Shadow Shot Sunday, September 19, 2010

Shadow Shot Sunday was started by Tracy in Australia. To see more Shadow Shots and to find out how to participate, go see Hey Harriet.

On a recent motorcycle trip to New Mexico in America's Southwest, I stumbled across many sights like the one I posted here today. I stayed on the small two-lane roads and passed through the heart of many small hamlets. If the Interstate highway was nearby, all the commerce moved from the main drag through town out to the freeway. If the town was just on a once major US highway and not near the Eisenhower Interstate System, there isn't much left of these villages as time has passed them by.

This Shadow Shot was taken in Walsenburg, Colorado while on a morning walk before leaving my austere overnight accommodations at The Anchor Motel. Walsenburg is right on Intersate 25. There is commerce out on the highway, but not much in town. This photo takes us way back in time and shows a popular old style of architecture for what once was called a gas station.

Sandy's Service Station, a relic of a life gone by, Walsenburg, CO.

Used to be, this is the where you bought gasoline, or as it's called around the world, everywhere but the US, petrol. The pump, yes, one pump, vended the toxicant and was operated by a human being that actually managed the whole establishment. He would come out, (it was usually a "he"), and ask what you'd want. You would tell him to either, "Fill 'er up", or say a dollar amount, like, "Two dollars of Ethyl, please."

That whole Ethyl thing was a National disaster, but that is another topic for another time. It just meant they had a higher octane gasoline with an additive that was poison. Conventional wisdom thought that the higher powered gas was better for your car, so you'd splurge and get "High test" every now and again to give your automobile a treat.

These next two shots also have some shadows created by ole sol on Sandy's Service. You can see the large garage door opening where the mechanic might work on your car, perform maintenance like oil changes, replace belts and hoses and hoist the auto up to fix flats or change tires. Ah yes, those were the days.

I certainly could go on and on about the old days and gas stations as I worked at a few of them over theyears. Of course the most common mention about gasoline these days is the price. On my trip, I saw prices range from $2.34/9 to $3.14/9 per gallon. I used today's high test in my 2008 Triumph Tiger and pay more per gallon for that! (A full report about the trip coming soon on one of my Monday Mystery Tour articles for those that might be interested)



In the meantime, hope you have a great day. And avast ye, don't ferget about the day fer us old pirate souls, Aurggggggggggh Matey

Peace

Haiku My Heart Fridays, September 17, 2010

Writing Haiku on Fridays seems to have caught on. For me, it is the "From the heart" part that really pulls me in. When I travel around to the others that participate and read their poetry, I am put into another world, a world they are sharing with us all. To view other Friday Haiku blogs, see the beautiful photos and participate, go see Rebecca at recuerdo mi corazon

The night September sky as seen from my perch in New Mexico


Daylight's end is near

Evening spirits wander here

Night shadows appear

I've just returned from a nine day motorcycle trip that took me from my home in Wisconsin down to Truth Or Consequences, New Mexico. Seems that all I did was ride my motorcycle and eat green chile. I did take some photos with a new camera and traveled a few roads I had never been on before. More about this trip as time moves forward.

This shot of the crescent moon and evening star reminded me that there is a Star Nation above us, day and night, but we only get to imagine the spirits that surround us when daylight wanes and the night sky lights their way. ( I know, it's a planet, but I call 'em stars).

Who knows what spirits might be watching, visiting or traveling with us as we crawl on the Sacred Earth Mother. I like to think there are many that see us and accompany us along our chosen paths, or maybe even some that guide us in a certain direction. And if you subscribe to the theory of the existence of Angels, well, maybe they are there, and maybe they are the spirits of which I speak. Spirits, Angels, all one in the same to me.

This latest trip gave me a lot of traveling meditation and the thoughts that I pondered may have triggered some changes in my life. Hopefully these are good changes and were managed by these same Spirit Guides and Helpers that looked down on me from the celestial orbs above.

