This time of year does it to me every time. As the weather warms (above zero is warm isn’t it?), and I start thinking about switching from a coat to a lighter jacket, memories of this time in yesteryear occasionally drift into my consciousness. These past few evenings, as just the right chill is in the air, my senses can taste and smell the time when nothing excited me more than the anticipation of the cold night air blasting through my hair as I straddle two wheels and a noisy motor. With the twist of my right wrist, I was thrust toward the edge of the light beam which danced to the beat of the rough gravel road leading away from our farm. The sound of the twin cylinder 2-cycle engine drowned out noise of the tires popping over loose the rocks and splashing through the shallow mud puddles. My nose experienced a combination of gas, oil, and dust, all tempered with the mellowing effect of the melting snow and moist cold air.
It was a great time and place to be 16 years old. My imagination back then was as vivid as it is now. In fact, when I first experienced all of these senses and emotions, it WAS in my imagination.
My two older brothers got me dreaming of exploring every rook and rill within a hundred miles of our farm. About seven years earlier my oldest brother, Brian, had bought an old used motorcycle as transportation for an early morning sprinkler pipe moving job. He spent more time pushing his Montgomery Ward 200cc motorcycle then he did riding it. And so my parents reluctantly allowed him to buy a new motorcycle.
I would guess the reason he chose a Suzuki had to do with who the nearest dealer was in our rural area. But my parents were very no nonsense when it came to such things, so it was a big deal to have something that would be fun to ride on around our home. I was probably only about ten years old when Brian bought his Suzuki 350cc street bike.
First Brian, and then my next older brother, Keith, ran that motorcycle everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. I remember riding on the back of that motorcycle even in the winter time on snow packed and drifted roads. More than once we were stuck in snow so deep that the top of the seat was level with the drift.
Keith didn’t seem to know that it was a street bike. After Brian had left home, Keith took that “Street bike” many places where even a dirt bike should never be taken. Evel Knievel must have been his idol.
So finally, after about 6 or 7 years of the Suzuki 350cc street bike taking this kind of abuse, I had my chance to try my hand at motorcycle madness. Actually, I found the motorcycle buried to the seat in mud and water in a neighbor’s irrigated field. I don’t know how Keith could have made it so far into the field before sinking out of sight. Both of my older brothers had perfected the skill of running the motorcycle as a snowmobile and I guess Keith was working on his jet ski abilities. But now there was no rescuing that now dead motorcycle until the water subsided and the deep boggy mud dried a bit.
I didn’t really know how to fix a worn out motorcycle, but I did know that after being submerged in mud and water for a week, the engine should probably be taken apart and cleaned up. One thing leads to another and before I knew it, every component of that motorcycle was disassembled and strewn throughout my work shop. Through the winter months, I spent my spare time working on “my” motorcycle.
After I did everything I could think to do, a college student who worked part-time for our farm came to my rescue. Dennis Maughan was older and wiser in mechanics than I was. And best of all, he was willing to help with advise and even a helping hand once in a while. Before we were finished, we had completely rebuilt the engine, over hauled the carburetor, and repaired and replaced massive amounts of wiring.
So this brings me to the part of my story where I started. It was early spring-time and I was still spending most of my free time, which was mostly late at night, doing the finishing touches on my “new” motorcycle.
Finally, about 10:30 one night, I declared it finished. I pushed my new pride and joy out into the cold night air, through the shallow mud puddles and over to our farm gas tank. Under the dim yard light, I overfilled the tank, spilling some gas on the ground and a little on myself. Within moments, I was straddling the seat while kicking the starter with my left leg as fast and furious as possible. A 16 year-old has pretty good stamina when his adrenalin is pumping. I probably kicked that starter a thousand times that night. Every once in awhile I would stop and make some adjustment to the carburetor.
Once I popped off one of the two sparkplug wires to test for a spark while kicking the starter over. The powerful jolt I felt renewed my adrenalin and assured me that there was plenty of spark to fire up the engine. Sometime around midnight I finally gave up on that greatly anticipated ride into the dark night air.
