The Captain's Blog

… Is all we can ask for.

Music has played an important roll in my life.  Music was always part of our family.  Mom played the organ at church.  There was always Gospel and Country music playing in the car or around the house.  In Fifth Grade, I took up the trumpet.  My instrument of choice would change throughout my school years, ranging from trumpet to tuba/sousaphone and on to percussion as braces interfered with my playing of brass instruments.  I would delve deeper into many other types of music as I took on lighting and sound jobs as I got older.  It doesn’t surprise me that at different times of my life certain songs kind of stuck.

They became my anthem if you will.  In my mid 30’s, “Something Good is Bound to Happen” by Bruce Carroll took its place.  Grandma’s Cancer, then demensia caused me great anguish as I watched this women, who played such a role in my life, dwindle.  Her body remained fairly strong, but her mind wandered back to her younger years.  I fought with depression then, never even thinking how hard I would be hit later.  Mom’s Cancer diagnosis was tough.  Throughout Mom’s treatments, there were ups and downs.  I found myself listening to this song over and over.  The chorus states “Something good is bound to happen or the Devil’d not be working overtime.”  Surely, somewhere there would be something good out of all this darkness.

Mom passed and I fell into a deep hole.  Time after time, I would claw myself back out.  I tried to mask my pain on the outside.  Sometimes it is easier to wear a mask and hide than face the feelings.  The problem I found with wearing the mask and hiding things is that an overwhelming darkness would begin to build down deep inside.  Instead of getting sucked down a deep hole, the hole began to tear away at your from the inside out.  I would often cry myself to sleep while listening to music.

“Something Good…” no longer brought me solice.  It brought me pain.  I had quit going to church because “The Church” had more or less abandoned me.  The support that I thought would come from my church family wasn’t there.  Yes… There were a few close family friends that were there but the rest of the congregation seemed to be too busy with themselves to care about Mom and my family.  Mom and Dad would eventually leave the only church I had really known because of the changes happening.

I still had faith in a higher being but my faith in a “Church” was shattered.  To this day I have not gone to church for the sake of a church service.  I find it difficult to go to weddings or other functions held in a church.  There is only one church related event that I allow myself to attend without reservation.  The musical/dinner theater that the Presbyterian Church asks me to help with.  I feel welcome there.  Noone is there to preach at  you.

I continue to battle this darkness that occassionally tears at my soul.  I started reading again to help find some ground that I could stand on.  I’ve read a lot of travelling stories.  I think I’ve wrote before about reading Neil Peart’s books and his trials.  Neil is the drummer for the band RUSH… one of my favorites.  There is a song on the RUSH album ‘Vapor Trails’ that reached out and connected with me during my reading.  After reading Neil’s journey in dealing with the loss of his daughter and wife within a years time, I realized the meaning behind the words he had written and how they applied to me.

This was me to the ‘T’. While I am told I have a decent level of intelligence, I was brought up kind of ‘in the dark’. Relationships, drinking, smoking and addictions of that nature were not evident in my life as a kid. I knew about them but I figured as long as I didn’t do them, then they didn’t really exist. My innocence made me naive. I was willing to deal with being perceived this way because I was ‘the good kid’.

Imaginaton… OH BOY!… I got the market cornered on that one. To this day, my dreams are almost like sci-fiction movies. My brain comes up with some of the strangest stuff at times. I have always enjoyed things that allowed me to engage that imagination and make up my own stories… to ‘make-believe’ I was somewhere else.

This became more evident to me as I dealt with depression.  I wanted to remain innocent and be naive of the pain that was tearing at my insides.  If I didn’t acknowledge that it existed, it must not be real… right?  That didn’t work.  The pain kept growing.  I would ‘make-believe’ everything was ok.  I would imagine that people had it alot worse than me and that I could beat this without help.  At first, this worked really well.  The pain kept growing until at some point it teore through the mask and became real to my physical being.  It made me truly sick.

Somewhere along the line, you give up… you ‘surrender’.  “If I can’t beat this stupid thing… I’ll let it take me” started running through my head.  It was satisfying to just give up.  I was at the edge of my sanity.  To me, it was better to lose it all than fight anymore.  Anger had taken over my life.  I was snapping at people more and more frequently.  My tolerance for anything good or bad was gone.  I would have given it all up just to know that I wouldn’t act that way to anyone or anything.

