Back on the Bicycle Again

So, the other day, I received a call from my pastor. He asked me to participate in a bicycle rally next month to benefit the local homeless shelter. It was kind of a no-brainer to answer whether or not to participate, except for the fact that I'm pretty much out of shape. When I got the Harley, I sort of let the Raleigh gather dust.

So, it came out and I oiled the chain, aired up the tires, greased the crank, and started it up. I've been at it for over a week now, and my average speed today was 15.1 mph over a little over 11 miles.

Right, it's a long way to go until I'm up to Lance Armstrong standards; average 25 mph over 1800 miles... but I'm working on it.

Me as Doctor House

My favorite TV show right now is called House. It's an unusual drama about a doctor who is head of the Infectious Disease Division at a fictional major university hospital on the east coast. The drama would be pretty boring if it weren't for the title character, Doctor Gregory House, played by the English actor (without a trace of English accent) Hugh Laurie.

Dr. House had suffered a painful affliction to his leg, which left him walking only with the aid of a cane and demanding painkilling drugs. His use or abuse of Vicodin has arguably saved the lives of patients, who suffer from bizarre illnesses and allergies, ranging from environmental allergies to a staph infection. He also reads in to his medical colleague's and patient's personal lives. Their actions, right down to their food or clothing, reveal something to him that helps solve a mystery.

On the other hand, Dr. House has absolute zero bedside manner. He is uncouth, rude, insensitive, and arrogant. As one patient put it, "he has to be the best doctor here, otherwise he'd get fired for talking like he does!"

So, I respect Dr. House, even though he's a fictional character. In my line of work, I sometimes feel like I have puzzles similar to his. I am a computer technician, so people come to me with problems. I do enjoy the ones that are more difficult, especially when it is a problem that the normal layman would not be able to figure out on his own. When I solve the trouble, I tend to feel a little kinship to the doctor from the TV show, and want to exhibit the same behavior as he does.

To be honest, I don't think I could ever be as rude as the character of Dr. House, but I'd like to try, just for a day. I imagine that the day would be something like this:

Staff member: Oh Phil, I know you're busy but...
Phil: You don't care.
Staff member: What?
Phil: You don't care.
Staff member: What do you mean?
Phil: I mean, you started out a conversation with 'I know you're busy but,' and you're going to ask me a question anyway, meaning that you don't care that I'm busy. Plus, if you did care, you wouldn't bother to tell me that you know that I'm busy, because that would waste both of our time. So, you don't care that I'm busy, because you think your issue is much more important than the thing that is keeping me busy. So, in a nutshell, you don't care that I'm busy.

Or-at a convenience store:
Phil: I'll have this cup of coffee and a donut.
Clerk: OK-that'll be $1.95.
Phil: Here you go. Thank you.
Clerk: Not a problem.
Phil: Well, I certainly hope it's not a problem. But, what you've said implies that it will be a problem some time in the future. So, next time it's a problem, tell me when I walk in the door so I won't be the source of any of your problems. I know it is a pain to work day in and day out, but it is a job, and you are getting paid for it, and since I'm not asking for anything above and beyond what you're getting paid for, I assume that it shouldn't be a problem ever. So maybe, instead of saying 'Not a Problem,' maybe you should reply with 'You're Welcome.'

Finally, while walking to the men's room:
Staff member: Oh Phil, I have a question.
Phil: says nothing
Staff member: I was working at a computer today. Can you tell me how to make it do something I want it to do?
Phil: Oh, you have a question, and you want me to answer it.
Staff member: Yes
Phil: Oh, I see. Just because I'm walking to the men's room and you announce to me that you have a question, that means that I'm obliged to stop for you and to answer your question. You apparently don't need to do anything more than just declare that fact, that you have a question, and then that means that I have to answer it for you, no matter what is going on. That's amazing, that your words don't even have to be preceded with a 'pardon me, may I ask you a question,' or 'excuse me, may I have a moment of your time.'

By the way, 'I was working at a computer today' is a statement, not a question.