Peace

To New Mexico

In a few hours, I'll be on my trusty Triumph motorcycle and on my way to New Mexico. This trip will be full of purpose. First of all, I'll get some moving meditation. Time behind the windshield on the two lane roads are very soothing for me, and the NOAA weather outlook for the direction I'll be traveling looks like I'll be out of the rain and any storms, at least for the first few days.

The view to the South from the City of Rocks State Park

Secondly, I'm planning on scouting out a possible place to return to this Winter. Mrs. Spadoman and I are intent on escaping to a warmer climate for at least a small part before and after the holidays. We've been down there many times before in the last 20 plus years. This year, we might make more specific plans for snow birding.

In the town of Truth Or Consequences, the hot springs are calling me. More meditation and lounging in the hot pools along the Rio Grande are in order, and Silver City always gets a visit for a day or so. Jemez Springs, another place to unwind, is on the sketchy agenda. I'll swing through Albuquerque and Santa Fe, even if just to ride through. But I'll probably have at least one meal and one coffee shop stop at one of my favorite places. Who knows, maybe I'll actually take some pictures and do some restaurant reviews.

I plan on visiting a few friends along the way and going to some areas with my motorcycle that I've only been to by automobile, especially in the mountain region in Northern New Mexico. When I have been there in the Winter, riding a motorcycle in the mountains is not a good idea. This time of year, I believe I'll have a great time twisting over mountain passes on the Tiger. I also want to see a few places I've failed to stop and see in visits past.

I don't have a specific return date, but I'm thinking I'll be home after the September 18-19th weekend. No computer on this trip, but two cameras. The old movie camera, mounted on the handlebars, and the new still/motion picture camera I just bought to replace the one I dropped on my last trip. I have a blogger friend that knows quite a bit more about cameras and photography than I do. She's been giving me tips. You can check out her blog and see some of her work. Go to Molokai Girl and check it out.

Take care and be well, all of you. Feel free to wander around Round Circle. I'll miss you.

Peace

Monday Mystery Tour, September 6, 2010

Another installment of the Monday Mystery Tour. This story is from the Autumn of 2005 and a motorcycle trip down to Chattanooga, TN for the annual Trail of Tears Memorial motorcycle ride.

Wisconsin Highway 169 in Iron County

Trail of Tears 

It’s Monday and since earlier in the year I have been posting a story about a trip I’ve taken in hopes of leading the reader to this place through my words. Today I want to fill in the blanks around my latest motorcycle trip. After all, I was gone fifteen days and the Trail of Tears ride was only three days of it.

I left on the Thursday over a week before the scheduled ride in Chattanooga, TN. I loaded my motorcycle’s saddlebags for two weeks plus on the road. Mrs. Spadoman left as well in the trusty Ford Focus,(40 mpg), and we rendezvoused in Saint Paul, MN, 200 miles from home at the youngest daughter’s place.

Daughter Jayne gets a visit every so often from Mom and Dad and this was a good time to get together with her since the friend I was going to ride with down to Chattanooga lives in Saint Paul and I had to go there to start my journey. Besides, I needed to do a little shopping anyway for some items I wanted for my trip. Minneapolis and Saint Paul, the Twin Cities offered more choices than the small townish Ashland, Wisconsin where I live.

Thursday night had Barb, Jayne and I out to dinner and a good visit. Friday had me shopping around the Cities and hanging out at the old J&S Coffee Shop and visiting with old friends. Friday evening, we gathered with my traveling companion and made final preparation for the actual motorcycle trip.

We were to leave on Monday, a full 6 days before we needed to be there. We would take scenic routes for the most part and stay off the super slab Interstate highways. Since Steve runs a business, we would delay leaving until he got some work done he had to do before he left his business in the capable hands of employees for the next two weeks.

But that Saturday and Sunday before we left, I went to Hastings, MN and attended the 8th Annual Veterans Honoring Pow Wow which is held at the Minnesota Veterans Home. I have attended almost all eight years. The weather this year was a little damp and cool. People come to this event in small numbers. It has not turned in to a gala affair. But it has all the parts and pieces that make it a real Pow Wow. Drum groups with singers, dancers in regalia, raffles, laughter, tears and fry bread.