The next day I took the carburetor apart and went through everything I could think of once again. Following the repair manual, I checked my float level the best I could with out having any special gages and then put the whole thing back together again. Again that night I continued my ritual out in the yard of straddling the motorcycle and giving my left leg a workout that would make Richard Simmons weary. Again, all I could get the motorcycle to do was an occasional back fire and a lot of gas smell.
The next day, I called the motorcycle shop to ask for advice. Though I didn’t realize it, because I was a self centered 16 year-old, the mechanic was unbelievably patient with me as I rehearsed everything I had done and tried to get my motorcycle to go. The conversation went on for maybe a half an hour. I clearly remember the very end of that conversation. After answering all my questions about how to adjust the carburetor, he finally asked in exasperation, “Well do you even have compression?”
I was confident in my answer, “Yes, I know I have good compression… cause it keeps backfiring and it almost breaks my leg with how hard it kicks.”
“Oh, it’s backfiring?”
“Yes, all the time.”
“Well, are you sure you have the spark plug wires on right?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is your firing order right? The wires have to be on a certain way.”
A light bulb lit up in my brain. And suddenly I knew that must have been the problem. In an effort to bury my embarrassment, I thanked him for his help and ended the conversation as quickly as possible. My motorcycle was partly dissembled back in the shop and I had to finish up my farm work before working on it again.
That night after supper, I reassembled the motorcycle like an expert mechanic. I had put that carburetor on and off so many times now that I didn’t even have to think about what I was doing. It was the easiest thing to unplug the two spark plug wire and switch them as instructed by my telephone help line. After installing all the covers I excitedly pushed my motorcycle out into the crisp night air once again.
First kick, the motor roared and my adrenalin soared. Finally, I actually experienced the rush of speeding down the dark rocky road in the cool crisp air.
I wasn’t as crazy as my brother, Keith, on that motorcycle. But I think I did see every rook (a kind of crow) and rill (a very small stream) within a hundred miles of our farm in Southeastern Idaho while riding that motorcycle.
I had a few close calls while learning that to other motorist, motorcycles are invisible.
Once I took it up on the Menan Butte. This is an old volcano which I felt a special attachment to. On the face of this butte, was painted a giant “R”. While growing up, I could look out our front window and admire “MY” mountain. As a little kid, I thought the R stood for Ron instead of Ricks College.
As a Boy Scout, I had done my share of climbing around on the face of this butte and even going down into the heart of it. Inside was a meadow, maybe a mile across… perfect for camping. But one thing I had never done was to explore the back side of the butte.
That was on my mind now as my motorcycle climbed the steep trail which wound up the face of the butte. I was familiar with the look of the meadow as my motorcycle surfaced on top of the rocky ridge which was surprisingly round like the real volcano it was. There was a trail which ran down through the center and then up the back and over the rocky ridge on the other side.
Like I said, I had never explored the backside, so that’s where I was headed. This was in the evening just as the sun was setting. And I was headed directly west into disappearing sunlight. As I approached the steep trail which went straight up the back, I gave the throttle a little extra twist to make sure I wouldn’t stall part way up. So my speed was faster than it should have been when I rounded the top.
But my biggest surprise was that the top of the ridge didn’t really “round”. It just dropped straight off into the longest, steepest loose gravel trail I had ever seen. I found myself bombing that steep hill on my motorcycle much like my father told of bombing the ski hill of his youth. I seriously believed that at any moment I would tumble over the top of my handle bars and become a tangled mess of bike and body rolling down the face of the ridge. That didn’t happen, but despite locking up my brakes and even sliding my motorcycle sideways on the rocks, I continued to pickup speed.
