It's always fun to add to my list of people who know I'm crazy.
We left out for Pigeon Forge around 7 am, and stopped in Montgomery at the Waffle House for breakfast. After we ate, we got back on the road, and as we stopped at a light, I started cutting up at my daughter, who's riding behind my husband on his bike. They're to my right - I'm waving my arms, 'dancing', making faces, pretending to talk on a cell phone (my hand), just generally acting crazy. I hear laughter to my left- I didn't realize we had company. The guys in the pickup truck in the next lane were enjoying my little show... they asked where we were headed, and we told them Pigeon Forge. They wished us a safe trip, and we were on our way!
Friday, May 29, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
The Perception of 'Bad'...
It always amazes me to watch someone make a snap judgment about a person, simply by the way they look: if a person is overweight, they're lazy; if they wear glasses, they're smart; and if they're bikers, they're obviously in a gang that's just robbed the church.
For some reason, black leather, doo rags, tattoos and biker boots means bad news, to adults, at least... a little kid usually has a totally different take on things. For example, while on our way home from Pigeon Forge, we stopped for a rest break. As we were walking towards the bathrooms, a little blonde cutie-pie came out holding her grandmother's hand. She took one look at my husband (big ol' teddy bear of a guy: full beard and mustache, dark glasses, gloves and boots, a smile as wide as the horizon and of course, a doo rag) and said "look, Grandma, a pirate!" with a big smile. Then she spotted me and said, "oh, another pirate!" She then made fast friends with my husband and talked to him for several minutes. We almost always get smiles and waves from kids.
We've had a few negative responses as well, usually from adults. They either don't like how we look, or that we're riding motorcycles. They look like they smell something bad...
But those folks are in the minority - most folks are about as friendly as they can be - I smile and they smile back. One little old lady at a bank patted my arm just like my grandma would have, and said, 'honey you just have air conditioning all the time, don't you? you be safe out there!" and then walked on with a smile.I always try to smile and be friendly towards other folks, to reach out to them and show them it's OK to smile at me and say hello.
I think the folks who judge me and mine harshly are those whose deepest heart's desire was once to ride, but something kept them from it - either fear, whether of judgment or of an accident; or someone with authority over them refused to let them ride.
So, I guess I should pity those who look down on us - they either want to be where we are, but don't have the strength to do it, or they think we're less than them because of who and what we are. Maybe we look like we're having too good a time to care whether our hair is combed, or that I'm not wearing makeup; maybe they can see on our faces that we're doing something enjoyable and don't care what others think; or maybe they just never learned to be happy. Either way, I'm sorry for them...
In the end, my newest patch says it all: Judge me all you want, just keep your verdict to yourself.
For some reason, black leather, doo rags, tattoos and biker boots means bad news, to adults, at least... a little kid usually has a totally different take on things. For example, while on our way home from Pigeon Forge, we stopped for a rest break. As we were walking towards the bathrooms, a little blonde cutie-pie came out holding her grandmother's hand. She took one look at my husband (big ol' teddy bear of a guy: full beard and mustache, dark glasses, gloves and boots, a smile as wide as the horizon and of course, a doo rag) and said "look, Grandma, a pirate!" with a big smile. Then she spotted me and said, "oh, another pirate!" She then made fast friends with my husband and talked to him for several minutes. We almost always get smiles and waves from kids.
We've had a few negative responses as well, usually from adults. They either don't like how we look, or that we're riding motorcycles. They look like they smell something bad...
But those folks are in the minority - most folks are about as friendly as they can be - I smile and they smile back. One little old lady at a bank patted my arm just like my grandma would have, and said, 'honey you just have air conditioning all the time, don't you? you be safe out there!" and then walked on with a smile.I always try to smile and be friendly towards other folks, to reach out to them and show them it's OK to smile at me and say hello.
I think the folks who judge me and mine harshly are those whose deepest heart's desire was once to ride, but something kept them from it - either fear, whether of judgment or of an accident; or someone with authority over them refused to let them ride.