At this particular Pow Wow, the flags of deceased Veterans are brought in and run up the eight flagpoles that are placed around the arena. The name of the Veteran is read aloud as their coffin flag is raised and flown for the day. Fellow Veterans in attendance are in charge of raising the flags for the families that brought them. I had the honor of attending one of the flagpoles and helped a brother raise a flag of a Marine who died in Vietnam. There were flags this year from Gulf War Veterans, WW2, Korea and Vietnam.

The Pow Wow starts with a Grand Entry. Eagle Staffs are carried into the arena and followed by the American and other flags, then the outfitted dancers, all the while the great drum beating and men singing words and vocables in Dakota language. I am moved every time I take a place in this celebration. This year, I was asked to carry in an Eagle staff representing a children's group from the Prairie island Dakota people. It was my first such honor. I felt very proud to be considered trustworthy to do such a chore by the family that cares for the staff when it is not in use. I held my head up proudly and with great honor.

Raising the flag of a deceased Veteran at the Hastings, Minnesota Pow Wow, Sept. 2005

The weekend went by, mostly spending time at the Pow Wow. Then Monday morning, I packed the finishing touches on my already loaded motorcycle and waited for my friend to be ready to leave. We headed down the road at around 11:00AM. It was 52 degrees and a light mist followed us for most of the day as we rode South from Saint Paul into Iowa. Actual hard rain here and there and some blue sky between the heavy clouds also appearing in places.

We stopped for gas around every 150 miles or so. Steve would pay to fill up both bikes one time, then I’d take a turn. We rode down to the bottom of Iowa and into the town of Keokuk and got a motel for the night. We dried out anything we had that was wet and lounged around after we ate dinner.

Tuesday morning sent us South for more scenic beauty along the Mississippi River and into Hannibal, MO. We found a coffee shop and stopped in. My Grandfather on my Mother’s side settled in Hannibal when he came here from Italy at the turn of the twentieth century. I engaged a local in conversation. I was advised to come back to Hannibal at some point and search the county records for information about my ancestors there.

We kept up our pace in hopes of driving out of the blustery misting and rain and cooler than normal temps by heading straight South. We skirted St. Louis and continued down on US Highway 61. As we stopped for gas and breaks, my partners motorcycle seemed to be laboring to get started again. We stopped in Cape Girardeau, MO at a Harley Davidson dealer. It was late in the afternoon.

The dealer checked things out and the prognosis was a bad starter. They did not have one in stock but they worked diligently and found us a shop that had one and would install it the next morning if we were there when they opened. It was around 250 miles away in Jackson Tennessee. It was already getting on towards evening and we didn’t plan on traveling that way, but our choices were made for us in the face of the bad starter situation.

We had planned on going to the River and crossing at a ferry crossing at Dorena, MO. I had heard about the Dorena/Hickman ferry from other rider friends of mine who had taken it earlier this Summer. It was out of the question now. We didn’t want the bike to be trying to start and failing as we got off the ferry boat in Hickman, Kentucky. We went straight to Jackson and arrived a little after dark on Tuesday night.

The next morning was great. I called an old friend I knew in Memphis. I have been e-mailing and talking on the phone to this person over the past few years. I served with him in Vietnam in 1969. His name is Larry and I haven’t seen him in 37 years. I called him and he decided to drive the 90 miles from Memphis to Jackson and get together for breakfast as we waited to get my friend’s motorcycle repaired.

It worked out fine. I got to see an old friend. My partner got his bike repaired and we were back on the road by noon on Wednesday. I told Steve in the motel that a friend was going to meet us for breakfast. Steve asked me how I knew this guy. I told him it was a guy I served in Vietnam with. Steve then asked when was the last time I saw him. When I told him I hadn’t seen him in 37 years his jaw dropped out of site. He seemed more nervous than I was.

The visit was short and sweet. We talked about the people we both knew and any contact that we have had with them. We skirted talk about the war tragedies themselves. We did put our two-cents worth about the current political situation. And although he tends to lean right I and tend to lean left, we came away agreeing that we gotta get rid of the incumbents. It was good visit. It gave me peace in my mind all through the day riding through the hills of Tennessee towards Chattanooga on two-lane highways.