Locking my brakes and sliding sideways had stalled out the engine, but as I neared the bottom of the trail where it started to flatten out a little, my back tire hit a large rock, which spun the motorcycle back to face the trail straight on. I let go of the brakes and the momentum started the motor back up. Just as I sped away, I saw some people standing at the bottom of the butte staring at my dare devil feat. I didn’t want to appear like I had be out of control with my bike, so I just gave it the gas and sped away as if that was my plan all along. I don’t know what they said about me, but I expect that “stupid” and “idiot” were adjectives being freely thrown out as they discussed what they had just seen.
Well, tonight as I step out in to the cool crisp evening air this and other fond memories of motorcycle madness give me a little shot of adrenalin. Maybe I’ll see if I can find an old worn out motorcycle to fix up. Something I could work on in my garage on these cool winter evenings.
HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.. is all I have to say…….. Vallerie
This entry reminds me of a book I read in college: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance by Robert M. Pirsig.
ok.. maybe I wasn’t being to open minded.. it was a lovely memory.. heheh… Vallerie
Wonderful…You have had an absolutely wonderful life. It is fun reading about your experiences. Really fun. I missed out on a whole lot and reading lets me know that….Keep writing…I love it…
That was an awsome story. I can’t wait for the warm weather so I can take that motorcycle riding class and get my license. My hubby tells me stories of his first motorcycle that are similar to yours only the riding spot was the back side of the Virginia Foothills behind Washoe Valley in Nevada. ZZZZZZzzzzzzooooom!
Hi Ron, I ws delighted to find you had written another story. I could almost feel your excitement as you rode with the wind. I remember riding over a semi cliff and reconnecting with the ground, scared out of my mind. My heart was actually still floating out there before it reconnected with my body. It never stopped me from loving to ride though. Most of the time I was the passenger, but I actually did drive myself on a Honda 50 I think it was. This was back in the 60s.
Hugs,
~Linda~
It sounds like you could have given Keith a run for his money on motorcycle madness. Kevin has a few motorcycle stories too. I was glad that he had to sell it in order to buy my engagement/wedding ring. After hearing about his stories I was worried I’d be a widow if he continued to drive that thing. Still…. We both would like to get a couple of motorcycles and drive around the Saphire coast of Australia. Maybe in our retirement.
Storyteller in top form. Good job. I remember that motorcycle being the cause of Keith’s many near-death experiences. More than once I saw him limp on home, bloodied up pretty good, and always with the admonition to "don’t tell mom and dad". And your college student mechanic friend…..hmmmm. That’s a name I remember. I’m glad you had the time to blog again.
I enjoyed to much with this entry!.. Have a great weekend Ron… Zeynep.
!
I loved coming to meet you. I go to your wife’s space every day but did not pick up on the fact you are her lucky hubby! Your children are each and every one gorgeous and you two are as well. Easy to see where their great looks came from.It’s a pleasure to "meet" you and your wife…again, what a beautiful family!
Speaking of motorcycle,I got a little bit sad because a lot of people died of such acident in China once.A friend of mine told me that her brother died so.In a word,safty is the No.1 to consider.
τραγωδια>tragedy,an old greek word,4000 years older then the book of mormon or the "journal of discourses".Tragedy.
Aristotelian definition:
Εστιν ουν τραγωδια,μιμησις πραξεως σπουδαιας και τελειας,μεγεθος εχουσης,ηδυσμενω λογω,χωρις εκαστω των ειδων εν τοις μοριοις,δρωντων και ου δι απαγγελιας,δι ελεου και φοβου περαινουσα την των τοιουτων παθηματων καθαρσιν.
Definition of Tragedy: “Tragedy, then, is an imitation of an action that is serious, complete, and of a certain magnitude; in language embellished with each kind of artistic ornament, the several kinds being found in separate parts of the play; in the form of action, not of narrative; with incidents arousing pity and fear, wherewith to accomplish its katharsis of such emotions.
