in York, Pennsylvania, where I feared that I wouldn't be able to get home once more. That state, and the whole Northeast region in general, have been a freight Dead Zone for the past two years, and any load you can get back out of there is a good thing. Not nearly enough loads available to get choosy, so I knew I would be stuck with whatever dispatch and customer service could come up with.

Sure enough, I had to go all the way to a Philly suburb the next morning, reload my caboose, then haul it back to the area around our yard, for a Monday afternoon delivery. Good, much-needed miles once again. I stopped here yesterday, just east of Columbus, Ohio, to get my 34 hour reset in before continuing westward. I've got all kinds of time on this load, unlike last weekend, so I can get as lazy as I want to be, and catch up on things I missed out on last week. I schmoozed under a hot shower for an hour this morning. Ahhhhhh -- I feel almost human again now!! At least as human as a Dawg can feel!

Will these good miles continue?? I can only hope so. Lately, it's seemed like I'll have one good week, mile-wise, then follow that up with another crappy one. I need the same consistency I used to get, before this fuel-price-related, election year, economic downturn struck. But, if anything, I'm an eternal optimist, and I know it'll get better, in time. Just a matter of when and treading water, financially, until it does.

10-7

ON LOUD PIPES AND BIKER FILMS

Sat, 30 Aug 2008 19:36:25 GMT

Well, if the trucking business has been slow this summer, motorcycling sure hasn't. Here it is, Labor Day weekend already! Where did the summer go?? Seems like only a day or two ago, I was helping kick off the season at KH-D's 40th Birthday Bash and partying half the night away at Coyote Joe's Big Twin Blowout rally back in June. Now the muggy, humid days of early fall are upon us -- the in-between season that my granny used to call "dog days."

Still a lot of riding to be done in the next couple of months, to be sure, but late October gets weird down here. One day it's sunny and up near 90 and a day later, you're shivering, wondering if it will snow before nightfall. Coyote Joe's will end it with another blowout the weekend of Sept. 25th and that will about do it on the local scene. They'll be open all winter, of course, but many bikers, including myself, will cruise over there on 4 wheels, instead of two, when the cold weather sets in. There are almost always some mild days, even in January, when we'll dare to venture out, but not that many and only the hard-core types will get out and around when it drops much below 40 degrees.

Winter will, perhaps, give me a chance to scope out the location of Joe's sister bar, the Chrome Pony Lounge. It's on Alcoa Highway, a dangerous, curve-laden thoroughfare known locally as "I'll Kill Ya Highway," due to the number of wrecks that occur on it each year. Four "suicide lanes," with no median until you get all the way out of the K-Town metro area, and the local Powers That Be have never bothered to build a Jersey barrier in the middle of it. It AIN'T the kinda road you want to go looking for something on, while on two wheels, trust me on that. While you're distracted, looking, it gives somebody in a cage an excuse to nail your ass. I'll scope it out in my 4-wheeler, see just where the place is, then I'll know where I'm going if I ride out there later on. That is a relatively unfamiliar area of town to me, as I've never lived out there, nor run around in that area very much.

I'm thinking now that maybe there's something to this notion many bikers have that "loud pipes save lives." I used to poo-poo that idea, alternatively thinking that "loud pipes draw cops," or "loud pipes anger the neighbors." Well, they'll surely do both of those latter two things, if one isn't cautious about how frisky he/she gets with the right twist-grip. But, I've seen the light now -- seen, in fact how they can save lives. They just *might* have saved my own last weekend.

I recently got a set of performance pipes I had been saving up for, put them on, then paid the Harley shop to recalibrate the bike's ECU, to compensate for the changes. Now Miss Velvet sounds like a REAL Harley; the way God intended for a Harley to sound! Loud?? Well, they vibrate the whole house when I fire it up in my garage! Sounds like I just pulled off a dragstrip when I'm sitting at a light. WAY cool, let me tell you!! If you're a Harley freak, like me, you love that unique sound, can't get enough of it, and want to hear the thunder when you open it up on the highway. That's part of the Harley mystique and if you have to ask why, then you'll never understand. That's just the way it is: Birds fly, fish swim, and Harleys roar down the road with authority. Not only that, but the pipes, in conjunction with the low-restriction air cleaner I put on awhile back, allow Miss Velvet to realize the full power of her factory-stock engine -- a gain of about 7-8 horsepower and, more importantly, about 10 lb./ft. of torque. Torque is what puts the power of an engine to the pavement and the more of it you have, the better!

Loud pipes will also teach you handy little things like superior throttle control, especially when you want to take that traditional Sunday morning ride and your neighbors may not be awake yet. You fire it up, and roll on just enough throttle to ease it down the driveway, then let it idle down the alley. Once in the street, you accelerate slowly through the neighborhood until you hit the main road, keeping the rpm's to a minimum. That's how you stay a good neighbor and avoid getting the cops called on you! That's a good practice to use anywhere in town, actually, unless you enjoy paying fines for noise ordinance violations. Want to open her up? Hit the interstate, or a major highway. That's the place to do that.