We stopped at a small grocerette along the highway for a cold drink. The sun had been shining and the weather was warming up nicely. The old store was still there with the signage, but when we went inside there was an elderly couple standing behind a counter and a sign that told us about Margo's Fried Pies

We both had one. They were great. Margo made the pie crust dough from scratch. She’d spread the filling, peach apple or chocolate, onto the dough, then put another piece over the top and seal the edges. She fired them in an old electric Sunbeam frying pan from the 1950’s. It came out like a quesadilla, flat kind of, and fried until cooked and tender but not crispy.

Margo and husband were old timers and enjoyed visiting with the people on the road that stopped in. They told us of their 100 acre farm where they live. Margo also put by jars of lime pickles. We bought one of these and stopped down the road at a small creek and made a pot of coffee and ate the whole jar. These were good too.

We pulled into Chattanooga around 5:00PM. We had a reservation at a campground at the base of Lookout Mountain. We rented one of those camper cabins. A small cabin with mattresses on bunk beds. We rolled out our sleeping bags and had a place for the three nights we would be in Chattanooga before we left on the big ride on Saturday.

By this time, a bad tooth had me in a lot of pain. I had been dealing with it the whole way so far and thought I could endure with Tylenol and Advil. After a sleepless night, I awoke and found directions to a VA clinic. I went in first thing in the morning and asked for dental care for my painful tooth. The VA is my HMO insurance as I am a disabled Veteran. They put me in a chair and said that since I had no appointment I’d have to wait until someone could see me.

I was there a total of four hours. I left with a numb mouth from novacaine, a hole in my tooth where the abscess had been drained, a bottle of antibiotics and a bottle of pain pills. I waited until I got back to the campsite and started taking the pills. I crashed and slept on and off for the next day and a half waiting for the pain to go away. It finally did by Friday afternoon and I got ready for the motorcycle ride for the Trail of Tears.

All our plans to ride the area and the Smoky Mountains were crushed as I had to recoup from the toothache. But I was out of pain and ready to ride Saturday morning. It was a great ride as I previously described in another post. Suffice it to say that I think I’ll try and do it again next September.

After the ride over Saturday, Sunday and Monday, I found myself in Tulsa, Oklahoma on Tuesday morning and sitting with my motorcycle at the service entrance to the Route 66 Harley Davidson dealer there. I had sheared off a bolt on my exhaust manifold and needed repairs to continue my ride towards home. They got my bike into the shop as they do often for travelers that are in need of repairs.

Steve had come with me the 40 miles from Okmulgee, the end of the Trail of Tears ride, to Tulsa. He waited around for me for a while. Another friend from the Twin Cities came up and they both left for Minnesota. I was at the Tulsa dealer until around 4:00PM when I finally got my fully repaired bike out of the shop.

My old 2004 Dyna Super Glide Sport in 2006

I headed down the road along I-44 towards Joplin, MO. I spent the night there and rode through some beautiful Missouri countryside along US 54 to Jefferson City, then North on US 63 towards Iowa, Minnesota and into Wisconsin going home. US 63 ends at Lake Superior at US Hwy 2, just a few miles from my house in Ashland.

I did spend the night in Ottumwa, Iowa. That’s the town Radar of MASH fame was from if you remember your trivia lessons well. The weather was cool again as I headed North. But the rain had held off for the time being. Thursday morning, I left early and pulled into Ashland around 4:00PM. I was chilled pretty good as I had been sitting in a 75 mile per hour wind since 7:15AM. That 75 MPH wind created by the speed of my trusty Dyna Glide. I did have another small problem on Wednesday. It was in the afternoon. I had to use a restroom drastically. I pulled into a McDonald’s parking lot and parked the bike. That’s one thing the Mac and Don’s is good for, a bathroom. When I got out and back to my bike, I had a very low, almost completely flat tire on the rear.

