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rocketman
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Another RocketMan Madcap Adventure
Lost in Appalachia
So, youÔÇÖre probably wondering whoÔÇÖs Mister Toad and whatÔÇÖs he got to with motorcycling, right? (or perhaps not, in which case go on about your business and forgot you saw this post!) If on the other hand you are (at least mildly) curious then read on.
Way back, almost at the beginning of time, in the summer of 1958 when I was a wee lad of 7, while on home leave from on overseas assignment where my family was stationed, my parents took me and my sister on a 2 and half month madcap tour of the US in our 1957 Buick Special. Seeing as how neither of us (my sister and me) had ever been in the US up till then, they figured it was high time we saw something of our home country, and boy, did we ever! We traveled through some 40 plus states, stopping at every attraction, park, National Forest and landmark you can name. I remember that summer vividly, watching the country side fly by through that huge ÔÇ£picture windowÔÇØ from the back of that huge car, made all the bigger by my then diminutive size and the passage of the years since those memories were formed; and arenÔÇÖt those, after all, the best kind?
One of the places we visited was the original Disneyland in California and of all the rides the one that left the biggest impression on me and was by far my favorite, was called, you guessed it, ÔÇ£Mr. Toads Wild RideÔÇØ. (see the link to an article about it at the end of this report) It was based a Disney adaptation of the story ÔÇ£Wind in The WillowsÔÇØ which by then had already become one of my favorites.
The ride was on of those where you travel thru various passageways in a small 2 seater cab while things jump out at you from the sides or swing down from above. Where at times it looks like you are going to crash into the rapidly approaching wall, or train, only to turn swiftly and rather abruptly away at the last moment in a sharp 90 direction getting thrown about in the small open compartment. It was just my Dad and me on the ride, Mom and Sis had not the slightest interest in such things (being girls and all!) and did care for rides with loud noises and the like. My Dad and I, however had a blast, I think I rode it several more times by myself, Whee! (Wimpy! Wimpy! Wimpy! was heard for several days after from my side of car as we traveled while my sis held her hands to her ear pretending not to hear me!)
So thatÔÇÖs the scoop on the title but how does that relate to riding you ask (again!) ?
Well, for me, riding the back roads of the mid-Atlantic mountains around Virginia, West Virginia and the like, with all the twists and turns; hills, mountain passes and almost never ending winding roads where each corners offers up yet another surprise or challenge to overcome, avoid or navigate around or thru, riding those roads are much like my memories of that ride in Disneyland. You never know what is around each bend, only here, everything is for Real, the barriers to your forward motion are Real and Can Hurt if you donÔÇÖt avoid them and also unlike the ride, You are in control not riding some predetermined circuit that will always guide you safely through. Deer are Not predictable, rock slides, gravel just out of sight around the bend, washouts from heavy rains, hidden drives, V_e_r_y S_l_o_w moving farm vehicles just out of sight over the next hill; ground critters that are big enough to do strange things to your traction if you run them over and stupid enough to just stop dead in their tracks right in your path as if daring you to find out just how slippery innards really are. These are all Exceedingly Real possibilities that can reach out and do things to you if you are not prepared; but then thatÔÇÖs the whole point of getting lost out in them-there parts, isnÔÇÖtÔÇÖ it? It keeps you on your toes, it wears you out, it adds to the thrill and makes it all the more rewarding. 300 miles of that sort of riding is pretty much my limit these days; anything more than that I tend to start losing my edge. Even with minimal stops for pics or a quick slurp it usually ends up being around 9-10 hours of constant motion in a given day, where a straight section of more than a quarter mile is rare and having a clear view of the road ahead of much more than a few hundred feet (if youÔÇÖre lucky) not often encountered, even when the view of the land may be greater or flatter, the road is still mostly tucked away in some fold of hillside, behind a line of trees or other obstacle so one is rarely treated to chance to relax. Roads (as if intentionally) designed to test the limits of the machine and the skill of the rider.
Adventures full of surprises, Just Like Mr. Toads Wild Ride!
OK so I didnÔÇÖt mean to go on quite that long in setting the scene but Hey! no ones forcing you to read this.