Road Trip: April 5, 2009

It's a Sunday, and I have to work. I can think of worse things. My job today takes me to Canon City, to install a printer. Since the weather will be getting warmer soon, I wanted to take a ride with my dog, Andy, who hasn't yet gotten used to the motorcycle. The weather this weekend has been flirting with a snowstorm, but the Spring storm that we're used to turned out to be a dusting. The higher elevations seemed to get it all, so I decided to take the drive in to the mountains.



I loaded the dog and the printer into the car, and headed out to Canon City. I spent an hour beating it up, and then started on the journey into uncharted territory. OK-not exactly uncharted, but I'd never been there.

The turnoff to the road to Victor is clearly marked, so I couldn't miss it. Within three miles, I was within Phantom Canyon-an area I knew from the air, having flown over it when I was skydiving a few years ago, but hadn't ever seen it from the ground. I also knew the name, because there's a popular Colorado Micro-brewery that named its beer after the area. I was anxious to see what it was about.


I guess the area took its name from the haunting looks that the trees gave. They were growing near the road, with a great deal of branches, making them look like those I would expect outside of a haunted house. The walls of the canyon were very steep, and I estimated that the cliffs were probably 300 feet high.




I found a draw near a place to park the car, and decided to climb a little. I took Andy out, and led him up the side of the hill, so we could take in the view. The climb was pretty treacherous, with loose rock and cacti, so Andy and I decided to climb about 80 to 100 feet up and stop. The climb made me realize that Andy isn't a mountain dog, no more than I am a mountain man. We descended back down to the car.

Our drive took us through two tunnels, and deeper into the mountains. The snow started falling, and I thought about my predicament. I was driving on a dirt road, far from any civilization, on a road that wasn't well travelled, and snow was coming in. I did, however, have a well-tuned Suzuki with four wheel drive and good tires, and a full tank of gas. What was the worst that would happen? I could be stranded and be forced to eat my dog? Well, there have been days where I wasn't stranded anywhere, and I wanted to eat my dog.

OK-just kidding. I won't eat my dog.

The road started ascending higher into the mountains. The road had a washboard characteristic, making me wish for better shocks, but even better shocks wouldn't have saved me from the bumps and ruts. At several points through this road, I stopped to take a look at the area. It reminded me of the roads my father used to drive through when we vacationed in Colorado. We used to go days without seeing a paved road. Back then, Colorado was the wild west, and I was a little kid. (No, I'm not talking about 1872, I'm talking about 1972).

I finally found myself on the south side of Victor. When I started pulling in to town, I actually thought that I had somehow missed Victor and was in Cripple Creek. The town looked similar, with mining towers and 100 year old buildings, but I didn't see the casinos that have pulled Cripple Creek into the 21st Century, so it didn't take me long to discover that I was in Victor.

This town was beautiful. I felt that I had taken a step back in time, to an area that was untarnished by present day fixtures. I drove in to the center of town, and took pictures while standing in the middle of the main street. I wasn't the only one there taking pictures. I saw another woman there who had the same idea that I did. I was grateful to have a digital camera with good batteries.

I explored around the old school, which was not in use any longer, and found some old painted signs on buildings that were another trip back in time.

I couldn't stay much longer, because my church service was at 6:30 in the evening. It was 5:30, and the drive back to Colorado Springs took over an hour. Andy and I hit the road and flew.

We made it to church in that time, and I didn't have to eat the dog.

Road Trip-Jan 19th 2009

It had been a few hours since I left my son at his new home in Texas. He was settling in, and was getting ready for his 21st birthday. He had four days off, and light duties for the next few weeks. Following 15 months in a combat zone, it's the least we can offer him.

I had to be at work in a little over 32 hours, and had 850 miles to drive. I was looking at a 14 hour drive marathon.

I started out at 3:30 AM, checking out of my tiny motel room by dropping off my key and pulling in to the street. There weren't any other people out, except a few who were undoubtedly going home to bed. I felt pretty good, despite the early hours. The roads were clear, and it looked like smooth sailing back to Colorado from Central Texas.