Definition of Tragedy: “Tragedy, then, is an imitation of an action that is serious, complete, and of a certain magnitude; in language embellished with each kind of artistic ornament, the several kinds being found in separate parts of the play; in the form of action, not of narrative; with incidents arousing pity and fear, wherewith to accomplish its katharsis of such emotions. . . . Every Tragedy, therefore, must have six parts, which parts determine its quality—namely, Plot, Characters, Diction, Thought, Spectacle, Melody.”Tragedy is the “imitation of an action” (mimesis) according to “the law of probability or necessity.” Aristotle indicates that the medium of tragedy is drama, not narrative; tragedy “shows” rather than “tells.” According to Aristotle, tragedy is higher and more philosophical than history because history simply relates what has happened while tragedy dramatizes what may happen, “what is possibile according to the law of probability or necessity.Tragedy, however, is rooted in the fundamental order of the universe; it creates a cause-and-effect chain that clearly reveals what may happen at any time or place because that is the way the world operates. Tragedy therefore arouses not only pity but also fear, because the audience can envision themselves within this cause-and-effect chain.Plot is the “first principle,” the most important feature of tragedy. Aristotle defines plot as “the arrangement of the incidents”: i.e., not the story itself but the way the incidents are presented to the audience, the structure of the play. According to Aristotle, tragedies where the outcome depends on a tightly constructed cause-and-effect chain of actions are superior to those that depend primarily on the character and personality of the protagonist. Plots that meet this criterion will have the following qualities . See for a diagram that illustrates Aristotle’s ideal plot structure, and for an application of this diagram to Sophocles’ play.The plot must be “a whole,” with a beginning, middle, and end. The beginning, called by modern critics the incentive moment, must start the cause-and-effect chain but not be dependent on anything outside the compass of the play (i.e., its causes are downplayed but its effects are stressed). The middle, or climax, must be caused by earlier incidents and itself cause the incidents that follow it (i.e., its causes and effects are stressed). The end, or resolution, must be caused by the preceding events but not lead to other incidents outside the compass of the play (i.e., its causes are stressed but its effects downplayed); the end should therefore solve or resolve the problem created during the incentive moment . Aristotle calls the cause-and-effect chain leading from the incentive moment to the climax the “tying up” (desis), in modern terminology the complication. He therefore terms the more rapid cause-and-effect chain from the climax to the resolution the “unravelling” (lusis), in modern terminology the dénouement . The plot must be “complete,” having “unity of action.” By this Aristotle means that the plot must be structurally self-contained, with the incidents bound together by internal necessity, each action leading inevitably to the next with no outside intervention, no deus ex machina . According to Aristotle, the worst kinds of plots are “‘episodic,’ in which the episodes or acts succeed one another without probable or necessary sequence”; the only thing that ties together the events in such a plot is the fact that they happen to the same person. Playwrights should exclude coincidences from their plots; if some coincidence is required, it should “have an air of design,” i.e., seem to have a fated connection to the events of the play . Similarly, the poet should exclude the irrational or at least keep it “outside the scope of the tragedy,” i.e., reported rather than dramatized . While the poet cannot change the myths that are the basis of his plots, he “ought to show invention of his own and skillfully handle the traditional materials” to create unity of action in his plot.The plot must be “of a certain magnitude,” both quantitatively (length, complexity) and qualitatively (“seriousness” and universal significance). Aristotle argues that plots should not be too brief; the more incidents and themes that the playwright can bring together in an organic unity, the greater the artistic value and richness of the play. Also, the more universal and significant the meaning of the play, the more the playwright can catch and hold the emotions of the audience, the better the play will be.The plot may be either simple or complex, although complex is better. Simple plots have only a “change of fortune” (catastrophe). Complex plots have both “reversal of intention” (peripeteia) and “recognition” (anagnorisis) connected with the catastrophe. Both peripeteia and anagnorisis turn upon