I didn’t get excited and through a short series of a visit to a NAPA auto parts store and some information from a clerk there, and a couple of phone calls, a local cycle repair guy named Bunch had me back on the road in an hour and a half and only charged me $25.00. I gave Mr. Bunch $40.00 and thanked him. I headed out back towards the North and home.

Life on the road with your motorcycle. What a concept. You experience the land you travel through. The total environment. There is no such thing as ‘bad’ weather unless it’s extreme like a tornado or something of that magnitude. Cold and rain put you in one frame of mind and warm and sunny in another, but I can’t find anything “bad” about either. Of course I was prepared with proper gear for the conditions and that helps with the phycological aspect of the affair.

All in all it was a wonderful journey. I had been looking forward to it for months. Now that it’s over and the weather is cooling off, riding season might be coming to a quick end up here in the Northland. It was a great way to end the motorcycle season, a ride like that was.

I have other plans now. Got to spend some time with the family. This winter I’ll head down to New Mexico with the Harley on the trailer and do some riding down there. For now, the machine sits covered in front of the West side Workshop here in Ashland, Wisconsin.

Epilogue:

This was written in Fall of 2005. Since then, much has changed. The Trail of Tears organizers have gone into a feud and now there are two rides with competing organizations. I don’t have any desire to return to do this ride. HERE and HERE are the links for the two rides. Both mention their differences. What do you think?

I sold my Harley Davidson Dyna Super Glide and bought a 2008 Triumph Tiger. A much superior motorcycle on all levels except the mystique.

Grandson DJ and I on the Triumph Tiger, 2009 photo

I’ll be leaving soon on a Fall journey. I’ll be headed to New Mexico. More on this in a couple of days.

In the meantime, may peace find your heart today and for the rest of your life.

Shadow Shot Sunday, September 5, 2010

Shadow Shot Sunday is the creation of Tracy at the Hey Harriet blog. To see morwe Shadow Shots, or to find out how to participate in this fun meme, visit Hey Harriet. Many post on Saturdays here in the USA as it is already Sunday in Australia, where Hey Harriet and many of its contributers are centered.

I like shadow shots with people in action. On the road later in the day in mid summer always casts a moving shadow, but seldom am I ever in a position to capture it as I’m usually busy doing the driving. Answer to that? Give the camera to the rider and let her have a go at it.

When I’m riding the motorcycle and the sun starts to crash down in the West, I often see the long stark shadow that gets created. As I ride, and the road twists and turns, the shadow moves back and forth, side to side, and if the terrain rises and falls, it stretches up and down. I do have a movie camera mount on my motorcycle, but to aim it at a moving shadow while riding is not in the best interest of the rider.

I like this one. A crisp clear image of the riders, and the blur of motion in the background all in one. This was taken while on the Crow Creek ride in the Summer of 2009. I knew I had it, so I searched all morning and finally found it. That in itself was a journey as I came across so many photos that were archived and not labeled that brought back memories and gave me topics for future stories.

Anyway, I broke my old camera, but I purchased a new one and I’ll be happy when I get a chance to read the seven thousand page instruction manual and get out and take some new pictures. ( I was exagerating about how many pages thew manual is, it's only a half inch, or 12.7 millimeters, thick) Thank goodness for archives. Now, if I can remember to label and date each shot.

Peace

Friday Haiku, September 3, 2010

Haiku My Heart Friday is a blessing from my friend Rebecca at recuerdo mi corazon. You can find more photos and Haiku there and find out how to participate.

First day of school year

No assignments behind yet

My God seventh grade! 

The Summer break is over. Grandkids are back in school. Anna is the oldest. School started this week, on the first. The time, as usual, has flown by and Anna is in seventh grade already. I thought writing Haiku about a life event is a good way to acknowledge it. Not just for Anna, but for the rest of the family, myself included. After all, "Time and motion wait for no man." (A quote by Reggie Perrin).

The clock never stops ticking, ever, no matter what I do or anyone else does. But I do savor the memories and they can last a lifetime. They can be remembered and smiled about. I hope I'm around when Anna and I look at this post and photos and laugh about her memories of seventh grade. In the event I'm not, I have made note of it here, on these pages, and on a hard drive. Someone will have it forever.