So, I guess I should pity those who look down on us - they either want to be where we are, but don't have the strength to do it, or they think we're less than them because of who and what we are. Maybe we look like we're having too good a time to care whether our hair is combed, or that I'm not wearing makeup; maybe they can see on our faces that we're doing something enjoyable and don't care what others think; or maybe they just never learned to be happy. Either way, I'm sorry for them...
In the end, my newest patch says it all: Judge me all you want, just keep your verdict to yourself.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
What Will You be Doing on Memorial Day?
Our county has truly served her country well- we have many veterans living among us, from World War II, Korea, Viet Nam and all the way to current-day conflicts.
I read a statistic that our country, on average, is losing over one thousand World War II veterans every day, and that’s not counting vets from other wars. What are we doing to insure that the history within those men and women doesn’t die with them? And more importantly, what are we doing to make sure all veterans know we hold them in honor and respect?
Whether we agree with the wars they fought in or not, we owe these men and women a debt of gratitude we can never repay.
I’d like to challenge you to do two things. First, if you know of someone who is a veteran, spend time with them. Get to know them- at some point, they may want to share their experiences with you. Whether they do or not, make sure you tell them how much you appreciate the sacrifices they made for you and your family.
Second, remember that we have many veterans who are buried in cemeteries in our area- and many of those cemeteries depend on the family members for maintenance. I’ve seen some graves that have gone untended, either because the family has moved away or died, or because family members are no longer able to keep them clean. If each one of us adopted a grave and made an effort to keep it cleaned up, what a difference it would make! The simple act of placing a small flag on the grave would be another way to show honor to those who made the ultimate sacrifice.
Someone once said we live in the land of the free, because of the brave. Please remember to thank those brave men and women who answered the call of their country.
I read a statistic that our country, on average, is losing over one thousand World War II veterans every day, and that’s not counting vets from other wars. What are we doing to insure that the history within those men and women doesn’t die with them? And more importantly, what are we doing to make sure all veterans know we hold them in honor and respect?
Whether we agree with the wars they fought in or not, we owe these men and women a debt of gratitude we can never repay.
I’d like to challenge you to do two things. First, if you know of someone who is a veteran, spend time with them. Get to know them- at some point, they may want to share their experiences with you. Whether they do or not, make sure you tell them how much you appreciate the sacrifices they made for you and your family.
Second, remember that we have many veterans who are buried in cemeteries in our area- and many of those cemeteries depend on the family members for maintenance. I’ve seen some graves that have gone untended, either because the family has moved away or died, or because family members are no longer able to keep them clean. If each one of us adopted a grave and made an effort to keep it cleaned up, what a difference it would make! The simple act of placing a small flag on the grave would be another way to show honor to those who made the ultimate sacrifice.
Someone once said we live in the land of the free, because of the brave. Please remember to thank those brave men and women who answered the call of their country.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Kids, Trains and Motorcycles
My friend Chessie has a great post on train clubs, trains and motorcycles; it reminds me of how much I love trains (and of course motorcycles) as well.
How many of you remember hearing the train whistle when the train came through town? We always wanted to be in a spot to see it when it came by. It was even better when it crossed the street to the school- you had an automatic excuse for being late!
My dad and brothers had a train set when we were young; as much as I enjoyed watching them play with it, I never got to run it as much as I'd like-after all, I was a girl!
One of my favorite places to visit is Chattanooga - besides Rock City and Ruby Falls, they've got a great train museum downtown, complete with a miniature version of Chattanooga and the trains that run through her. You can also have lunch in a train car, or buy gifts in the gift shop.
And that brings me back around to motorcycles- as much as I loved trains as a girl, I loved motorcycles more. My older cousins always had bikes, and if I begged my mom enough, I could ride behind them.
I love to see kids' faces when I'm riding my bike. They almost always want to wave and smile (unless they're afraid of the noise) and of course, I wave back. The parents aren't always so friendly, but the kids are! One little boy in a Wal-Mart parking lot just kept yelling "hey motorcycle!" as I rode past.