Some time passed before I had what I would call a ‘good’ day.  It was a really good day too.  I didn’t think I could have good days anymore.  The darkness had been so deep that light just couldn’t break through or could it.  I’ll explain it this way.  Have you ever been in a really dark room?  Maybe a cave or a power outage?  I’m talking the kind of dark that you can’t see your hand in front of your face dark.  I have been.

We went on a tour of one of the caverns when we were on vacation.  The guide had them turn the lights out and everyone close their eyes.  He lit a lighter or a match.  That one flame lit the cavern enough that you could see the faces of those around you.  Your eyes had to be closed because the initial flash of that one flame could cause blindness in this complete darkness.  If you spend much time in a place like that, you get adjusted to it.  When that one spec of light comes through, you can feel the warmth.  It gives you hope and strength.  Something to shoot for.

That glimmer of light was when I realized how this whole song applied to me.  The chorus and final verse reached in and cut through the angry darkness in my gut.  I shouldn’t go out and try to defeat the darkness.  All I had to do is light that one little flame… that ‘one little victory’ that would carry me through the next battle.  Here is the rest of my current musical support… my crutch to lean on when things seem amiss.

Celebrate the moment
As it turns into one more
Another chance at victory
Another chance to score

The measure of the moment
In a difference of degree
Just one little victory
A spirit breaking free
One little victory
The greatest act can be
One little victory

A certain measure of righteousness
A certain amount of force
A certain degree of determination
Daring on a different course

A certain amount of resistance
To the forces of the light and love
A certain measure of tolerance
A willingness to rise above

 ~RUSH “Vapor Trails” Album~

So today I count my little victories of the past week… They aren’t much but they are all I need to make it to the next battle.

• I got my new mattress.  Its a queen size.  It is extremely comfortable and has been a ‘God-send’ to my back.  I think being able to sleep most of the night has helped my attitude or at least helped me keep it in check during the day.
• A couple weeks ago, Tink started coming to me when I brought her food to her.
• These past few days Tink hasn’t been eating all her food at once .  She eats some and then runs off to hide.  She comes back later to finish it.
• Tink isn’t hiding in deep cover anymore.  She stays out at the edge where cover can be achieved if she needs it but she doesn’t feel the need to be completely hidden.
• She is sleeping on the register in the living room again.  No protection there.
• She let me hold her today without her curling into a little ball and growling at me.  I stopped trying to hold her a couple months ago because she got so worked up.
• She came back to the same spot to eat tonight.  Not her spot she used to eat, but she was clearly waiting for me to come there to bring her food.  She was sitting right in the middle of the space.  She looked up to see if I had the bowl and went straight for it as I put it down (even though I hadn’t opened the can of food yet).
• I get a big stretch when I bring her food.
• She doesn’t race past me like she’s scared to death of me.  She saunters by in her old “I’m going over here” prance.
• Dad went with me to see the Elk last Sunday.  He hasn’t been there since before Mom died.  We had a really good day together.
• I was able to hop on the motorcycle and take a short, rather chilly, ride today.  It was delightful.

I know a lot of these are focused on Tink.  She was my rock after Mom died.  I had many long tearful conversations with that little ball of fur.  When I thought I was going to lose her back in April, I was ready to go right along with her.  I fought to keep her around.  The fight isn’t over by any means.  I take what I can get whether its with Tink’s health or with my daily existance.

I hadn’t realize how much riding the motorcycle really help my mental state until I lost my mental grasp last week.  A few of you might remember that dark night.  I felt like I had no escape.  I was trapped.  I went to sleep listening to the album this song is from.  I woke up the next morning with my mind in a different gear.

Thanks to all of you who tried to lift me up that night.  It was appreciated even though I’m sure it didn’t seem like I appreciated it at the time.

These are my “Little Victories”.  I hope you all can find yours as well.

~Cappy

These past few weeks have been kind of odd. I have felt more and more like my mental capacity is being stripped from my brain several cells at a time… just enough to notice. Its driven out of things going on at work and the strain my back has been creating of late.

Sleep comes and goes. Some nights I sleep fairly well… Other nights I’ve had nightmares. Those are driven out of stress. I hope they are anyway… I haven’t had nightmares that often in the past but last weekend through the beginning of this week, they were fairly regular. By the time I got to Friday, I was very happy that we have a long weekend.