I learned about "loud pipes save lives" when I was riding over to see my mom. I was motoring down a street when a senior citizen in a cage started to pull smack out in front of me. I laid on the brakes, hit my horn and got a puny "myeeeeep!" for that effort. So much for that. I pulled the clutch lever in and opened the throttle wide. He heard that and slammed on his own brakes, finally stopping halfway out in the street. I downshifted and wobbled a little, balancing Velvet until an oncoming car got by, then swerved smoothly around the geezer and went on my way.

The theory goes like this: If they don't see you coming, then by God, make them HEAR you coming!! On a motorcycle, you have to use everything you have to get the attention of the cagers, 75% of whom are only looking out for cars, and not bikes. Eye contact don't work all the time. I've looked straight at them and still had them pull out, like I wasn't even there at all. You wear bright-colored clothes as much as you can, keep your headlight on high beam during the day, don't be shy about using the horn, and use those pipes if you have to, also. Works for me.

Finally, I've been wondering why Hollywood can't produce a film which shows the biker community like it really is. Most all of the flicks and TV shows portray bikers as the villians, which few of us are at all. The only things I've seen which relect us in a positive light were the old late-60's movie and TV series, Then Came Bronson, which was about the adventures of a biker loner, traveling the highways in search of himself. Easy Rider was another one that, apart from the drug sequences, showed how misunderstood we so often are by society. It had an unforgettable, tragic ending -- the senseless deaths of the two main characters, blown away by two liquored-up rednecks in a pickup truck. As I wrote about in an earlier entry, the 50's flim, The Wild One had the potential to tell the truth, but the film's producer wasn't allowed to, by the film board of that day. He was forced to portray the bikers as villians, even though he knew the true story of the Hollister incident.

All the others I've seen are biker gang movies, showing the gangs terrorizing entire towns and young teen girls. They glamorize the hoodlum image of the so-called 1%ers among us; the biker outlaws. Yeah, they're still around, but they're not out to kill, rape and pillage, as Hollywood leads you to believe. Few, if any, wantthat sort of trouble, or actively seek it out. Most of them, in fact are just social groups for the most part. Yeah, they do some drugs, and they party harder than most others, but the worst they amount to is nuisance level stuff at best.

Hollywood never shows the many good things that bikers do, year around. Things that helpother people. Things like the charity rides and poker runs which are most often organized to help children who need a lifesaving operation and whose parents can't afford it. Things like the local ride that took place a week or so ago, which benefitted a Knoxville police officer who was shot in the line of duty. Or how about the annual Christmas rides for the U.S. Marine Corps' Toys For Tots campaign? I may participate this year, if I'm lucky enough to be here at the right time. Hollywood is silent on biker groups like Rolling Thunder, which is one of the most active groups in the country when it comes to the rights and benefits of our military veterans. And they never show organizations like the Patriot Guard Riders, which I belong to, and which provides security for the families of our fallen heroes, so that protestors can't disrupt the funeral ceremonies. No Hollywood fame ever comes our way, nor is it ever likely to.

If the only image one has of bikers is through Hollywood, then they'll keep getting the wrong impression of us. You see, the truth about the biker community isn't nearly dramatic enough for the Hollywood types. It's also a sort of secret lifestyle, one that you have to LIVE in order to understand. Standing on the outside and looking in won't cut it at all. How would you portray a biker character accurately unless you were a biker filmmaker yourself? You couldn't do it at all. That's why Hollywood will never be able to make a true-to-life film about bikers.

Want to get a real taste of what bikers are all about? Then step out to a biker club some evening. Party with us and talk to us. We won't bite you -- honest!! Attend some of the rallies that are held all over the country all summer. You don't have to ride; you can volunteer to drive your car as a support vehicle on organized rides. We need those, too. You'll see some different-looking people, to be sure, but you'll find out that they're not bad people at all. In addition, you'll likely have a lot of fun for a few hours. Andwhat's wrong with that??

THE TRUCKIN' SLOW SEASON HAS COME EARLY

Sun, 24 Aug 2008 01:31:45 GMT

With no doubt in my mind at all, this is the slowest trucking summer I've ever experienced in all my ten years on the road. Even though fuel prices, including diesel ("truck food"), have eased a bit, the stuff's still hangin' up there in the stratosphere somewhere. The politicians in our wonderful, helpful Congress, who can do something about it, aren't. Instead, they take off on a summer vacation and ignore us regular folks who are suffering through this mess. I hope everyone takes notice of that arrogance and remembers it, come November 4th. I sure will.

Fuel prices have slowed the economy in a decisive manner, added to the usual election year slump that almost always occurs. My occupation, trucking, is tied to the economy hand and foot, like Siamese twins, so truckers are feeling the pinch, bigtime. Owner/operators, who comprise roughly half my industry, have been hit the hardest, but don't think it hasn't affected company drivers as well. Companies are cranking down truck speed limiters as fast as you can whistle "Dixie" these days. My company, once one of the slowest outfits on the highway, hasn't done so (yet), but now we have quite a bit of company at 65 mph and lower speeds.

Get too many speeding tickets and you'll be finding out where the "door" is located very quickly. Because of that and the cost of fuel, more and more drivers are sticking to the speed limit, forming long "elephant parades" in states that have split speed limits, in lower-speed urban areas, and even in the inactive construction zones that we used to all ignore and fly through like there was no '45' sign there at all. I, too, have slowed somewhat, sticking to 60 a lot now, unless the limit is higher and I have to run hard with a load. Pumping $500 of fuel in your truck and not even quite getting your tanks full will raise anyone's eyebrows.