Since I had such a long way to go in such a short time, I decided not stop for photographs like I usually do. After I had been on the road for five hours, I had to change my mind. I was driving through the wind generator fields north of Sweetwater south of Snyder, and I found an old farmhouse, looking like it had been picked up by the same tornado that picked up Dorothy's house and sailed it off to the Land of Oz, but instead deposited this home on the edge of a Texas cotton field. The sun was not above the horizon yet, but the glow of daylight was beginning to squeeze out the darkness.



I continued on, stopping only for gas, and around lunchtime, to take a 30 minute power nap. Along the Texas Panhandle, the winds became pretty aggressive, and I was surprised to see a motorcyclist riding as though there were no problems, giving me ideas for my next motorcycle road trip.




I crossed over into Colorado around 2 PM, stopping to take pictures of the Little Fishers Peak Mesa just south of Trinidad. I made it home by 4 PM, exhausted, but having plenty of time to rest up before starting the work week on Tuesday.

The Kerouac lifestyle really looks more and more attractive to me.

Road trip: 15 - 18 January 2009

My youngest son is due to return from Iraq, having served for about 15 months, minus his mid tour leave last February. I wasn't sure I could get away from the job long enough to meet him when he got here, but as long as there's internet access, I can work from nearly anywhere. My son had sent three large boxes to me to bring to him, and had ordered a computer for me to shake down and bring to him when he got back. So, on Friday morning, I loaded up my car with the boxes, and started out for Fort Hood in Texas. It's my son's first duty station, and it was my first duty station, 29 years ago.

I started out by headed to New Mexico. The expressway was pretty clear, so it was me and a cup of coffee on our way. There would be several legs on this trip, and the first leg along I-25 was not the longest. It was still a beautiful drive, and along the way, I like to think that I am seeing the country much like people saw it 300 to 400 years ago. South of Pueblo was Walsenburg, home of a couple of beautiful mountains. Following that, was Trinidad, a classic city in Colorado. I was sorry that I didn't take the time to explore these cities, but I didn't have a lot of time.

In New Mexico, I crossed over to Highway 87. This was an easy drive. The last time I had taken this road, it was under construction, which slowed me down quite a bit. Back then, I also stopped in a village called Grenville. This village had maybe twenty homes and buildings at one time, but anything from bad economic times to changing conditions led to most of them being abandoned. For some reason, I have found the abandoned buildings there to have an appealing beauty to them. Again, I couldn't take the time to stop and look at them again.

I crossed over in to Texas, and received a call from my boss that there was a problem at work. I found my way to a McDonald's restaurant with wireless internet access, and had lunch with my computer. So, it may be a good thing or not, that I was able to fix a problem in Denver from Dalhart, Texas.

I proceeded on to Dumas, Amarillo, and Lubbock. I passed by a number of wind power generators, which were topped by red beacon lights, all of which were blinking in unison. I was kind of sad to only see glimpses of them in the dark, because I believe that wind power generators are the most beautiful things of modern technology. I wish there were more of them.

My last stretch for the day took me to a town called Sweetwater. This town is known as the home for the world's largest rattlesnake roundup. I didn't see any rattlesnakes, partly because I was too tired. It was after 6 PM. I spotted a motel that advertised a free breakfast with a room, so I decided to call it a night. I checked in, and tested out the TV in the room for about an hour. After that, I headed out to find a sit down dinner.

There was a barbecue place next door. The smell from the kitchen drew me past the parking lot, that looked like there was a pickup truck convention going on inside, so I poked my head inside to see if it looked good. The look was that every male in the place was wearing a ball cap, like I was, so I knew I wouldn't be out of place, even though I have this habit of removing my hat when I sit down to eat. I ordered salmon, a baked potato, and corn while I read the local paper.

I woke up at 6 on Saturday, and retrieved my free breakfast. The best part was the friendly waitress, and the coffee. I took off and enjoyed the light traffic and early morning darkness.