I got up this morning to the business next door smashing glass in their dumpster. I tried covering my head and going back to sleep rather unsuccessfully. When I finally decided sleep was fruitless, I got up and got ready. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to take Maggie (my motorcycle) for a spin or not. My back has been grumpy all week. If that wasn’t enough, I started picking up this headcold thing that has been haunting the office. I made the final decision only after going outside and seeing the blue sky and feeling the sun’s warmth. Maggie it would be.

I had a couple errands to run and then needed to meet Rick to help set up his DJ gear. He had asked if I could help him DJ the whole evening. I declined because it took all week to get my back back together after the last time. I just can’t lug sound gear around like I used to. Not to say that I don’t try now and again. Usually, I pay for it a couple days later.

After the DJ gear was setup, I decided I wanted to take a bit longer ride but not too far. I pointed Maggie out Route 62 towards Mercer with no other destination in mind than the intersection of 62 and 19. I stopped to answer a text or two at the gas station on the corner. I thought about dinner and my next destination. “I guess Hoss’s in Grove City would work” I told myself as I thumbed the starter button. After dinner at Hoss’s, I headed north east out of Grove City.

When I ride by myself, it is very stress relieving. I really needed that relief today. As I reached one destination, I would decide to stretch the run a bit more. Today, I chose local back roads that I knew. The run out of Grove City was on a small back road that ends up in Jackson Center. It was freshly repaved, so it made for a nice ride. I headed back down 19 out of Jackson Center… past the Corn Maze (which was packed with customers).

In Mercer, I turned down 318. I normally play on this road because I ride it frequently on the way to and from work. It has some fun little twists on it. Today, however, I got behind Grandma in her little Ford Taurus. I backed way down so that I had a bit of room to hang the corners, but I always ended up catching her coming out the far side. I was a little bummed but at least it was a beautiful evening to ride.

I stopped at the house for a break. I had made up my mind earlier that I would not go to Waterfire in Sharon tonight. I didn’t feel like dealing with the crowds. By the time I got home, I had decided that it would only be a potty stop and a short break. I didn’t want to waste a nice evening sitting inside. “Ok… I’ll go to Waterfire… but I’m going on the bike.” I told myself.

I spent a little more time than I should have on my feet today. I walked/stood for about 2 hours at Waterfire. My right leg was throbbing terribly. I decided to listen to the band that was playing on the Ballroom Stage. There were no more chairs, so I plopped myself down on a curb (It’s a stage in a parking lot). Mistake #1… The concrete was low and hard. I sat for a while anyway. Mistake #2… I sat too long. My back and leg had tightened up. I couldn’t stand directly to my feet. I ended up wiggling around until I got my left knee on the ground and was able to pull my right foot under me. I got up but it wasn’t pretty. I staggered around for about 5 minutes until I could get myself upright. That was pretty much the end of the night for me. I hobbled back to the bike and headed for home.

I put Maggie back in the barn. As I closed the door, I heard a cat meowing. I had to check the shed thoroughly to make sure I wasn’t going to lock it inside. It turned out to be over at the neighbors. Shwew… I’d hate to do that to the poor thing.

Speaking of cats… I haven’t updated you guys on Tink lately. She seems to be a little stronger. She moves from place to place a little more frequently. She has also started coming to me for her breakfast and dinner. Before this week, I would have to push the food back to her in her hiding spot. She still is antsy about something. I have to stay with her while she eats or she will go back in hiding. She loves a back rub while she eats.

She also loves the brush. She not only let me brush her the other night… she kept turning herself so I would get all of her. I had enough old cat hair that I probably could make another Tink. I know when she is happy with being petted or brushed because she purrs louder than I’ve ever heard before. When she doesn’t want messed with, she makes it a point to turn herself away from me. She’s pretty clear about that. The old tail thumps wildly.

She doesn’t eat anything hard anymore. I feed her two can’s of Fancy Feast wet food a day. I still think there is something wrong with her throat. I hate to take her back because it was the last trip to the vet that started this hiding phase. It has taken months of hand feeding her to get her to come out long enough to even eat and get a short backrub. I don’t want to undo that. If wet food keeps her ticking for now… Wet food she’ll get.