High fuel costs are highly inflationary, in that they directly affect the price of everything else that you buy. "If you bought it, a truck delivered it." I know that's an ancient slogan, but it's still very true. Trucking companies and O/Os have to put a surcharge on the freight bill, to offset the added costs of hauling the products, middlemen raise their prices in response, followed by the retailers, and that's where the higher price hits your wallet or purse. Normally, it's a more-or-less "trickle down" effect, but when prices are as unstable as they've been this year, it becomes a body slam.

Until a month or so ago, fuel prices were as volatile as the product that goes into your car's tank. But people ran the numbers, finally, and discovered that three, divided into two, just will not go. They stopped much of their excess driving and began to rethink that 2,000 mile vacation trip. Many parked their RVs. The demand dropped, and so did the price, somewhat. Yep, the open market still works in America. Want to bring prices down? Then either lower the demand, or increase the supply. Works every time. But increasing the supply is impossible, as it's being held artifically low by a members of the Organization of Price-Extorting Criminals, better known as OPEC, a bunch of filthy rich oil producers who don't like us very much. They won't produce any more and Congress won't get off their asses and open up the land to oil drillling and exploration where we know there is a huge supply. Right here at home. So, we have a stalemate, at least until after the November election is decided.

Sales are slumping, due to high prices and strain on the public's pocketbooks, so production is down and so is ordering. That means loads for trucks are also down. I've spent almost as much time sitting, waiting to be dispatched this summer as I typically do in the winter months, when the bottom traditionally drops out for a few months. I'm paid by the mile, which means, simply, that if my truck's wheels aren't rolling, I'm not making one penny. Oh, I can draw layover sometimes, but only if I'm stuck somewhere without a load for 24 straight hours. And that's not nearly what I'd make if I were rolling. So, my paychecks are smaller on average this summer; not helpful when you're in debt. I can't complain too loudly, though, because I'm certainly not the only trucker facing this dismal state of affairs. We all are, to some extent or the other. It sucks, but you have to put on your game face and keep on keepin' on. That's all anyone can do. Roll with the punches and ride it out. Weather the storm. [Let's see -- can I come up with another cliche?? Nope. That's it.]

When I look toward the future, am I afraid?? Not at all. I don't do fear anymore. Screw that. Life's too short, to live in a state of fear and dread all the time. I decided that after 9/11, but the seeds of it were in me, lying dormant, before that terrible day. That was just the catalyst that brought it out in me. Que sera, sera -- whatever will be, will be. But I think things will get better in the future. That's my optimism, and history is on my side, because they always have, sooner or later.

History may not exactly repeat itself, but it sure does echo. We Americans have been down many times before, but we've always come back from it, in time. We went through much more severe economic times in the 1930's, during the Great Depression, but we survived and went on to prosper again. When the Japanese bombed half our navy into non-existence, at Pearl Harbor, we were caught with our panties down, completely unprepared for war. But we got up, brushed off the dust, and went to work. We won that war and prosperity returned when it ended. The doldrums and "stagflation" of the 70's gave way to the economic boom of the 80's. We Americans are tough and resilient. Nothing can keep us down for long. We fought our way back before and we'll do it again.

I am an American. Damned proud to be one. And that's what I'll always believe.

10-7

IRON BUTT AWARDS AND MISSING FENDERS

Mon, 18 Aug 2008 11:48:54 GMT

I was sitting in my favorite biker watering hole Saturday, sipping on a beer, listening to the rock music on the juke, chatting with some friends, and watching the usual parade of bikes coming and going. Presently a couple rode in on a Harley bagger (that's one of the big touring bikes, with the fairings and hard saddlebags, for you non-biker readers) who both looked as road-weary as a trucker who got stuck out for six weeks or so. They knew some of the same people I was talking to and sat at the table next to mine.

They were returning from a trip out to the rally in Sturgis, South Dakota, which I talked about in my entry last week and they had tried to set a personal record on the return trip home. They had attempted to try for the elusive Iron Butt Award which some biker club hands out every year. This is an endurance contest which is legendary in biker circles. They had attempted to run approximately 1,800 miles, from Sturgis to Knoxville in two days, or 48 hours, or less. My eyes went wide at the thought of that feat and I was chuckling. Folks, that is territory where even long-haul truckers like myself rarely, if ever, venture. And on a motorcycle, to boot!! Ambitious? Absolutely. Crazy?? Positively. Still, some hardy souls will attempt such things. The lady of the couple held up the pin they'd won for their efforts.

I couldn't keep quiet. "Was it worth it?" I asked them both. They both grinned wearily and she rolled her eyes back in her head. He laughed. "Well, I wouldn't ever do it again, I'll tell you that," he said. "I heard that," I agreed. "How many times did you come close to crashing?" "Too many," he admitted. "We had some good scares a few times," she added. "Well, I'm glad you made it back in one piece," I told them. I looked up toward the sky. "Somebody up there was lookng out for you."