I had to stop in a town called Putnam, when I saw an abandoned building that had the classic look to it, of the late 1930s or early 40s when it was built. I took several pictures, and drove through the small town, finding abandoned homes that appeared to have their own history about them. I still feel for these homes. They were once built to represent a dream, and as dreams fade, the homes stand, and represent a failed dream. I feel the need to photograph these buildings while the dream is still fresh in its memory.

I left I-20 a few minutes later, and headed south towards Lampasas. Within a few minutes, I had my low gas light pop up on my dashboard. Suddenly, I felt pretty stupid. In Texas, it's not like there are convenience stores on every block. But, I was fortunate that the town of Rising Star was within 20 miles of me. I pulled in to the town, and gassed up. While I was there, I took a few pictures, and was impressed with the stone houses that may have been built 60 to 70 years ago.

The rest of the drive took me from a direct southbound route along highway 183 to a southeast route in Early, Texas, and not long after, the highway merged with highway 190, which is the main drag outside of Fort Hood. I made it to Killeen Texas by a lunchtime.

I decided to get a hotel. I remembered back to New Years' Day 1981, when some friends and I rented a room at a Ramada Inn. I remembered that I especially liked the hotel's bar, so I was glad to see a vacancy sign up outside the office. It had since changed hands, and the latest owner had a Grand Opening sign above the door next to the vacancy sign. The price appeared to be right, so I stepped in to talk to the desk clerk. To my dismay, I found that there was no hot water, and wouldn't be for the foreseeable future. So much for that hotel. I ended up in a motel that could easily be classified as a flophouse, but it had hot water.

I drove on to Ft Hood, and found my son's Squadron. There, I learned that the unit would return on Sunday, and I found out where I could see my son. That gave me about 30 hours to bum around Killeen, and try to refresh some old memories.

Killeen is a town that probably wouldn't be on the map if it weren't for Fort Hood. It is not a truly exciting town, and my biggest complaint about it was that it took me a serious conscious effort to get away from the Army when moving through the town. It is crowded with used furniture stores, dry cleaners specializing in uniforms, a huge support system for the large Korean population, and probably more tattoo parlors per capita than Stugis during motorcycle season. I think that to people who measure such, Killeen would appear to be unsophisticated. I agree that it would be difficult to confuse it with Monaco.

I wandered around, and watched a movie later in the evening. I wanted to buy a small bottle of liquor for my son. He's returning from Iraq following 15 months of combat duty, and unlike most conflicts before this one, he was not able to have a drink for the duration. That isn't entirely a bad thing, as far as I'm concerned, but since he'll be turning 21 on January 22nd, I did not see the harm of letting him celebrate a little early. Besides, I wanted to be the one responsible for his first legal drink. Unfortunately, Killeen is a semi-dry city. I couldn't buy a carry out bottle at that time. On the upside, I could buy a six pack of Samuel Adams beer for him. I figured the patriotic theme would add to his return to the US.

Sunday at 3 PM, I was seated in the Stacker Gym on Fort Hood, holding a sign that I made up that read “Welcome Home SPC Chris Palm Brave Rifles.” I had spent the earlier part of the day putting the sign together with poster board, scrap wood, and duct tape. I was one of a half a dozen people in the gym. I wouldn't be so alone for much longer.

Over the next hour or so, the gym crowded with family members, more signs, and soldiers that were there to usher and assist. An Army Vet DJ began to spin some classic records. This worked for the kids, who took advantage of the space and music to have an impromptu afternoon dance.
I met with a member of the family support staff. She mentioned that if Chris or any of his friends needed some counseling assistance, or even if they wanted to talk without calling it counseling, they were welcome. We've come a long way since the days of Vietnam era, when vets were returned home with little to no support.

Finally, at 5:30 PM, two Squadrons of the 3rd ACR were marched in to the gym. The cheers were what I would expect if I saw the actual Elvis walk on to a stage. We were raising the roof, and the soldiers were rightly called heroes. Within a minute after the dismissal, Chris spotted my sign, and found his way to me.