surprise. Aristotle explains that a peripeteia occurs when a character produces an effect opposite to that which he intended to produce, while an anagnorisis “is a change from ignorance to knowledge, producing love or hate between the persons destined for good or bad fortune.” He argues that the best plots combine these two as part of their cause-and-effect chain (i.e., the peripeteia leads directly to the anagnorisis); this in turns creates the catastrophe, leading to the final “scene of suffering” . Character has the second place in importance. The protagonist should be renowned and prosperous, so his change of fortune can be from good to bad. This change “should come about as the result, not of vice, but of some great error or frailty in a character.” Such a plot is most likely to generate pity and fear in the audience, for “pity is aroused by unmerited misfortune, fear by the misfortune of a man like ourselves.” The term Aristotle uses here, hamartia, often translated “tragic flaw,” has been the subject of much debate. In the ideal tragedy, claims Aristotle, the protagonist will mistakenly bring about his own downfall—not because he is sinful or morally weak, but because he does not know enough. The role of the hamartia in tragedy comes not from its moral status but from the inevitability of its consequences. Characters in tragedy should have the following qualities.“good or fine.” Aristotle relates this quality to moral purpose and says it is relative to class: “Even a woman may be good, and also a slave, though the woman may be said to be an inferior being, and the slave quite worthless.; e.g. valor is appropriate for a warrior but not for a woman. “true to life” (realistic) “consistency” (true to themselves). .” Characters must be logically constructed according to “the law of probability or necessity” that governs the actions of the play.“true to life and yet more beautiful” (idealized, ennobled). Thought is third in importance, and is found “where something is proved to be or not to be, or a general maxim is enunciated.”Diction is fourth, and is “the expression of the meaning in words” which are proper and appropriate to the plot, characters, and end of the tragedy. In this category, Aristotle discusses the stylistic elements of tragedy; he is particularly interested in metaphors: “But the greatest thing by far is to have a command of metaphor; . . . it is the mark of genius, for to make good metaphors implies an eye for resemblances” Song, or melody, is fifth, and is the musical element of the chorus. Aristotle argues that the Chorus should be fully integrated into the play like an actor; choral odes should not be “mere interludes,” but should contribute to the unity of the plot. Spectacle is last, for it is least connected with literature; “the production of spectacular effects depends more on the art of the stage machinist than on that of the poet.” Although Aristotle recognizes the emotional attraction of spectacle, he argues that superior poets rely on the inner structure of the play rather than spectacle to arouse pity and fear; those who rely heavily on spectacle “create a sense, not of the terrible, but only of the monstrous”.The end of the tragedy is a katharsis (purgation, cleansing) of the tragic emotions of pity and fear. Katharsis is another Aristotelian term that has generated considerable debate. The word means “purging,” and Aristotle seems to be employing a medical metaphor—tragedy arouses the emotions of pity and fear in order to purge away their excess, to reduce these passions to a healthy, balanced proportion. Aristotle also talks of the “pleasure” that is proper to tragedy, apparently meaning the aesthetic pleasure one gets from contemplating the pity and fear that are aroused through an intricately constructed work of art .We might profitably compare this view of Aristotle with that expressed by Susanne Langer in our first reading (“Expressiveness in Art,” excerpt from Problems of Art: Ten Philosophical Lectures, New York, Scribner, 1957):A work of art presents feeling (in the broad sense I mentioned before, as everything that can be felt) for our contemplation, making it visible or audible or in some way perceivable through a symbol, not inferable from a symptom. Artistic form is congruent with the dynamic forms of our direct sensuous, mental, and emotional life; works of art . . . are images of feeling, that formulate it for our cognition. What is artistically good is whatever articulates and presents feeling for our understanding. (661-62)
Wow. So, are those tragedy comments tragic or what?
A brilliant comment from a brilliant mind Mr or Ms
mitchowl.Specially the "wow" is the ultimate sample(i think) of the anglo-saxon dialect.Please let me inform you that Aristotle is not an NBA player,and tragedy (and not tragidy as Mr storyteller wrote) is not some kind of chinese food.