I guess I should go take my pills and lay my aching body down.  I’d like to add some pictures to this, but right now, I’m toast.  Maybe tomorrow.

Catch ya later.

~Cappy

… The news is … there is no news.

The weekend started out with an extremely stressful Friday night.  I didn’t do much besides watch “Dispicable Me” and monkey around on the internet.  I didn’t have any big plans for the weekend because I knew I had to come in to work on Saturday.

Saturday went pretty much as I had figured it would.  I went into the office and did what was necessary.  I had thought about going on a motorcycle ride to Cook’s Forest but had forgotten about needing to help Rick set the DJ system for Oaktree Country Club’s banquet hall.  The weather was beautiful so the bike was my primary mode of transportation for everything Saturday.  I figured I couldn’t squeeze a long run in with things that needed tended to, but I could certainly enjoy the ride in between.  After leaving Oaktree, I went back to the house to relax a bit before finding some dinner.  I ended up napping for an hour or so.  Dinner ended up being at the Golden Bear in WM.  Why eat dinner at a bar when I’m not a big drinker… ’cause the food is good! … and its right behind my house (or my house is right behind it depending on where you’re standing).  The Expendables 2 rounded out the night along with chatting with folks on the internet off and on.

As various topics of conversation came and went, I decided that the predicted weather for Sunday called for a motorcycle ride.  My nerves needed it too.  I know several folks that are always talking about Geneva-On-The-Lake.  I had a pretty good idea where it was and how to get there.  I looked it up on Google Maps to plan out my times for leaving and such.  Initially, my thought was just run up there.  Check out what goes on around the area and head back.  I decided to leave after lunch instead of getting up early and taking off.  This was going to be a fairly average ride… not too long… not too short.

Sunday morning came.  I goofed around until lunch.  Hopped on Maggie and headed out.  I stopped at Sheetz for gas and decided I might as well grab a meatball sandwich while I was there.  I also bought a drink to carry along.  I’ve been carrying snacks/drinks in case my sugar drops while I’m riding.  I ate a pretty decent lunch so I wasn’t really concerned about that this run.

I set off on what I hoped would be a pretty decent ride.  I wasn’t even out of Hermitage when a ’20 something’ idiot in a little white car decided to change lanes by Walmart.  The problem was… the spot he decided he wanted to occupy was the exact spot where I was riding directly beside him.  I saw the turn signal come on and car moving closer to me.  I turned my head to look.  His window was open and he was on the phone.  I shouted “HEY BUDDY! WAKE UP!!” as I laid on the the horn(s).  He still didn’t appear to be paying attention so I rolled the throttle and shot ahead of him while vearing to the left side of the lane.  I thought to myself, “This doesn’t bode well for the rest of the ride.”  It turned out that was really the worst of crazy drivers.

I crossed over into Ohio and headed north.  I’ve ridden in Ohio several times.  I’m fairly familiar with the roads from working for the vending company for so many years.  We drove all over eastern Ohio.  Even though I was pretty sure where I was going, I had the GPS on as backup.  There is one big difference riding in Ohio when compared to riding in Pennsylvania… the roads are straight in Ohio.  You ride in a very straight line with little to no elevation change.  What fun is that on a motorcycle… We wants twisties and changes… Precious.  I got up to Geneva-On-The-Lake without incident.  I decided to swing into the marina and see what the lake was like… Lake Erie that is.  I walked along the bike/walking path a bit watching some kids play in the sand while their dad took them in turn out on a jetski.

There wasn’t as much activity on the lake as I had expected for such a nice day.  I decided to head into town and see what the fuss was all about.  The town of Geneva-On-The-Lake reminded me of what Conneaut Lake Park might have been had it been built astride of a major road instead of a side street.  There were bikes and people everywhere.  Along the road sat one of the flying rocket rides that used to be a familiar site at small amusement parks across the country.  The difference was that this one had been equipped with a motor and drive train/wheels.  They were giving rides on it around town.  By this point, I had already made up my mind that I wasn’t stopping in town… too many people and too much walking.  By the time I was halfway through town, I had already changed my destination to Presque Isle, back on the Pennsylvania side.