I can visualize the fatigue they must have gone through, and what that can do to you I know all too well, from ten years of over-the-road experience. There have been times in my truck, especially in the wee morning hours, when I began nodding out at the wheel, fighting tooth and nail to stay awake and alert, in order to avoid killing myself and/or somebody else who shared the road with me. On a motorcycle you have to be even more alert at all times, only in that case, it's to keep somebody in a truck or car from killing you! I make my living driving and dealing with fatigue is part of the job at times; there is at least some justification for it, even though I know that one should never drive in a fatigued condition. It's just unavoidable in some circumstances; the nature of the beast. In the case of that couple, the whole thing was voluntary; they didn't have to do such a thing at all. I try to never judge others, but that's sure not something that I would ever attempt, under any circumstances. I want to enjoy myself riding my bike and they sure didn't look like they'd had much fun at all on that trip. To me, that defeats the purpose of the whole thing.

A short time later, Ol' Charley (as I'll call him) rode up and came in to have a beer. He sat down at my table. Charley owns two Honda Goldwing touring machines, both painted in the same shade of green. They're both older bikes, dating back to the early 80's. Charley is a regular at Coyote Joe's and Saturday he came in on the newer of his bikes, one that had been parked for six months and that he felt needed to be ridden again.

"Lost my fender today," he told me, pointing to his bike, which indeed was missing its front fender. I could see the end of it, sticking up out of the right-hand saddlebag. I laughed. "Now that's sure not your usual biking experience," I told him. "Just how the hell did that happen?" He went on to tell me that he had trashed the original fender awhile back and had taken the one off his older bike and stuck it on the newer one. "I just started the bolts in it. Never tightened them all the way up, then I didn't ride it for six months and. . ." "And you forgot all about it," I finished. "Yep," he confirmed. "Sure did."

He told me that he'd gotten as far as the entrance ramp to I-640 before the bolts had worked loose and the fender had come flying off, right in the middle of the ramp. "It landed right on the white line at the outside of the ramp," he added. "Oh, no!!" I groaned. Several listeners around the table laughed. "Cars and 18-wheelers were swerving around it and me, trying to avoid running over it, but one truck did hit it. Squashed one end of it. I waited for what seemed like ten minutes before there was a break in traffic,then I ran out there, to grab it real quick, but I fell, right in the middle of the ramp!"

I laughed until my stomach hurt, getting a mental picture of what that scene must have looked like. "They were blowing their horns at me and I could just reach out and grab the fender, so I did. Then I rolled -- two or three barrel rolls on my belly, back across the ramp to the shoulder where I'd parked. They were cheering me from the cars, yelling, 'Way to go!' and the like. I got up and stuck the fender in my saddlebag."

We went out to his bike and looked at the fender he pulled out of his saddlebag. The back end of it was flattened. Useless and too light to use as a boat anchor. "'82 model," he said. "I'll never find another one for it now." Several guys suggested he try looking around at swap meets in the area. "You never know," I told him. "Look in some of the biker magazines. They have dealers who specialize in vintage parts for older bikes. Somebody might come up with one." I told him some of the mags I had seen those ads in and he said he'd look for them and check it out. I told him I'd poke around online and let him know if I came up with anything.

I thought I was embarrassed when I dumped Velvet on the parking lot of the Harley shop while I was on vacation a couple of weeks ago, but Charley's experience tops my own by a mile. I'm gonna collect these incidents and compile a book someday. Something with a title like, 1001 Ways To Embarrass Yourself On A Motorcycle. Wonder if that would make the best-seller list??

10-7

WHO'S SPEAKING?? WHERE??!!!!

Sun, 10 Aug 2008 00:18:59 GMT

You MUST CLICK for the song to play.

This has most certainly already proven to be a quite historic presidential election cycle this year. We've seen the first serious female contender for the Democratic nomination, in Senator Hillary Clinton, the first partly African-American nominee-apparent, in Senator Barack Obama, and in Senator John McCain, the Republican nominee-to-be, we have the oldest candidate ever to seek the White House, at age 72.

And speaking of the Arizona senator, he made history of another kind this past week, at least as far as the biker community is concerned. Of all the places a candidate has ever spoken, McCain is the first one of all to show up and give a speech during the annual biker rally in Sturgis, South Dakota.

Well, why shouldn't he? The timing was perfect for a war hero, ex-POW patriot, and lover of America like McCain. It's custom-made for someone like him and he must have known that he'd find an enthusiastic audience there. Bikers, after all, are all about freedom. We love the freedom of the open road and the freedom to congregate in large numbers and party it up for 4-5 days. And we vote. McCain can speak the language that bikers like to hear and although I missed hearing his speech, he evidently wowed everyone there at the event, because it was reported that he had to pause so many times for the wild applause from the crowd that it took him twice as long to deliver it as he'd originally planned. All-in-all, it was a huge success, in a most unusual setting for a political campaign stopover.