Anna is older than her brother and sisters and starts an hour earlier.

Anna and I both wish you Peace.

Monday Mystery Tour, August 30, 2010

Before I post this story, I want to say a few words about the title of this post. Years ago, when I first started blogging, I wrote about travel adventures, jobs and general life as I lived it. I called these installments the Magical Mystery Tour. This title is directly from the Beatles album of the same name. When my children were very young, Mrs. Spadoman would take them on what she called a Magical Mystery Tour, which usually included towing the three girls through a grocery store and stopping at every free sample cart in existence. In more recent times, I have had the extreme honor of posting comments on and receiving comments from a Blogger that goes by the name of Magical Mystery Teacher. MMT writes Haiku and posts fabulous photos for Shadow Shot Sunday, Ruby Tuesday, Haiku Friday and others. I just want to go on record and tell you to visit the Magical Mystery Teacher Blog, because it is a good one, and that I used this post title years ago and have rejuvenated it on Mondays at Round Circle.

This is a true story. I looked for it in my external hard drive after I read a blog post by rochambeau on her blog today. Her story was about a new bicycle. She ended the post with these words, "Now, please tell me your bike story!"

I urge you to check out both of the blogs I mention here, Magical Mystery Teacher and rochambeau. They can be found on my side bar or by clicking the highlighted links above.

Here it is Constance, my bike story:

So, I’m at home. We were in an apartment back then. Wasn’t all that long ago, what, 1998. I was going to move up to Two Harbors, MN and live in this cabin we bought, but Barb got offered a great job at Macalester College in Saint Paul, so we stayed there and bought a house. I was still on the movie crews. Barb took the new job and was going for a little stability.

My daughter was pregnant with her first child, our first Grandchild. The then boyfriend, now husband, soon to be ex-husband was confused and didn’t seem to want to be a Father again. He had two daughters from wife number one and it was a nightmare when they split up. He took to flight and Barb and I took care of our daughter.

We bought her a mobile home in a rural community out near where we were living at the time. Her man came back into her life. Down deep he showed he cared and did the right thing. They lived in the mobile home and she had Arianna, my first Granddaughter.

During a pretty hard winter, the mobile home roof packed up with ice and collapsed. the furnace went out and the kids were just too poor to fix it. I didn’t have the money or credit to do anything about it either. Barb and I moved out of our own home, the one we had bought when Barb took the job at the college, and we moved in to an apartment a few blocks away. We let the kids move in to our place.

The apartment was situated along the Interstate, I-35, near downtown Saint Paul, MN. In the city, there is a huge wall, maybe 20 feet tall, to keep the noise from the roadway on the roadway and let the neighborhood be a bit quieter. Along this wall, which was right across the street from our apartment, there was a bike path. I liked being close to the bike path.

I walked it and rode it with my bike. If we went left, we went to the Mississippi River and connected with other trails, to the right, we were three blocks from the bus stop and connected to anywhere in the Twin Cities. It was a great urban area in a great big small town. If you had to be in a city, Saint Paul was a good one to be.

One day, it was getting close to dinner. It was summer. I was making some fillings and we were going to just have some tacos. I needed some fresh jalapenos. I jumped on my Schwinn as the grocery was about six blocks away.

The West Seventh neighborhood was unique in that it was blue collar and been very stable over the years. A melting pot of cultures as the years rolled by. The old inhabitants did not move away, the influx of a growing cities population brought new energy to the area. Not all of it good, but not all of it bad either. The neighborhood had some crime and gang activity, but no murders and not too many crack house raids. 

The grocery store was an anthropology lesson played out in real life. Blacks, Hmong and Whites shopped there. Blacks, Hmong and Whites worked there. Multi cultural from the ancient to the modern. If you paid attention when you went shopping there, you might learn something.

I went in and got four fresh jalapeno peppers and put the little plastic bag in my pocket. When I went outside, my bike was gone. I was in there five freaking minutes and some one had taken my bike. It was a blue 21 speed Schwinn Searcher aluminum frame cross breed bike. I paid a lot for it and it was gone.