I knew Rt 531 would take me along the lake.  The only drawback would be the city of Ashtabula.  There is a harbor there and some other touristy things. Maybe something would catch my eye worth stopping at.  There was a nice breeze coming off the lake.  The road was two lane and average condition.  At this point, my GPS did something annoying.  She (female voice) fixated herself on travelling Rt. 20 which runs east to west about 5 to 10 miles south of the shoreline at Ashtabula.  Just about the time I got her convinced to follow Rt. 531, we entered downtown Ashtabula.

There was a street festival being held on the main drag going through town.  Guess what the Rt. number of the main drag is…. Yep!… 531.  There was a little detour posted.  No biggie, I would follow traffic.  It wasn’t terribly bad like the time I got caught in Franklin during the Fall Festival.  There was one drawback… The detour took us into a… shall we say… ‘less than desirable’ section of town.  It also brought us out at a ‘Y’ in the road which once again proved to me that humanity was not meant to ‘merge’.

I flipped the bike around on the narrow two lane road (half the lane on one side was filled with parked cars) and headed out towards Rt. 20 as quickly as possible.  The GPS was constantly updating.  I ignored her for the most part because her directions took us deeper into an even less desirable area than the detour did.  I’m pretty sure she was getting hoarse as I pulled us back out into the main shopping district and onward to Rt. 20.  I bet she was thinking “I tried to tell you earlier you wanted to be on Rt. 20, but noooooo… ” in the back of her smartphone driven brain.  I ran Rt. 20 to the next north bound (and decent looking) road which would take me back on Rt. 531.  Onward I rode.  The goal now to get to Sara’s at the entry to Presque Isle to eat dinner and rest my now aching back.

The 40, or so, mile ride across to Presque Isle was nice.  It was almost all country roads except for the town of Conneaut, Ohio.  As I approached Erie, I passed the airport.  A B-17, all decked out in refurbished USAF paint scheme, was just coming down the runway.  I watched it take off as I sat at the traffic light.  I’ve always been interested in aircraft.  It was nice to see this old war bird taking off in person, not on some tv documentary.  I almost forgot the light had changed as the B-17 soared out of sight.  I continued on to Sara’s for dinner.

Sara’s is one of these themed places.  Its actually called Sara and Sally’s Diner but they no longer open Sally’s Diner.  It has a red and white motif with lots of old driving memorabilia and neon.  This place gets busy throughout the summer.  If you go there, don’t be intimidated by the long lines.  The grill in this place takes up almost the whole width of the restaurant and they crank out the food.  I’ve been there when it was packed to the gills and have never waited more than 20 minutes from the time I got in line to the time I got my food.  You can wait longer in most McDonald’s these days.  They have really good milkshakes and the most delicious Orange and Vanilla twist cones.  I had a bacon cheeseburger and onion rings.  I then, of course, had to go back and get my Orange/Vanilla twist cone before heading back home.

The GPS said I should hit home about 8:30.  My aunt and uncle live not far off Presque Isle so I’m pretty familiar with the run home.  I had decided that I wasn’t going the normal back roads route through Meadville and down to Conneaut, PA.  I wanted to back track a bit to Rt. 18 and down.  I haven’t run Rt. 18 between Erie and Conneaut for a long time.  I pointed Maggie toward Rt. 18.  The GPS once again took a fit and fixated on Rt. 19 as the best route home.  I muted her.  At one point, I watched the mileage to home jump from 88 miles to 58 miles as she figured out that Rt. 18 took us in the right direction.  I would now hit home around 7:38 per her ‘recalculated’ estimates.  I’m not sure whether I have her set to ‘fastest’ or ‘shortest’ route but apparently she didn’t want to give me either of those yesterday.

I was approaching 180 miles for the day by this point.  My back was telling me that it wasn’t happy so I knew I had at least one, maybe two, stops before making it home.  I might as well plan them while I’m riding.  I stop at Sheetz in Conneaut alot, but I didn’t really need anything to eat.  There is a little park along the lake and marina just as you come in to Conneaut.  This would be good stop.  I could walk around and plop down on a bench and watch the boats for a bit.  I did just that.

It must have been a day for seeing old planes and cars.  On the run from Conneaut to home, I saw a bi-plane, several really nicely done older cars ranging from a Model T to a Ford Coupe that was all flamed out with just about all the chrome you could imagine, a woody that even had the surfboard on top and a Ford Mustang in full blown ‘Eleanor’ dress.   It really didn’t surprise me to see the oldies-but-goodies out with the beautiful weather that we had Sunday.