Now on the ride report, well sort oflets just call this the post-introductory introduction
Thursday afternoon after getting home from work, a poem started forming, and I spent the remainder of the afternoon and evening trying to capture it before it eluded me. Its been a while since one came along (a poem) so I grabbed it while I could before it got away. ThatÔÇÖs just how writing poems work with me, I donÔÇÖt ÔÇ£sit down to write oneÔÇØ they just happen along on their own and my role is simply to capture them and comment them to paper before they make their escape back into the ÔÇ£EtherÔÇØ. Other types of writing are a conscious effort on my part, I can will them forth (well mostly) with some effort, but not poetry, in that IÔÇÖm just the collector of words already strung together.
So after writing the included poem below, I figured that with the upcoming Friday being my normal 3 day weekend, the weather being Perfect for riding, lows in the 50ÔÇÖs highs in the mid 70ÔÇÖs sunny with scattered bits of mild overcast, how could I Not take advantage of this opportunity to go find those same lost places where the poem lived until it tapped me on the shoulder that afternoon? And what better kind of ride for a airhead weekend than something totally unplanned, or vaguely, at best. So picking a destination (knowing I might or might Not make there), which really just served as guide to outbound direction of travel and Friday morning I packed a few items and headed West by South into the wilds of the Appalachian and Blue Ridge mountains on my trusty 78 R100 with just a tad over 1400 miles on the rebuilt motor. An adventure awaiting and an Adventure it became, with the roads and the machine adding a few twists to keep me my on toes. An Adventure make all the more so by the age and total miles on the machine that provided my means of conveyance. An old Machine, a (somewhat) Aging Rider and Ancient mountains, yup thereÔÇÖs Adventure with a Capital A.
And, as always, when it is finally time to turn toward home and tumble back down out of the mountains or climb out of some lost valley and head eastwards, when I turn on my GPS and tell it ÔÇ£Take Me HomeÔÇØ; as always, it will just look back at me with its pixilated face and whisper quietly ÔÇ£You Already Are!ÔÇØ
End of part one.
Pictures coming in part two ÔÇ£The Road Not to Take to Lewisburg, Wv. via Sugar Grove, Wv. on a Road Bike!ÔÇØ
Or
"Pothole, One, Bike Zero!" Ha Ha!
Here is the link to a Wiki page about Mr. ToadÔÇÖs Wild Ride. The fact it is still going and one of the few that remain from the original opening day in 1955 (due to popular demand) just plain tickles me! So even then at the tender age of seven, it seems, I recognized quality! Ha Ha!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mr._Toad's_Wild_Ride
And finally
The Poem that floated past that Thursday afternoon, communicated now, thru me to you
Wind Rider
Prolog
Hallowed,
Leading streams
Bending valleys
Exposed rock
Surface warm waters
Running cool below
Liquefied Enticement
AristotleÔÇÖs four elements
Creating the
Road less traveled
Hidden in back pages
I am the Wind
Mover of mountains
And selective sand grains
Cloud blower
Shape shifter
Sand blaster
Hill-carver
and rippler
Thru open
Crevasses deep
dark
and Dungeonous
Moving between the blue-green
Searching out the solitary rider
Merging in motion
with a machine of the wind
That knows me
I Am the soul of the Rider
I hold the power
We understand the machine
We know the rider
I am the Rider
The chaser of currents
The Drifter within
I know the wind
I understand the currents
surrounding,
The urge born
The need known
The want fulfilled
I carve the valleys now
I hold the secret
Motion-sensed images
that fade
and blend
Shadow-stripes pulses
Playing the road
we travel
I am the soul of the wind
From Me comes the power
Finale
Together
We are the Wind
and the Rider
The Wind
The Rider and
The Road
Finally merge
?® 2010 Jeffry LÔÇÖH. Tank
Authors Note: Yes, Yes! I know! AristotleÔÇÖs four elements were actually Air, Earth, Wind and Fire, not Water but fire didnÔÇÖt fit as well cause Fire Riding just ainÔÇÖt my bag, so deal with it already! HeÔÇÖs dead anyway and if it really bothers him, he can deal with me later in the next world.
