Deciding to ride

Why wait, work, wish, worry, and while away for a year for the sole purpose left in simply being ...if, when time for that purpose to come to fruition actually arrives...one changes from waiting, working wishing and worrying...to regretting...

...for not stepping out when the door swings open...for not deeply inhaling when the window rises and makes available the fresh air...for not accepting what God has offered...

...for not being who one is...for not simply pulling on the left-hand glove with your already gloved right hand, for not now gently squeezing that left hand on the clutch lever, lowering the toe of your right foot onto the shift lever, and experiencing that...that...oh, so unique sensation of lightly turning the right wrist at the same pace your left hand begins to open, keeping time with your left foot rising right gently, lifting from the ground to the foot peg...

...and you breathe that breath that has not been experienced for a year, and will not be experienced again for another year.

And it's hard to determine when it really begins...with the inhale (deeper than most), or the exhale...and wondering...is this the end of the waiting?... or the beginning of what your waiting was for? And the smile takes over, knowing the answer....It's both -- it's the cake and the frosting! And the flavor doesn't matter.

Visions of Organ, New Mexico

I had a vision at Organ...of the wikkiups, the travails, the long line of Indians, and the buffalo I have seen there...at Organ. I have seen the dust they caused to rise toward the heavens... not heavy, not obscuring, only lightly adding to the visage, to the atmosphere... Light dust, but visible...at Organ.

I have heard the sounds, I have felt the breeze when there was none....at Organ. I have experienced the freedom that for me has existed no where more completely than at Organ. I have experienced the emptiness and the fullness, concommitantly, at Organ...and at nowhere else.

I have smelled the animals that are no longer there... at Organ, and faint, sweet smells of newgrown grass and small desert flowers... at Organ, in December.

First ride of the season

I finally got a few minutes together to try implanting Lazarus' new heart.

I couldn't find any of my tools...still haven't, except for the few old ones I had around the shed. There were none in his trunk or saddle bags, none on the shelf...none in HiYoSilver's bags...a couple of old tools lying on the 2x4's between the wall studs. I finally scraped a couple of wrenches and a screwdriver together. Ultimately, I actually had his brand new, just fully charged, guaranteed to probably work (pardon the split infinitive) heart implanted.

The bolt that came with the battery wasn't long enough to reach the nut that centers under the loop that holds the wires to the battery (Not the terminal...the wires that go to the starter, lights, etc...)

With great ingenuity, dexterity and bulldoggedness, I had the thing in and connected...in less than an hour and a half...but not much less.

As you can appreciate, after that much hassling and haggling with the powers of the universe over whether I deserved to have the battery in at all, I made certain all contacts were tight, and in the correct order. I straddled Lazarus, sank slowly and gracefully into the saddle, and turned on the key. No lights. I honked the horn...well, actually, I pressed the horn button. No horn. I tried the turn light...the left one first....nothing. Then the right one... nothing. I pressed the brake pedal...no response. I turned off the key. I thought for a minute and said, "What would George do?" I told myself, "George would turn the key back on and be certain it's not in some "everything's off" mode, such as the battery cables being crossed, or the key isn't really on or something.

I started with the simple thing first. l turned the key again. HEADLIGHTS, DASHLIGHTS, TURN LIGHTS... EVERYTHING WAS ON. I turned the key. Nothing!!!... That is, Nothing exciting.... Lazarus didn't even cough. He just started, as though he had been running for an hour, turned off and turned right back on again. I turned him off, put on my helmet, turned him on and started him again, with equal simplicity, and I took him down the road to the first fire station I could find, reined him in, made a u-turn, and with a light touch of the spur, he moved on and came back to Drywater. I put him in his stable, turned the key, got out of the saddle, patted his back lightly, and let him rest..

I looked at him this morning, and I thought I heard him say something like, "Thanks for the transplant; I feel pretty good, and wouldn't mind a little more exercise... Maybe lightly at first, but I'm ready to try a little more today."

By the way, I didn't mention above that the brakes did not squeak, screech, scream, squeal, or squelch. And it seemed less of a lurch on acceleration and deceleration. I'm a bit less certain of that "less lurch" than about the brake situation. In any event, I will still take him down to the "experienced motorcycle parts" store in a day or so, and see what Steve thinks.

I may take Lazarus down the hill today, but maybe not. I do intend to ride him at least for a few miles or minutes... such as back to the fire station... We'll see. He seemed to be really hurting before I left him in his stall for this long period of time.

Anyway, I knew you'd want to know....

Felt good...Mighty good...."