The rest of the run home was made without stopping.   I needed to stop at Walmart but I was so stiff and sore by the point I got there that I said to heck with it and headed back to the house to do laundry and relax.  I should have stopped.  I forgot.  I needed milk.  My cereal was kind of dry this morning without it.

I took a major dose of Ibuprofen when I got home.  Fed Tink and gave her a scratch on the head for a while.  She’s not doing well but she purrs when I scratch between her ears and thumps her tail if I stop.  She hasn’t been running and hiding from me like she was.  I don’t know if that’s because she’s not as afraid of me or if she’s just run down enough now that she doesn’t have the strength.  That’s a whole ‘nother depressing blog that I’d rather not go into at this point.

All-in-all a good weekend even if it was only about a day and a half long.  I survived it at least.  Next weekend is a long weekend.  No plans as of yet.

~Cappy

… I know!… You don’t hear that much from me do you?

Friday night was just a regular old Friday.  I think I basically just slept most of it away.  Saturday… Now Saturday was a different story all together.  I didn’t have a lot of plans for the morning and afternoon because the forecast was calling for rain.  I woke up to the gloomy clouds and damp roads indicating at some point over night it had definately rained.  The Weather Channel was still calling for a decent amount of showers through early afternoon so the only real thing I had thought of doing was WaterFire Sharon.  Otherwise, whatever I did was ok.

I fed Tink and myself around 6:30 am.  I then laid back down.  My back doesn’t like rainy weather so I figured no sense starting my day off that early.  Finally, I ran out of sleep and got up to get ready to do whatever came across my path.  First on my agenda, though, was lunch at my usual Saturday haunt, Hogan’s Heroes.  I had planned on taking the truck because of the forecast.  When I walked out the door, I decided that the weather would be good enough to catch a couple miles on the bike.  Back in to the house I went to pull on my riding boots.  I backed the bike out of the barn and headed uptown to Hogan’s.

They saw me pulling in and had it already on cooking when I walked through the door.  I don’t really like when they do that because some day I might like to change my mind.  Today was not that day so all was good.  I sat and surfed the net on my iPhone while waiting for it to finish.  Nothing really caught my eye there either.  I gave up the thought of walking around stores like I normally do.  My next destination would more than likely be back to the house.  I would make the final call after eating lunch.

I finished up lunch and walked out the door.  The skies were clearing and there was a nice breeze.  “Ok… I’ll take a short spin.” I said to myself.  I pointed the bike north and headed out of Hermitage.  I decided I would ride toward Greenville and on out across to Route 19 and back home.  In the meantime, I was receiving texts from a friend about possibly hauling a motorcycle she was buying back to her place.  I stopped at Greenville Walmart to walk around while she waited for the call to go pick up the bike.  I left Walmart still intent on turning down Route 19, but something happened when I reached the turn off.  I continued on straight.  “I still don’t have a firm answer about needing to be home to get the truck so I’m going to ride out just a bit more.” my brain churned as I twisted the throttle to pull away from the stoplight.  “Its just too nice of an afternoon to sit and wait.”  I ended up at Goddard State Park (Lake Wilhelm).  I parked the bike and plopped myself down on a bench at the marina with a snack and some water.  I guess I probably sat there watching boats and enjoying the breeze for a half and hour or better.  The call came that the bike would be ready for pickup later.  I started the ride towards home, not having a specific time.  I meandered back and ended up in Mercer about the time the next call came.  All was working out pretty well.

I hit home with about 65 miles on the odometer for that ride.  It turned out her bike would be delivered so I had some time to do a couple other things I had thought about while riding.  My bike needed washed before the Fire Department’s Poker Run on Sunday.  I got caught in the rain 3 times in the last couple weeks.  Rain just makes a mess out of the back wheel and exhaust pipes.  The hot chrome dries the mucky water almost instantly, leaving a greyish film.  Yep.  “I’ll wash the bike then head down to Sharon for WaterFire.” my brain informed me.  I guess my brain and my back weren’t on speaking terms last evening.  By the time I was done washing the bike, my back was screaming and tired.  WaterFire was going to require a lot of walking…  Not something my back was going to find very agreeable at all.