Mr. Toads Wild Ride
Lost in Appalachia
So, youÔÇÖre probably wondering whoÔÇÖs Mister Toad and whatÔÇÖs he got to with motorcycling, right? (or perhaps not, in which case go on about your business and forgot you saw this post!) If on the other hand you are (at least mildly) curious then read on.
Way back, almost at the beginning of time, in the summer of 1958 when I was a wee lad of 7, while on home leave from on overseas assignment where my family was stationed, my parents took me and my sister on a 2 and half month madcap tour of the US in our 1957 Buick Special. Seeing as how neither of us (my sister and me) had ever been in the US up till then, they figured it was high time we saw something of our home country, and boy, did we ever! We traveled through some 40 plus states, stopping at every attraction, park, National Forest and landmark you can name. I remember that summer vividly, watching the country side fly by through that huge ÔÇ£picture windowÔÇØ from the back of that huge car, made all the bigger by my then diminutive size and the passage of the years since those memories were formed; and arenÔÇÖt those, after all, the best kind?
One of the places we visited was the original Disneyland in California and of all the rides the one that left the biggest impression on me and was by far my favorite, was called, you guessed it, ÔÇ£Mr. Toads Wild RideÔÇØ. (see the link to an article about it at the end of this report) It was based a Disney adaptation of the story ÔÇ£Wind in The WillowsÔÇØ which by then had already become one of my favorites.
The ride was on of those where you travel thru various passageways in a small 2 seater cab while things jump out at you from the sides or swing down from above. Where at times it looks like you are going to crash into the rapidly approaching wall, or train, only to turn swiftly and rather abruptly away at the last moment in a sharp 90 direction getting thrown about in the small open compartment. It was just my Dad and me on the ride, Mom and Sis had not the slightest interest in such things (being girls and all!) and did care for rides with loud noises and the like. My Dad and I, however had a blast, I think I rode it several more times by myself, Whee! (Wimpy! Wimpy! Wimpy! was heard for several days after from my side of car as we traveled while my sis held her hands to her ear pretending not to hear me!)
So thatÔÇÖs the scoop on the title but how does that relate to riding you ask (again!) ?
Well, for me, riding the back roads of the mid-Atlantic mountains around Virginia, West Virginia and the like, with all the twists and turns; hills, mountain passes and almost never ending winding roads where each corners offers up yet another surprise or challenge to overcome, avoid or navigate around or thru, riding those roads are much like my memories of that ride in Disneyland. You never know what is around each bend, only here, everything is for Real, the barriers to your forward motion are Real and Can Hurt if you donÔÇÖt avoid them and also unlike the ride, You are in control not riding some predetermined circuit that will always guide you safely through. Deer are Not predictable, rock slides, gravel just out of sight around the bend, washouts from heavy rains, hidden drives, V_e_r_y S_l_o_w moving farm vehicles just out of sight over the next hill; ground critters that are big enough to do strange things to your traction if you run them over and stupid enough to just stop dead in their tracks right in your path as if daring you to find out just how slippery innards really are. These are all Exceedingly Real possibilities that can reach out and do things to you if you are not prepared; but then thatÔÇÖs the whole point of getting lost out in them-there parts, isnÔÇÖtÔÇÖ it? It keeps you on your toes, it wears you out, it adds to the thrill and makes it all the more rewarding. 300 miles of that sort of riding is pretty much my limit these days; anything more than that I tend to start losing my edge. Even with minimal stops for pics or a quick slurp it usually ends up being around 9-10 hours of constant motion in a given day, where a straight section of more than a quarter mile is rare and having a clear view of the road ahead of much more than a few hundred feet (if youÔÇÖre lucky) not often encountered, even when the view of the land may be greater or flatter, the road is still mostly tucked away in some fold of hillside, behind a line of trees or other obstacle so one is rarely treated to chance to relax. Roads (as if intentionally) designed to test the limits of the machine and the skill of the rider.
Adventures full of surprises, Just Like Mr. Toads Wild Ride!
OK so I didnÔÇÖt mean to go on quite that long in setting the scene but Hey! no ones forcing you to read this.