Last year, when several of us were on a ride together, we stopped at a small gas station for a break before heading home. There were about ten of us, all in one corner, standing by our bikes, drinking water. A very small boy, about 3 or so, and his Nana, came out of the store, and started walking across the parking lot towards their van. All the way across, he kept yelling "Wild Hogs, Nana, Wild Hogs!" I walked over to them and asked if he'd like to come see our bikes a little closer, and he did. He wouldn't get too close (guess there were too many of us) but he did seem to enjoy looking at them.
I wonder what it is about our chemical makeup that makes us so drawn to bikes and trains? Do you think that maybe, even at that young age, we recognize that those things are outside "normal" for most folks? Or is it the sense of wonder and adventure we all have as children - when we see things that are different, we're drawn to it.
As we become teenagers and adults, most of us fight to fit in- we want to be just like everyone else, so folks don't think we're weird.
But for those few of us who want to be different... ah, the freedom to be who we want to be, no matter what anyone else thinks. Ride on!
How many of you remember hearing the train whistle when the train came through town? We always wanted to be in a spot to see it when it came by. It was even better when it crossed the street to the school- you had an automatic excuse for being late!
My dad and brothers had a train set when we were young; as much as I enjoyed watching them play with it, I never got to run it as much as I'd like-after all, I was a girl!
One of my favorite places to visit is Chattanooga - besides Rock City and Ruby Falls, they've got a great train museum downtown, complete with a miniature version of Chattanooga and the trains that run through her. You can also have lunch in a train car, or buy gifts in the gift shop.
And that brings me back around to motorcycles- as much as I loved trains as a girl, I loved motorcycles more. My older cousins always had bikes, and if I begged my mom enough, I could ride behind them.
I love to see kids' faces when I'm riding my bike. They almost always want to wave and smile (unless they're afraid of the noise) and of course, I wave back. The parents aren't always so friendly, but the kids are! One little boy in a Wal-Mart parking lot just kept yelling "hey motorcycle!" as I rode past.
Last year, when several of us were on a ride together, we stopped at a small gas station for a break before heading home. There were about ten of us, all in one corner, standing by our bikes, drinking water. A very small boy, about 3 or so, and his Nana, came out of the store, and started walking across the parking lot towards their van. All the way across, he kept yelling "Wild Hogs, Nana, Wild Hogs!" I walked over to them and asked if he'd like to come see our bikes a little closer, and he did. He wouldn't get too close (guess there were too many of us) but he did seem to enjoy looking at them.
I wonder what it is about our chemical makeup that makes us so drawn to bikes and trains? Do you think that maybe, even at that young age, we recognize that those things are outside "normal" for most folks? Or is it the sense of wonder and adventure we all have as children - when we see things that are different, we're drawn to it.
As we become teenagers and adults, most of us fight to fit in- we want to be just like everyone else, so folks don't think we're weird.
But for those few of us who want to be different... ah, the freedom to be who we want to be, no matter what anyone else thinks. Ride on!
Saturday, May 9, 2009
About my Mom...
Someone twittered a request for memories of our moms; here are some of mine.
* When my youngest brother was about five, he did something to get in trouble, and Mama was going to spank him. He decided he could outrun her, so he started down the hall and into his room, which had slick wooden floors. He hit the floor and slid under his bed to get away - when he turned around, Mama was right there behind him. His eyes were big as saucers!
*The first time I was pregnant (1978), my mom found out before me- I had to go out of town for the day, so I took my little specimen cup to the doctor's office. I asked my mom to call for me to find out the results. Since she had to leave before I got home, and she wanted me to be the first to know, she cut a picture of a baby out of a magazine and put it in an envelope and left it for me.
*The day she held her first grandchild for the first time- my daughter Mary Beth - May 21, 1979. In September 2007, she held her first great-grandchild - Mary Beth's son Reid. My baby's baby...
*When I was pregnant with my youngest daughter, my husband and I didn't want to know whether she was a girl or boy but Mama did, so when we had the ultrasound done, the tech printed a picture and wrote "it's a girl!", sealed it in an envelope and we gave it to her. During all those months, she never let it slip to us what we were having. I know it had to be hard for her, but she did it!