I remember 29 years ago, when I returned from Panama after spending four months there as part of Joint Task Force South. An 11 month old Chris met me with tears and screams. Today, it was my turn to let loose with the tears for my son.

We had dinner, and moved him in to his new quarters, and drank a beer together. Since I had an early drive, I left him alone at 8 PM, to enjoy his time back in the USA.

[you may want to turn down the volume on your computer speakers for this video clip]

Ride on 12-7-08

On Sunday mornings in December, one would expect cold weather. On this Sunday, it's pretty warm. It was the perfect temperature for a ride, so I decided to run out and grab the day early. Knowing that things can change pretty quickly, I dressed in all my snivel gear; my warmest leather jacket, thick boots and all that stuff, so that I felt kind of like Randy from "A Christmas Story," wearing so much stuff that I was having trouble moving. I felt even more stupid, when I pulled up to a stoplight, and another motorcycle pulled up next to me. The rider wasn't wearing anything more than jeans and a sweatshirt.

I decided then to get out of town a little. That way, I wouldn't feel so stupid wearing as much as I was, so I decided to head up north through Elbert, to Kiowa. From there, back through Elizabeth and Franktown, back to Colorado Springs. Since that was heading north towards Denver, I would need the extra clothing.

My first leg of the journey was along Woodman Road in Colorado Springs. That took me through a construction area, which slowed me down, but made me aware of the loose sand on the pavement. As any biker will attest to, loose sand can be as treacherous as black ice, causing a bike to lose traction in an instant. I would have to be extra careful on this ride.

I hit Highway 24, heading out to the northeast. This was a road I was familiar with, having taken my bicycle along this route, as well as drives last Winter to see abandoned homes along the way. It was an interesting route. I hit the Elbert Road, and was able to open up a little. There isn't much traffic here, if any at all, so I was able to see for miles ahead and all around.

Rougly five miles into the Elbert Road, I passed the Monument turn off, and headed into some small rolling hills. These hills were topped with Evergreens making them look like little hairy topped heads sticking out of the ground. In these woods were ranches, a Boy Scout camp, and even a tiny airstrip, adjacent to a metal hangar and a wind sock.

The tiny town of Elbert sits just within Elbert County. I suppose that makes it the County Seat, but I could be mistaken. There was a school there, along with a football field, and a classic old country church. It seemed to be the most well kept building in town, so I stopped to take its picture.

My next landmark was Kiowa. I had never been there, but a few months earlier had found a photo on Google maps. The photo was descriptive, showing a crossroads and a couple of buildings off in the distance. The photo did not lie. I decided to head out west, on my next leg of the trip.

This took me through Elizabeth. This town does have a historic district, so I felt obliged to stop and see what it was all about. I found a few buildings that were about a hundred years old, and one that caught my attention was the old Railroad Section house. I didn't know that there was a railroad here, but apparently there was, but this house was the last remaining bit of it.

From there, it was on to Franktown. This is a spread out area, so not too much of a town. I do know that the actress Pamela Grier has a ranch here, so I brought an extra helmet, just in case I should find her hitchhiking for a ride. As I really expected, I had no such luck.

My last turn was back to Colorado Springs along highway 83. There was an uncharacteristic breeze from the South, slowing me down and finally making me glad that I had all the extra layers on. I fell in behind a few vehicles, and kept my speed reasonable. The sun was still out- it would be up for another five hours- and I still had time to fulfill my plans for the rest of the day. I wanted to get lunch at my daughter's restaurant, and get my dog into the dog park.

I made it home by 2 PM.

Ride on 11-2-08

It's one of my favorite days of the year. It's the day after Daylight Savings Time ends, bringing back the one hour of sleep that I lost last Spring. Sure, it gets dark earlier now, but I'm kind of a night hawk anyway. I really like the "extra" hour of sleep. I also heard that a recent doctor's study found that people suffer fewer heart attacks on the day after Daylight Savings Time ends. Somehow, that doesn't surprise me.