Sturgis, of course, is not your typical biker rally, to be sure. Set amidst the natural beauty and grandeur of the Black Hills, less than an hour's ride away from Mount Rushmore, the rally is the oldest one in America and maybe the world, beginning in the 1930's, smack in the middle of the Great Depression. Few could afford to attend, in those lean economic years, but what few did had a good time and got the pressures and worries of that era off their minds for a few days. From there, over the years until today, Sturgis has grown into The Event for the motorcycling community, and now is the largest such event in the world, setting new attendance records almost every year. And it seems like somebody on a bike is headed there all year long, even when no rally is going on. Sturgis and the surrounding communities have become Motorcycle City, U.S.A., and it's the destination most bikers dream of getting to someday. Will this writer ever ride out there? I don't know, but I'd sure love to go someday, God willling. Talk about some fantastic entries!!!!

Would one of the Democratic contenders have wowed that crowd as well as McCain?? Very doubtful, at least this year, when that party's leadership in Congress is holding America's natural oil resources hostage. Doing so even in the face of a very angry public, the vast majority of whom want those resources opened up to domestic oil production, in order to bring and keep the price down to a reasonable level and end our dependence on imported oil for good. All because of their political indebtitude to several groups of environmental extremists. You reap what you sow, says the Bible, and we'll just have to see what effect that party's stubborness has at the polls on Nov. 4th.

Bikers are fed up, too, like everyone else. Sure, our tanks hold less than a car's tank, and we go considerably further on a gallon of gas (if you use a lighter hand on that right twist-grip), but most higher-powered bikes, like Miss Velvet, also have expensive tastes -- as in premium fuel. And on a longer run, like, say, Knoxville to Sturgis, you're gonna shell out some major shekels for the go-juice. That leaves that much less to spend at the rally, and you've gotta save enough money to get back home, to boot. So, it's expensive for everyone right now, not just cagers and truckers. And the Dems, seemingly, are so out of touch with the average American that they just don't get it at all.

McCain does get it, and I think he'll do everything in his power to do what needs to be done, should he make it to the White House. Does that give y'all any idea of whom this Dawg is gonna vote for?? Hmmm??

10-7

PLAYING THE NUMBERS GAME

Sun, 03 Aug 2008 13:24:47 GMT

Back home again, briefly, after a week on the road, following my knee trouble and final week of vacation for the year. Happy to report that the knee is fine now, just a little sore from exercising it Friday, when I was forced to help unload my trailer -- something I'm NOT supposed to be doing at all. I have a doctor's note to that effect in the company computer, but someone either didn't notice, or didn't know that I'd be asked to help with it. The knee held up, and it was my weak left shoulder that was aching afterward. I reminded them about my physical restriction and took the measly twenty bucks (slave wages) that they pay for driver assist in unloading. What the hell? I did do the work and even though a lumper would laugh at that pay, I ain't no fool. It's twenty bucks more than I did have. I'll take it any way I can get it, even if it's just petty cash to the company.

OTR companies get away with paying those slave wages because non-hourly waged drivers, like most of us, are not covered under the FLSA (Fair Labor Standards Act.) They can, theoretically, require us to do the work for free, but they know that drivers would then refuse to do it at all, so they toss us some pocket change for doing work that a lumper would demand $200 for doing. Sounds like they get a bargain, huh??? Some drivers don't mind that sort of thing at all; do it with a smile. Of course, those are the ones who can just barely read and write (at least as far as I've seen), so go figure!

That load was an appliance load that delivered, of all places, at a construction site!! An apartment complex was still under construction -- part occupied, part vacant -- and I drove my monster truck right in there, around all those twisty, narrow little residential streets, unloaded at two different buildings, watched the workers until I got dispatched again, then headed to South Carolina, to get my go-home load, sore shoulder and all.

The load in South Carolina came from a paper mill in Florence, a regular customer, where I've been many times over the years. Knowing that the load typically has a 24-hour window on it, and can be picked up anytime, night or day, and that God only knew when it would be ready, I decided to take my break, then go over to the mill around midnight, get loaded and head home. That way, I'd be there early Saturday morning, have all that day and all day Sunday to do my thing before I had to leave back out for the delivery in Chicagoland Monday evening. But things, as usual, didn't work out that way at all. Of course. This is a Dawg's Life, after all, and if anything ever went my way, I'd faint!!

My company again put one of its best talents on display. Not for the first time and most assuredly it won't be the last. Star is very, very good at getting pickup numbers totally screwed-up on the load information message that they send us drivers when they dispatch us. Early Saturday morning, they struck again. I backed into the dock, swept out my trailer, pulled a few nails from the wooden floorboards (this time with no knee problems), and went to the shipping office to give the clerk my number and get the loading process started. Wrong pickup number, he told me. Gotta have the right one before we can load you. Why wasn't I surprised? Perhaps because that had happened at this mill before? Yep. So, back out to the truck I went, sent a Qaulcomm message to dispatch, informing the zombies on duty there that the pickup number was garbage. Fix it. Waited fifteen minutes for somebody on 3rd shift dispatch to wake up, read my message, and reply to it. Dum-dee-dum-dum-diddle-dee-dum. Twiddle fingers. Play idly with dashboard buttons. Hum-dee-hum-hum. Beep!

"That only # we have here. Hav 2 wait til morning and see if they put rong # in."