I have a great Mom- she's made a lot of sacrifices for me and my brothers, and I think she and Daddy did a great job raising us - they taught us how to be honorable people. If we've failed in doing that it's through no fault of theirs.
* When my youngest brother was about five, he did something to get in trouble, and Mama was going to spank him. He decided he could outrun her, so he started down the hall and into his room, which had slick wooden floors. He hit the floor and slid under his bed to get away - when he turned around, Mama was right there behind him. His eyes were big as saucers!
*The first time I was pregnant (1978), my mom found out before me- I had to go out of town for the day, so I took my little specimen cup to the doctor's office. I asked my mom to call for me to find out the results. Since she had to leave before I got home, and she wanted me to be the first to know, she cut a picture of a baby out of a magazine and put it in an envelope and left it for me.
*The day she held her first grandchild for the first time- my daughter Mary Beth - May 21, 1979. In September 2007, she held her first great-grandchild - Mary Beth's son Reid. My baby's baby...
*When I was pregnant with my youngest daughter, my husband and I didn't want to know whether she was a girl or boy but Mama did, so when we had the ultrasound done, the tech printed a picture and wrote "it's a girl!", sealed it in an envelope and we gave it to her. During all those months, she never let it slip to us what we were having. I know it had to be hard for her, but she did it!
I have a great Mom- she's made a lot of sacrifices for me and my brothers, and I think she and Daddy did a great job raising us - they taught us how to be honorable people. If we've failed in doing that it's through no fault of theirs.
What a great day!
I got up with some riding buddies of mine and we headed out over to the Pioneer Museum in Troy, Alabama. They were having their second annual "Butter Churnin, Syrup Soppin' Saturday" today and I knew we'd have fun.
They were finishing up the butter churning when we got there so we sat and listened to some old-fashioned music and checked out the displays in the main building. We saw some awesome quilts including one which was older than the US- it's been certified to have been quilted the country was formed. The pattern is a "Princess Feather" if I understood the lady at the museum.
We finally made it back down to the cabins where the food was being served- delicious homemade biscuits (by ladies in bonnets and aprons!), hand-churned butter, Carson Anne syrup, and smoked sausage - mmm, delicious!
Afterwards, we visited the other cabins and stores, including a military memorabilia place.
When we finally got ready to come home, it was a beautiful ride- enough wind to stay cool and sun and clouds made a beautiful picture to watch coming home.
And then...when I got home, the excitement really started. You see, I'd forgotten to take my house keys with me.
I tried the back storm door- it was hooked. I knew the front door was locked, but I knew if I could get on my backporch I had a way in the house (secret key and all that). But I couldn't get the door open. I decided to try to yank the door open using a large pair of pliers; I got very enthusiastic about it, but never got the back door opened.
Of course, Cookie's in the house barking- he heard the bike drive up and couldn't figure out why I didn't come on in.
I finally pried the screen off a window and climbed in using a ladder - Cookie barking all the time. Of course he never did anything brave like run up and lick me in the face, but he did bark from under the table.
I finally got in, and laid on the sofa to cool off a bit; then I went back out to put the screen back on and get the rest of my gear inside.
Nice to know my house is fairly secure and that my dog will at least bark when someone tries to get in.
I'm headed out in a bit to get another key made.
They were finishing up the butter churning when we got there so we sat and listened to some old-fashioned music and checked out the displays in the main building. We saw some awesome quilts including one which was older than the US- it's been certified to have been quilted the country was formed. The pattern is a "Princess Feather" if I understood the lady at the museum.
We finally made it back down to the cabins where the food was being served- delicious homemade biscuits (by ladies in bonnets and aprons!), hand-churned butter, Carson Anne syrup, and smoked sausage - mmm, delicious!
Afterwards, we visited the other cabins and stores, including a military memorabilia place.
When we finally got ready to come home, it was a beautiful ride- enough wind to stay cool and sun and clouds made a beautiful picture to watch coming home.
And then...when I got home, the excitement really started. You see, I'd forgotten to take my house keys with me.
I tried the back storm door- it was hooked. I knew the front door was locked, but I knew if I could get on my backporch I had a way in the house (secret key and all that). But I couldn't get the door open. I decided to try to yank the door open using a large pair of pliers; I got very enthusiastic about it, but never got the back door opened.