So there is a Colorado Patriot Guard Riders mission going on today. The good news that it is not for a hero returning to the States after being killed or wounded. The bad news is that it is for a hero on his way over to Afghanistan. Army Chief Warrant Officer James Henry recently found himself in receipt of orders sending him and his family to another installation away from Fort Carson where he has been stationed for the past several years. The timing was typical of the US Army. Mr. Henry's daughter was about to turn 16, and his son was six months away from graduating from high school. Mr. Henry approached the Army about what he could do to prevent moving his family. He had one other option, and that was to volunteer for another tour in Afghanistan. Thus his family could stay in their home. Mr. Henry is a hero.

The PGR volunteered to escort Mr. Henry from his home to the Colorado Springs Airport. Considering his sacrifice for his family and his country, it is the least we could do.

Our mission was short, but well worth it. There were about 30 riders, and CW3 Henry in the middle, driving with his family. We had a number of people stop and wave to the impromptu parade ushering the soldier to his deployment. We took the liberty to park in the loading zone at the airport, and cheer Mr. Henry on his way. From there, we left him with his family, and went our own seperate ways.

I went to have a late breakfast/early lunch at my daughter's restaurant. It was pretty crowded, but I managed to get a seat in Natalie's section. We talked a little about stuff, and I left my customary $5.00 tip, which was about 35% of my bill. My daughters are the only ones who get that gratuity rate.

From there, I was on my way out on the road. I decided to head out west, because the roads are much more interesting that way. I hadn't decided on a ending point, but I wanted to get back soon enough to take my dog to the dog park. I was in Manitou Springs, when I looked up at Pikes Peak. I realized that I had not taken Steve McQueen to the summit, and it was probably my last opportunity until next Spring to do so.

I was about to take the turn to the Pikes Peak Highway, but had a couple of obstacles to overcome. First was that I had just below a half a tank of gas. At higher altitudes, Steve tends to cough a little, so I should really go with a full tank, and even though the temperatures were in the 70s in Manitou Springs, at a loss of ten degrees for every 5000 feet, I was looking at a cool summit. I figured that I would get gasoline in Woodland Park, and if the temperature didn't bother me there, I'd give the summit a shot.

I dropped the idea in Woodland Park, when the temperature was cool; not enough to stop my ride, but enough to tell me that it would be cooler at 14000 feet at the top of Pikes Peak. I tabled the idea until next year.

So I decided to go to Deckers. That ride is always beautiful. The road is in
good condition, the curves and hills always keep the thrill of motorcycling alive, and the views of the mountains are beautiful. This time of year allows for a view that's much different than the rest of the year, but now for over five years, the scars of the Hayman Fire of 2003 are still there. I never thought this devastation would last this long.

I made it to Deckers, and stopped for a Coke. I spoke with another rider about the bike he did not take on the ride that day. He had a 1965 Moto Guzzi. I don't know a lot about that make of bike, but vintage stuff is so cool visualize. I'd like to think that my Harley would some day be vintage.

I checked my map and figured that I could take a back road from Deckers back to Lake George. I was not in the mood to take any unpaved roads. I decided to give it a shot, but the minute I saw any gravel, I would turn around.

The highway from Deckers headed to the northwest. It was a well paved road, and was just as interesting as the rest of highway 67. It went up a pretty nice hill, and right over the top was a scenic overlook. It was worth stopping for, but not right then. I kept going, passing a few trucks stopped so that hunters could get out and bag a deer.

I made it to a small town called Buffalo Creek. I saw a number of cabins and homes that were settled into the woods looking absolutely natural. I wasn't going the right way to get to Lake George; I had missed the turn-off. I'm glad I missed it, because finding this town was worth the ride. It was hidden in the woods like a secret place, a hideout from the rest of the world. I liked that route.

I used Buffalo Creek as a turn around point, and stopped at the scenic overlook on the way back. I did not have any problems or stops on the way back, and made my way back home. There, my dog, Andy stood anxiously awaiting to see his friends at the dog park.