Usually, if I am a victim, my response is this, “Maybe they needed it more than I did. It was meant to happen to me.” I’ll accept it, because there is little that one can do to change history. It happened. What can I do about it now. I was hungry. Those tacos were waiting and I had the peppers. But now I had to walk six blocks.

Walking was hard for me those days. It still is to some extent, but back then, I didn’t know I was just months away from another heart attack. I didn’t feel like walking home.  I went back into the store and told the manager that my bike had been stolen and asked if I could use the phone.

“To call the police?” she asked.

“No, to call my wife to pick me up and take me home.” I said

She offered to drive me home as she was leaving right then anyway. I accepted the ride and got home and told Barb what had happened. As we were chopping the japalenos, (not a spelling error, that’s what we call ‘em), and filling our taco shells with all the fragrant spiced chicken, cheese, tomato, lettuce, onion, sour cream, olives and peppers, (man that sounds good), we looked outside and lo and behold. My bike goes whizzing by on the bike trail with a youthful rider mounted and pedaling.

I raced out the door, jumped in to the Oldsmobile and took off. The Oldsmobile was a great automobile. 1984 Custom Cruiser station wagon, the big full-size wagon, not the little Cutlass. I has always done what I have asked of it. Now, it was squealing around the corner and out onto Harrison Avenue and after that blue Schwinn being ridden by the thief.

The street ran alongside the bike trail. At the end of the block, the street took a hard left and headed away from the interstate and that big sound barrier wall. The bike trail continued straight along the wall to the south.

I had the pedal down to the floor. The Olds was making revs. The kid was pedaling regular until I yelled, “Hey, that’s my bike.”

He started to pedal faster, I was still some ways behind him and I was running out of street fast. I pulled the wheel a little down on the right and jumped the curb, the bike was close. I went between a tree and a fire hydrant. The Olds hopped the curb with delight. The chase was on.

I reached back and grabbed a golf club. yes, the driver. I had been golfing earlier and they were still back there, on the seat. A stroke of luck to be lazy and not put my toys away when I’m through with them.

Grabbing the shaft like a spear, I pulled along side the bike and thrust the club. It made the spokes of the front wheel and the rider went head over into the embankment alongside the trail. The bike went down. I put on the brakes before I ran out of real estate as the trail narrowed to go into a wooded portion.

The kid got up and ran like hell. I got out, picked up my three wood and my bike and put them into the car. I backed out of the corridor and went home. Barb saw me coming home. I hoped she hadn’t eaten all the tacos! I looked at the bike and saw that I would need a new front wheel. A small price to pay to get my bike back.

Later, I was in the back of the apartment building. Across the alley and a house down, some boys were shooting hoops by the garage. I looked over there and I saw a familiar face. It was the bike thief. I hadn’t lived in the apartment very long and the nature of apartment living in the city is that the home owners don’t come over with the welcome wagon. I didn’t know this kid, but only recognized him from the episode on the bike trail.

He went around the garage and out of site when he saw me. I waited around and when he peeked out to see if I was gone, I looked at him and gave him a look as if to say, “I know who you are.” as I pointed my finger at him and cocked it up and down a little.

I’m sure he had a watchful eye on me from then on. I hope he told his friends, “That’s a crazy sonnabitch over there, stay away from him.”

After a time, we left the apartment and went back to the house. Years later, I am in Ashland, Wisconsin. I still had my bike, but one morning, I went out and it was gone. I guess I figured that someone needed it more than I did.

Epilogue:

I guess it would be easy for you to have an opinion about me chasing down this kid on my stolen bike, you, my friend and casual reader, would say, “This Spado guy is an asshole”

Just know that I have other emotions as well. This week, we will lay to rest a dear friend that passed. My adrenaline will flow in a different direction.

I accept the assessment. Guilty as charged. But it is what happened. I cannot turn back the clock and I won’t deny my past. Thank you for accepting me as I am. 

Peace