I cleaned up my cleaning supplies and sat down on the couch to relax a bit.  My brain and back were now arguing about WaterFire.    I really wanted to see WaterFire because I having done sound and technical work for several outdoor productions.  This could be a really good thing for the Valley.  We need a better arts presence around here.  I knew from news reports and friends already down there that there was quite a large number of people there.  My back begrudgingly gave in.  A little after 9 pm, my brain directed my body to put on my shoes.  Traffic would be terrible so I decided to take the truck instead of the freshly clean bike.

I used my knowledge of the area to slip in the back way.  Hopefully, I could snag a close parking spot.  Traffic was indeed terrible, both foot and vehicular.  I made it into the Reyer’s Plaza lot.  I drove to what I believed was the closest I could get.  I lucked out.  Several cars were backing out just as I was pulling up.  I had a short walk over to the river which was already ablaze.  My plan at this point was to walk a little then rest a little until I had seen about all I wanted to see or my back and leg screaming overrode my brain’s desire to take in the spectical.  I actually made it up and across all three bridges.  I didn’t get over to the dance floor or into Quaker Steak and Lube.  I was running low on energy.   I wanted a funnel cake so bad but the lines were terrible.   I settled for a Gyro and an Iced Tea.  Standing in line did me in.  I took my food back to the truck, opened the tailgate and had an enjoyable little snack.

The parking lot was emptying out by this time.  My thought was that by the time I was done eating, I could probably get out without much traffic problems.  I was correct.  I took plenty of Ibuprofen upon my return home.  Sleep was really rough because I couldn’t lay in any one position very long or Mr. Angry Back would yell at me.  I managed to find some comfort and felt fairly refreshed when I awoke to the alarm this morning.  I proceeded to get ready to go on the ride today.  I knew being already beat up was probably not going to make for a good day, especially with the route looking like it was going to be around 150 miles.

I got gas and aired up the bike tires then headed off to Kiwanis Park.  Here is where the ride would kick off and end.  I registered.  The nice thing about this ride is that its with mostly local people that I know.  Riders at Poker Runs often ride independantly or in small groups.  Beth Watson was riding this ride as well.  She and I ride alot together so there would be at least one person to run with.

Riders continued to pull in as I stood around waiting for someone to say “Let’s go.”  I had noticed Beth over talking to some folks a few minutes before she popped up where I was standing with a goofy grin on her face.  “I told everyone you would lead…” she giggled as she headed to her bike.  Apparently, the fact that I ride with my phone/GPS mounted in clear view on my handlebars and that I was familiar with a couple of the locations made me a target for promotion to leader in a mechanized game of the follow-the-leader.  I think I just shook my head and said “Thanks…” or something like that.  I wasn’t THAT thrilled with leading riders I wasn’t familiar with.  We mounted our trusty metal beasts and headed out.  I think we had ten bikes or so in our initial group.

The run out Route 318 to Mercer was a challenge for me.  You see… I ride this road everyday to work.  It has twisty curves on it.  If you ride a motorcycle, you know that ‘twisties’ are fun.  I have learned the curves well enough that I usually take them at a pretty good clip.  I had to hold myself back today as it was obvious that some of the bikes in our group weren’t keen on taking 90 degree corners in a lean with 2 riders on board.  I kept a check in the mirror to keep folks up close.  My goal was to try to follow the directions given to us and not exactly what my GPS showed.  I did deviate in Mercer because the choice was to take the planned route around the courthouse and have to fight traffic or go straight across the way I go to work and eliminate a bunch of traffic completely.  We went straight.

We hit the first stop still in our group.  .  The object of a Poker Run is to draw a card at each stop and come up with the best hand at the end of the ride.  We found the place to draw our cards out on the patio.  I drew a “3” … bleh… but its still early in the ride… Right?  Three of our group took off early.  The rest of the group lingered to chat.  The plan was to grab lunch at our next stop, Allegheny Grille.  The detour on Route 58 took us up and on to Interstate 80.  I didn’t know one of our riders didn’t like interstate riding or I may have chosen a back road route off my GPS.  Everyone made it across the 7 mile stretch without incident.  At the bottom of the ramp, I’m pretty sure I confused a few folks.  I took a right instead of the left that looked obvious.  I knew that by doing this I could drop us right down at the stop sign at Allegheny Grille without going through the town of Emlenton.  We drew our cards and then set out for lunch at Foxburg Pizza.  I drew a “6” … Ka raaaap.  The pizza was good though.