With every respect of course for your high american culture which is obvious in your text.
All this talk about the word tragedy…. makes my mind go back to the 70’s with the Bee Gees singing that song… LOL… I don’t even remember the words.. except for that one.. TRAGEDY….. Words sure can be interesting – meaning and interpetation. Well, I’ll probably have this music in my head all day today.. hehehe…. Vallerie
Hi Ron, finally you visited my space again, hurray! I heart "long time, no see" before, but I had thought that is a wrong explanation, lol. I am still trying to find a house for me. Have a good week, Zeynep.
I vaguely remember him talking about the motorcycle trip. I can’t remember why it never happened. Kevin and I drove around the Saphire coast back in 99 or 2000 but we were with other people and couldn’t be free to explore. We’ve always wanted to go back and thought that would be a neat way to see it.
Skiing is awesome here. Alyeska Ski resort is world class. Now that you’re into skiing you and Vallerie should plan a trip up here and go. I know a great little B&B here with very cheap rates!
Check out the new album I’ve added on my space. You might recognize a few of them.
Hi Ron,
Glad you got time to blog again, great story! I could just see you going down that steep slope! My brother has a motorcycle in his garage…in boxes!lol. He claims that someday it will be put together again.
I think it is even too cold for you here today.
(Ode for the Bee Gees,i dont know of course who this man or this people are,but is a catastrophe for the international literature and poetry,the bereavement of his or there words about tragedy)
POSEIDONIANS "The Poseidonians forgot the Greek language after so many centuries of mingling with Tyrrhenians, Latins, and other foreigners. The only thing surviving from their ancestors was a Greek festival, with beautiful rites, with lyres and flutes, contests and wreaths. And it was their habit toward the festival’s end to tell each other about their ancient customs and once again to speak Greek names that only few of them still recognized. And so their festival always had a melancholy ending because they remebered that they too were Greeks, they too once upon a time were citizens of Magna Graecia; and how low they’d fallen now, what they’d become, living and speaking like barbarians, cut off so disastrously from the Greek way of life." C. Cavafy translated by E. Keeley and P. Sherrard
It was just a song…. and music is beautiful…
trag·e·dy /ˈtrædʒɪdi/ Pronunciation Key – Show Spelled Pronunciation[traj-i-dee] Pronunciation Key – Show IPA Pronunciation
–noun, plural -dies.
1.
a dramatic composition, often in verse, dealing with a serious or somber theme, typically that of a great person destined through a flaw of character or conflict with some overpowering force, as fate or society, to downfall or destruction.
2.
the branch of the drama that is concerned with this form of composition.
3.
the art and theory of writing and producing tragedies.
4.
any literary composition, as a novel, dealing with a somber theme carried to a tragic conclusion.
5.
the tragic element of drama, of literature generally, or of life.
6.
a lamentable, dreadful, or fatal event or affair; calamity; disaster: the tragedy of war.
[Origin: 1325–75; ME tragedie < ML tragédia, L tragoedia < Gk tragōidía, equiv. to trág(os) goat + ōid song (see ode) + -ia -y3; reason for name variously explained] Multiple meanings for a word…..
…will never grow up
Candles Days to come stand in front of us,like a row of burning candles -golden, warm, and vivid candles.
Days past fall behind us,a gloomy line of burnt-out candles;the nearest are still smoking,cold, melted, and bent.
I don’t want to look at them: their shape saddens me,and it saddens me to remember their original light.I look ahead at my burning candles.
I don’t want to turn, don’t want to see, terrified,how quickly that dark line gets longer,how quickly one more dead candle joins another.Constantine P. Cavafy
Mr. or Mrs. NO NAME – In your own, highly self praised culture, were you ever taught about being polite and respecting others? Other than misspelling the word tragedy while making a comment on Zeynep’s space, I did use the word correctly. You felt compelled to come to my space to correct me, and to tell everyone who visits my blogs what that word means to you. This I allowed. But that isn’t enough for you. You have attempted to insult my friends and to dominate the comment section of my blog.