Okaaaaaay. Third shift does not have access to the Customer Service Department, which is closed at night, and is where all the pickup numbers, etc., for the loads originate. "That means wait till 1st shift comes on, I suppose??" I asked, just to be annoying, since I already knew the answer."Yes." Look at clock. 1:12 A.M., CDT. First shift comes on at 0700. Almost a six-hour wait. Then fuel, grab some breakfast, and make a six-hour drive from Florence to Knoxville. Wouldn't arrive till late afternoon. Crap!!! There goes half my weekend!!! GRRRRRRRRRR!!! I went back inside, to make good and sure nobody was on, in, or around my trailer, went back out and compared notes with one of our newbie drivers, who was in the same situation I was.Suggested we leave the dock and park on the mill entrance road until morning, then left, with him following me. We both pulled off the road, turned out our headlights, and I crawled in the bunk, for a nap.

Dawn and 7A.M. came. Rubbed my eyes, threw on my clothes, went up front and sent another message in to 1st shift, informing them about my dilemma. Waited some more, while I read a biker magazine I'd bought somewhere. The newbie went back into the mill. Well, they'd gotten him straightened out at least. I had to be next, as we were the only two there from our company. I waited, watching log and chip trucks come and go. Another OTR truck came in, promptly drove in the wrong entrance, finally came back out and went in the right way this time. Beep! AT LAST!!!! Looked at the number they sent. Same number, with an extra digit added to it this time. Growled some more about missing numbers and all-night waits, while I jammed it in gear and headed for the guardshack. Backed into the dock again and went to shipping office. Trailer was already clean, so I could skip that step in the procedure. He printed out my load sheets, verifying that the number was right, this time. Hooray!!!

I finally got home a litte after four, eastern time, yesterday afternoon, just as I'd predicted I would. Too tired to do much last night, so I ate supper and went to bed early. Gonna exercise Velvet a little this morning, do laundry, and get ready to leave back out, early tomorrow morning.

Maybe they'll get the numbers right next week and I'll get a little more time at home. I can only hope so.

10-7

A TUNEFUL JOURNEY DOWN MEMORY LANE

Sun, 27 Jul 2008 12:26:50 GMT

NOTE TO MY READERS: The following entry is a very special one. It's my first attempt at making a "musical" entry. I've posted music before on here, as you all know, but never on this scale. Six oldie classics, hand-selected, for a little trip down memory lane. You readers of my own age and older will recognize most, if not all of these tunes. They were all smash hits, back in the day. Oh, and those *were* the days, weren't they?? So just read on, then pause when you're prompted to click on a song. Listen, then move on. Take your time. What's the hurry? Life moved slower in those days, didn't it? I hope you will pause to savor each tune and will have as much fun listening as I did putting this together.

Now, come along with me. Let's turn the clock back to -- oh -- I guess it was 1956, or thereabouts . . . . . . .

Do You Remember?

When Rock 'n Roll was young? Our parents hated it, some called it "the devil's music." But it was fresh. New. It had a different beat than the 40's Big Bands mom and dad loved so much. And we made it ours. It became the beat of an entire generation.

Something called "Rockabilly" started it. A crazy mix of country, blues, and black gospel. It was like nothing that had ever been heard before. And then one day a young man from Lubbock, Texas, who wore goofy-looking thick black eyeglasses, played his songs and sang to us across the airwaves and The Music was born. Though Buddy Holly would tragically die in an airplane crash, in 1959, his legacy would live forever. And his influence is still alive to this very day . . . . .

You MUST CLICK for the song to play.

Do You Remember?

When another young man cut a three-dollar recording in Memphis, Tennesse? It was to be a present for his mother's birthday. Little did Elvis Aron Presley know, but that cheap record would soon launch him to worldwide fame and riches beyond his wildest dreams. Born into the deepest of poverty in the rural south, Elvis lived and truly embodied the American Dream.

He didn't create Rock 'n Roll music. Buddy Holly and others did that. But with his snarling mouth and swiveling hip gyrations onstage, he taught every budding rock and roller how to perform it. In doing so, he scandalized the older generation of that era, while at the same time bringing a younger generation of adolescent girls to their knees, trembling and sobbing at his feet. Elvis became a cultural icon -- the first true Rock Idol. Many more were to follow, but none of those others would ever become the household name that he did. Performers today are wilder, to be sure, with some even stretching the barriers of decency to its limits, but they owe it all to Elvis, and, like Buddy Holly, you can still see his performing influence alive and well today, if you look closely.

You MUST CLICK for the song to play.

Do You Remember?

When popular African-American music was referred to as "Race Music?" Segregated in that day from the music and culture of the whites, that only lasted until Elvis and some others incorporated those black influences into their own sounds. That created a stir and scandal -- in both communties.

But the barriers had been broken and would come down quickly. Before long, a young, blind black man from rural Florida would cross the barrier from the other side. Ray Charles Robinson had learned to play the piano after he went blind -- no small accomplishment. His elderly teacher saw that the boy was gifted and taught him what he knew. It wasn't long before Ray Charles was outplaying his teacher. He left Florida, "paid his dues" for a few years, playing gigs mainly in black communities. But when he jammed with a country music band and blended right in with them, even those racist white men realized the young man's enormous talent and he won their grudging respect.

Ray had heard the new white phenomenon called "Rock 'n Roll," and liked what he heard. Liked it so much, in fact, that he incorporated that sound into his own music, setting the gospel influence to an even different beat. Other blacks, especially the religious folks, were livid when they heard it and Charles came under fire from his own people. But the new sound worked and it crossed over to the white radio stations, where our young rock generation listened to it and grew to love it.