The next stop was a bar in Chicora that they had stopped at last year.  My card here… a “7”.  My event planning experience told me that I needed to ask a question at this stop that others may not have thought about… “Anyone need gas yet?”  We were travelling with a variety of styles of bikes and they had travelled from different distances to get to the start of the ride.  We were 80 miles into the ride.  A couple of these guys could easily need fuel.  They did.  While we were taking a break there, Beth and I looked up gas stations.  There were two right around the corner.  When we pulled out, I chose the BP because it had more pumps.  With the 1o bikes now in tow, we needed more pumps so we didn’t take all day.  I myself decided I had enough gas to compete the run if my mileage estimates were correct.  Next stop… Log Cabin Inn, Harmony.  I started questioning my fuel mileage as we neared Harmony.

The Log Cabin Inn is located on Route 19.  Just after making the turn off Route 68 onto 19, we ran across a patch of pavement that was recently stripped.  My back had tolerated the 100 miles so far rather well.  The shaking caused by the ridges in the road caused all the aching nerve endings from Saturday night to wake back up.  My air seat I put on the bike works great for softening up and down bumps but it does little for side to side shaking… apparently.

The Log Cabin Inn is a nice place but their parking leaves alot to be desired for as busy as they get… and we weren’t the only Poker Run stopping there today.  We shoehorned our bikes into parking spots and went in to draw our cards.  I got a “4”.  The only thing that is going to salvage this hand is a “5” at the final drawing back at the park.  While the other folks did their thing, I ran back down the road a mile or two to a gas station we had passed.  If I tried to make it back, it was going to be close.  I forgot about a station that was on the way back that I stop at when I’m riding around Lake Arthur near McConnel’s Mill.  We set out for home when I returned to the Log Cabin.

We were back down to seven bikes in our pack as we ran the closing leg of the ride.   I lost sight of a bike or two in my mirror as we neared the turn in Leesburg.  I turned and lost the rest of the group except Beth.  I slowed my pace way down hoping that they got caught in traffic at the turn on to 208.  Beth finally turned in to a driveway to double back and check on folks.  I saw two of our group come over the hill just as she turned off.  I continued my slow pace until they caught up.  As we continued our way down 208, I caught sight of several more motorcycles behind a couple of cars.  Way more than the three or four I had expected to see.  It was another large pack of our riders that had caught up to us.  I led the whole group the rest of the way back to the park.  Just over half of the bikes in attendance were back by that point, including our group.

Somewhere along the line, the joke had been made that I was still in the running for the worst hand of the day.  I drew my last card.  Did I get my “5”? … Dejectedly, I reported my draw… a “2”.  “2, 3, 4, 6, 7”  Yep.  That’s a pretty sucky Poker hand.  Oh well, the riding had been a blast.  The company had also been fun.  I bought Dad a ticket to eat dinner and he came over.  He lives a stone’s throw from the park.  He and Mom used to walk through the woods to the park in days gone by.  We ate dinner.  He bought some Chinese Auction Tickets.  I had $10 left from the money I brought for the day so I bought 50/50 tickets.  Neither of us won anything from either of those.

There are certain drawings they have at most Poker Runs… “Best Hand”, “Worst Hand”, “Oldest Bike on the Run”… Things like that.  I was talking to Rick White, the DJ who provides their audio gear and music for the event.  He asked if I were to win which prize would I prefer and read off a few things.  I’m not even sure I answered him.  He knows me well enough to know that the Applebee’s or Walmart cards would be my pick of what he had.  As I walked away, they called my name.  I had the oldest bike on the run.  Good ole Maggie saves the day!!!  The 29 year old girl won us dinner at Applebee’s… maybe even a couple dinners.  As things wound down, someone realized that they didn’t award “Best and Worst Hand” yet.  Guess what?!  I had the “WORST” hand of the group.  I walked a way with a couple decent prizes.  How about that!  Who knew having the oldest bike (She certainly doesn’t look it.) and the worst Poker hand would pay off.

All-In-All a GREAT Weekend!!  Good ride yesterday.  Nice artistic experience last night.  Good gathering and ride today and prizes too!  Yep.  This is one of the best weekends I’ve had in a while.

~Cappy