Of course, Cookie's in the house barking- he heard the bike drive up and couldn't figure out why I didn't come on in.
I finally pried the screen off a window and climbed in using a ladder - Cookie barking all the time. Of course he never did anything brave like run up and lick me in the face, but he did bark from under the table.
I finally got in, and laid on the sofa to cool off a bit; then I went back out to put the screen back on and get the rest of my gear inside.
Nice to know my house is fairly secure and that my dog will at least bark when someone tries to get in.
I'm headed out in a bit to get another key made.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Just a little brag on Boss Bags...
My husband bought a 2000 Yamaha Roadstar about 2 1/2 years ago from a local bike dealer. It was dressed out, including good pipes, Corbin seats with backrests, and a set of Boss Bags.
When he bought the bike, one of the buckles was missing, but he didn't worry about it too much; the other buckle was there, and the lids are heavy enough to stay down even unfastened, unless he's REALLY moving.
Over the weekend someone mentioned to him that he might be able to get a replacement buckle from the company, so he came home, found the website (http://www.bossbags.com/) and emailed customer service for a catalog or part number so he could order the part.
On Sunday he emailed back and forth with a CS person, who found out what size bags he has, and whether they're a new design or an older one.
Last night, he got an email from customer service saying the new buckle was on the way; it came in today's mail.
Nowadays it's very unusual for this kind of customer service, especially since Randy wasn't the original buyer of the bike or the bags. I don't know who the young man was who worked with my husband, but I'd say he deserves a salute - great job!
When he bought the bike, one of the buckles was missing, but he didn't worry about it too much; the other buckle was there, and the lids are heavy enough to stay down even unfastened, unless he's REALLY moving.
Over the weekend someone mentioned to him that he might be able to get a replacement buckle from the company, so he came home, found the website (http://www.bossbags.com/) and emailed customer service for a catalog or part number so he could order the part.
On Sunday he emailed back and forth with a CS person, who found out what size bags he has, and whether they're a new design or an older one.
Last night, he got an email from customer service saying the new buckle was on the way; it came in today's mail.
Nowadays it's very unusual for this kind of customer service, especially since Randy wasn't the original buyer of the bike or the bags. I don't know who the young man was who worked with my husband, but I'd say he deserves a salute - great job!
Looking for Between-Bike Communication system
Last year, Randy and I bought Midland handheld radios for our bikes - we use a system that puts earphones inside our open-face helmets, wires run to radio and to 'talk' button mounted on handlebars.
I know we've got them wired correctly because they work - sometimes. Mostly it turns out that I can hear him, but can't talk to him. We've swapped radios and it seems to be in the wiring on my system, but there are no breaks in the wiring, and everything's connected completely. Another problem is that even when the system works, I can't always hear clearly what he's saying. The headphones are sitting as close to my ears as possible, without getting in the way when I'm putting on the helmet, and the sound is turned up as loud as possible.
My true preference would be a piece actually in my ear, rather than outside it - but then I'd run into it getting pulled out when I put on my helmet.
I'd also prefer to be using my half helmet, but after a friend of ours hit a deer, I've been thinking more helmet is better...
I like the Midlands - we also use them off-bike as well so I'd like to keep them. Any suggestions on a system that will work?
I know we've got them wired correctly because they work - sometimes. Mostly it turns out that I can hear him, but can't talk to him. We've swapped radios and it seems to be in the wiring on my system, but there are no breaks in the wiring, and everything's connected completely. Another problem is that even when the system works, I can't always hear clearly what he's saying. The headphones are sitting as close to my ears as possible, without getting in the way when I'm putting on the helmet, and the sound is turned up as loud as possible.
My true preference would be a piece actually in my ear, rather than outside it - but then I'd run into it getting pulled out when I put on my helmet.
I'd also prefer to be using my half helmet, but after a friend of ours hit a deer, I've been thinking more helmet is better...
I like the Midlands - we also use them off-bike as well so I'd like to keep them. Any suggestions on a system that will work?
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