Ray Charles had created a whole new genre of music that would be named Rythmn and Blues, or "R&B," for short. The music would grow and expand from those beginnings, and would appeal to both black and white audiences alike. The color barrier in music was thus broken years before the Civil Rights Act became the law of the land. Ray Charles proved that musical genius can know no racial barriers. It didn't then, it doesn't now, and it never will.

You MUST CLICK for the song to play.

Do You Remember?

When cars had fins like sharks? When Cadillacs had the little "boobs" on the bumper? When Coca-Colas came in those little 6 ounce glass bottles and cost a dime? When you could get a HUGE double cheeseburger, fries, onion rings, and a milkshake for $1.25? When the most popular restaurants were drive-ins? When the cute female "curbhops" wore tight short-shorts in the summer and some brought the food orders out to your car on roller skates?

Do you remember when half your Saturday night was spent cruising from drive-in to drive-in, just to see who was hangin' out? You'd park, get a Coke float, and chat with friends, over the car radios, blaring the most popular hits of the day. No fancy stereos and booming subwoofers back then, either. You had a plain, no-frills mono dashboard radio, tuned in to a favorite AM station. Some of the more expensive cars had radios that incorporated a new technology called "High Fidelity," or Hi-Fi.

Close your eyes and listen now. They're playing your favorite hit song . . .

You MUST CLICK for the song to play.

Do You Remember?

Those fights after the football game every Friday night? When some guys formed car clubs and wore satin jackets, with the club's name embroidered on the back? Their girlfriends all wore matching jackets over poodle skirts. Remember when the motorcycle punks wore black leather jackets all the time, even in the summer? Remember when the car clubs and bike clubs had "rumbles," now and again? Remember the "duck tail" haircuts the guys wore? When they were called "J.D.s" -- short for Juvenile Delinquents?

Some of those guys grew up and straightened out, once their hormones settled down, but others were headed straight for prison, and, unfortunately, a few did make it there. . . .

You MUST CLICK for the song to play.

And, speaking of hormones . . . . . Do You Remember?

When your own teen hormones were running amok? Do you recall the new and weird feelings you felt when that skinny little girl down the street emerged one fall, when school began, and she had begun to look like a budding young woman, even down to real nylons, lipstick and nail polish? Do you gals remember how the guy's voices suddenly deepened, their muscles began to resemble a man's, and they began to shave fuzzy beards? Overnight, you began to see once-familiar playmates in a brand-new light and some deep primal urge began to grow within you.

Do you remember your first date, and how nervous you were? The "Sadie Hawkins" dances, when the girls asked the boys to take them out? The Junior and Senior Proms? Getting "ringed" for the first time, and "going steady?" Do you remember going to the drive-in movies with your date on weekends and hardly noticing the film that was showing? Fat chance you could have seen it anyway, with the car windows all steamed up like that! Did you have a Lover's Lane, where you went late on Saturday night, after cruising around for hours? Did cops ever come by, knock on your steamed-up window, and tell you to get moving? Or was it some girl's father, perhaps?

Remember what you did in that car that caused those windows to fog up? Remember the first time your steady girlfriend allowed you to "feel her up?" The first time you ever got felt up? Did you go "all the way" in high school, or did that come after graduation, or when you got married?

Do you remember when you fell in love for the first time? Still remember the special song that played when you kissed him or her? Mmmmmmm -- let's see -- I'll bet it was something like this . . .

You MUST CLICK for the song to play.

Well, I guess that's about it for this little trip down memory lane. Six songs from the generation that made Rock 'n Roll the solid musical form that it has become today. My generation. Our generation. Much has been and still will be written about us Baby Boomers, but nothing I know of can sum it all up better than a tune that came out around 1975. It was written and performed by a gentleman named Don McClean. For those of you who don't know, "The Day The Music Died" line in the song refers to the day Buddy Holly and two other artists were killed in that 1959 plane crash, outside Clear Lake, Iowa.

Teen angst being what it is, many feared that Rock 'n Roll would die with him; some may have indeed believed that it did die with him. But they were wrong. It's still very much around today. It sounds different, but most of those early influences are still there, if you really listen. You younger listeners can thank Baby Boomers, if you like rock music. It was ours. We made it our music, then we handed it off to you.

On that note, I've enjoyed being your "disc jockey" in this entry. We'll have to do it again sometime. In the meantime, I'll leave you with a bonus song -- a little American Pie!

You MUST CLICK for the song to play.

CRASH!!!!

Sat, 26 Jul 2008 00:27:34 GMT

Well, it had to happen, sooner or later, and it did today. I consider it an inevitability when you ride a two-wheeled vehicle -- sooner or later, you're bound to dump it, and I dropped Velvet early this afternoon. And of all the places to have it happen, it was in the parking lot of the Harley dealership, where I bought her a year ago last month!! And I had a small audience of other bikers standing around, watching me! Embarrassing, to say the least! Boy, howdy!!