Now on the ride report, well sort oflets just call this the post-introductory introduction
Thursday afternoon after getting home from work, a poem started forming, and I spent the remainder of the afternoon and evening trying to capture it before it eluded me. Its been a while since one came along (a poem) so I grabbed it while I could before it got away. ThatÔÇÖs just how writing poems work with me, I donÔÇÖt ÔÇ£sit down to write oneÔÇØ they just happen along on their own and my role is simply to capture them and comment them to paper before they make their escape back into the ÔÇ£EtherÔÇØ. Other types of writing are a conscious effort on my part, I can will them forth (well mostly) with some effort, but not poetry, in that IÔÇÖm just the collector of words already strung together.
So after writing the included poem below, I figured that with the upcoming Friday being my normal 3 day weekend, the weather being Perfect for riding, lows in the 50ÔÇÖs highs in the mid 70ÔÇÖs sunny with scattered bits of mild overcast, how could I Not take advantage of this opportunity to go find those same lost places where the poem lived until it tapped me on the shoulder that afternoon? And what better kind of ride for a airhead weekend than something totally unplanned, or vaguely, at best. So picking a destination (knowing I might or might Not make there), which really just served as guide to outbound direction of travel and Friday morning I packed a few items and headed West by South into the wilds of the Appalachian and Blue Ridge mountains on my trusty 78 R100 with just a tad over 1400 miles on the rebuilt motor. An adventure awaiting and an Adventure it became, with the roads and the machine adding a few twists to keep me my on toes. An Adventure make all the more so by the age and total miles on the machine that provided my means of conveyance. An old Machine, a (somewhat) Aging Rider and Ancient mountains, yup thereÔÇÖs Adventure with a Capital A.
And, as always, when it is finally time to turn toward home and tumble back down out of the mountains or climb out of some lost valley and head eastwards, when I turn on my GPS and tell it ÔÇ£Take Me HomeÔÇØ; as always, it will just look back at me with its pixilated face and whisper quietly ÔÇ£You Already Are!ÔÇØ
End of part one.
Pictures coming in part two ÔÇ£The Road Not to Take to Lewisburg, Wv. via Sugar Grove, Wv. on a Road Bike!ÔÇØ
Or
"Pothole, One, Bike Zero!" Ha Ha!
Here is the link to a Wiki page about Mr. ToadÔÇÖs Wild Ride. The fact it is still going and one of the few that remain from the original opening day in 1955 (due to popular demand) just plain tickles me! So even then at the tender age of seven, it seems, I recognized quality! Ha Ha!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mr._Toad's_Wild_Ride
And finally
The Poem that floated past that Thursday afternoon, communicated now, thru me to you
Wind Rider
Prolog
Hallowed,
Serene,
Curvatures of greenLeading streams
Bending valleys
Exposed rock
and brown earth
Surface warm waters
Running cool below
Liquefied Enticement
AristotleÔÇÖs four elements
Creating the
Road less traveled
Hidden in back pages
Of Maps rarely viewed
I am the Wind
Mover of mountains
And selective sand grains
Cloud blower
Shape shifter
Sand blaster
Hill-carver
and rippler
Thru open
Crevasses deep
dark
and Dungeonous
Moving between the blue-green
Searching out the solitary rider
Merging in motion
with a machine of the wind
That knows me
I Am the soul of the Rider
I hold the power
We understand the machine
We know the rider
I am the Rider
The chaser of currents
The Drifter within
I know the wind
I understand the currents
surrounding,
In simplicity
The urge born
The need known
The want fulfilled
I carve the valleys now
I hold the secret
Motion-sensed images
that fade
and blend
and hide within
Shadow-stripes pulses
Playing the road
we travel
I am the soul of the wind
From Me comes the power
Finale
Together
We are the Wind
and the Rider
Held in Harmony
As oneIn knowing
WhereThe Wind
The Rider and
The Road
Finally merge
?® 2010 Jeffry LÔÇÖH. Tank
Authors Note: Yes, Yes! I know! AristotleÔÇÖs four elements were actually Air, Earth, Wind and Fire, not Water but fire didnÔÇÖt fit as well cause Fire Riding just ainÔÇÖt my bag, so deal with it already! HeÔÇÖs dead anyway and if it really bothers him, he can deal with me later in the next world.
Mr. Toads Wild Ride