When I was young, my mother taught me that doing things like this is considered rude and selfish. Weren’t you taugh the same kind of things when you were young? If you would like to visit here, please be respectful. I don’t understand why you would make all of these visits to a place that is apparently repulsive to your high culture. If you clutter my comments with more of the same, out of respect to my friends, I will delete all of your comments.
Ron do us all a favor and delete the idiotic greek references…geez where do these bugs come from…talk about radioactive termites coming out of the woodwork……your response was too kind…you need to kick the slimeball out of your comment section…give these types an inch and they think they are rulers
Εξεστιν Κλαζομενιιοις ασχημονειν.
Hi Ron,
I didn’t expect to come back to a comment war! I support a respectful interaction among people of different cultures so we can be more knowledgeable about the world around us. This world is seeing enough conflict as it is without we having to add to it.
In India, the motorcycle is a commonplace mode of travel thanks to its low cost compared to cars and also thanks to the mileage it gives for a litre of petrol (gas). That means ur entry will be enjoyed by a lot of ppl from these parts in no small way. I’m sure most readers who have rode a bike imagined this rather than read it thru 🙂 If it was today, it would be on youtube too!
Have a gr8 day!
To Mr. or Mrs. NO NAME – I assume that the three Greek words you replied to my comment with translate in English to "I AM SORRY". Apology accepted.
Ron, you sure have are astute mind with your memory, I commend you and so enjoy your stories of growing up and your Family. So when is your book to be out, I even suggested that Vallerie should publish her own Cook book, you got the talent share it.~~ Happy that fellow apologized, you said all the right things, must show respect! Have a Best day there is, we’re having a Lake effect snow storm, best to stay home where it’s safe and warm by our roaring fire. Take care, Deanie
So glad you had a good time skiing with your wonderful wife and daughter yesterday! You two are a pleasure to get to know. Thank you for sharing, once again, with us. Between you ‘n me, when’s Vallerie’s birthday? I won’t tell anyone. I promise. If it’s any of my business, I would just delete the comments from nameless. He/she is getting unwarranted attention. Obviously they don’t deserve positive or negative attention. Regardless, I hope you all have a most wonderful evening. Keep those stories coming. I love every one of ’em. =)
Hey Bro,
Haven’t seen any new stories from you for a while. You need to tell your boss to lighten your load so you can go entertain your blogging friends. How about it? :o)
Tragedy in any language is when a 21 year old relative dies in a motorcycle accident.
Thanks, Buddy. 😉 Much appreciated!!!!
Speaking of Motorcycle Madness…after reading Thotman’s blog I want to take a motorcycle trip to Provo, I hope I can talk my hubby into it! Vrrrooooooom!
Ron, you have a wonderful ability of putting your "youth" into words. I have only been on a motorcycle once…. and that was enough for me .. I was 17 at the time… However, as I read your story, I was right there riding…. Keep up the great story telling….. Wonderful for those of us who like to read and for your posterity…. hugs, lottiemae and Mr. Guppie
Hey Ron, Every time I try to check your space at work our web server blocks you. It says that "dating and personals" are not allowed. Hmmm…………It’s only your space that does that. I’m not sure what that means. Hmmmm……….
Hi Ron,
Has work got you captive again? Hope you break out soon,lol.
Hope things calm down for you at work soon. Your beautiful wife told of how busy you are. Hang in there and hurry back as soon as it is physically possible. Can’t wait for another story installment. Take care.
Hi Ron~Just passing through saying hi. I hear you guys went on another ski trip. Stay warm.
Hugs,
~Linda~
Hi Ron, Just came by to see if you posted anything. Have a great weekend.
Hugs,
~Linda~
Wonderful memory, thanks for sharing it… can’t wait for spring and the snow to melt … we’ll be riding … I may even ride in Iowa!