First, let me assure you that I'm fine; totally unhurt, with only my ego bruised and my pride banged up. Velvet is fine, too. She didn't fall that hard, really, because I was only moving about 2 mph, or less, and was already leaned way over to the right, shifting my weight to the left, so that she'd come around smartly and I could back her straight into a parking slot beside the building. As it turned out, I should have pulled in and walked it back out when I left, but unfortunately, I can't see into the future and anticipate what was going to happen.

I was about halfway into my parking maneuver when somebody out on the lot nearby shouted something at a friend at the top of his lungs, by the sound of it. I was concentrating totally on my turning maneuver and Loudmouth's shout both startled and distracted me. That's all it takes when you're doing such a tight-ass turn -- one second of distraction. Sure enough, I lost my balance and over she went, past the point of no return, when nobody can hold a 600 pound bike up, and onto her right side. I have dropped enough bikes in my life to know well what to do; namely throw my weight on that left footpeg, let go of the right handgrip and just "step" off of it. And so I did. SPLAT! The lean angle sensor that helps control the self-canceling turn signals killed her engine instantly, when it detected that the lean angle was -- well, a bit TOO steep, if you catch my drift. If motorcycles had turn and bank indicators, like an airplane, it would have registered "TILT" at that point!

There was immediate applause from my little "audience," and a few loud whistles. "Hey, the kickstand's on the OTHER side!!" someone informed me. "Really?? Always wondered where that thang was!" I responded. "That was a perfect three-point crash!!" someone else observed. "Well, when I drop in to see everyone, I really DROP IN!!!" Everyone was laughing. In a situation like that, you might as well joke about it; you sure can't undo it.

About that time, it was the loudmouth who had startled me that walked over, along with his friend. He realized what had happened. "Sorry about that," he apologized. " Didn't mean to startle you like that. Let's get 'er back up on her wheels." And in a couple of minutes, we had her back up and they helped me back her around and into the slot I had been aiming for. I put the stand down and got back off, to see how much damage there was.

"Hardly hurt it a bit," Loudmouth told me, after he'd scoped it out. "Didn't have far to fall, leaned over like that. Looks like your crash bar took all the impact." He was right. The right side of Velvet's crash bar is a little skinned up and the highway peg on that side was twisted around, all out of whack, from where I had positioned it. The right mirror was knocked cockeyed, but not bent or broken at all. And that was all. No other damage. Crash bar (or "engine protector" as they're sometimes called) kept the breather cover from being bent and/or squashed, which could have gotten expensive!! About time I had some good luck, but then, that's why I always put a set on a bike; in low-speed dumps, they can save you big bucks on repairs, and even at higher speeds, they can sometimes help keep your legs from being trapped under the bike, if you go down. Worth the investment, definitely.

"Why's your face so red?" Loudmouth wanted to know. I looked at him sheepishly. "Well, damn! Of ALL the places to dump my bike, it HAD to be right here at the Harley shop, right in front of the crowd!! Embarrassing!" I told him. "Hell, man -- don't worry about it!" He was laughing and I started chuckling myself. "We've all done that before, and we'll all do it again, before it's all said and done!" I nodded, remembering times past, when I had dropped a bike, more than once. "Yeah, you've broke the ice now, with that new bike," said another onlooker. "It ain't really been RODE 'less it's got a dent or two in it!" "Be thankful that it DID happen here," a lady biker said. "It could been out on a deserted country road, where I dropped mine last year!!" "Yeah, but you're a cute lady," I complimented her. "Some guy in a car would stop in a heartbeat, to help you get it back up! Hell, one look at me, and they'd speed up!! I'd be up the creek, for sure!!" We all laughed a little more and my embarrassment soon faded. When I left, Loudmouth, who's actual name is Frank, insisted on me following him up the street to Coyote Joe's, where he bought me a beer. Nice guy, and I enjoyed getting to know him, even if it wasn't under the best of circumstances.

So, yes, I've dumped bikes before, especially that little "scrambler" I had when I was a kid -- mostly from insisting on riding it off the road, when it wasn't really made for that at all. And I came within a fraction of an inch of dumping Velvet just last month. I got caught out in a rain shower and headed home. I cruised up the alley behind the Dawg House, pressed the "Open, sez me!" button on my remote, and when the garage door was all the way up, I zipped up the driveway and into my garage -- and almost went down.

My garage floor is silky, satiny, finished concrete -- smooth as a baby's behind. Never gave a thought to what that floor would be like with two very WET tires! I'd have been okay, if I'd anticipated and just pulled straight in and stopped there, but no, I had to cut to the right, in my usual manner, around the jackpost, to turn it around and head it back out the door again. I hit my rear brake lightly. BIG mistake! The rear of the bike instantly veered to the left. I let off the brake, it found traction again, and rebounded to the right, fishtailing. I just DID get my foot underneath it in time and squeezed both the front brake and clutch control levers simultaneously. It stopped two inches short of the old chest freezer, which still works, but I no longer use. Suffice it to say that the next time I brought her home in the rain, I stopped outside the door and gingerly power-walked her in and around to her parking place! Lesson learned. And, like that biker said, it'll happen again, as I continue my motorcycling hobby. It's truly inevitable. Not a matter of whether you will dump your bike, but a matter of when and where!!

Let's hope I have as much good fortune in the future!

10-7