To Leave or to Stay

These past couple of months have been interesting to say the least.

The talk about me getting a new bike is settled for now (I will be buying a new bike by year's end).  A new dilemma has reared its ugly head in our family and is one, which while not consuming us, has certainly kept us awake at night.

Should we stay here in Florida, or head back home to Pittsburgh?

This all has to do with family.

The lovely Susan has family there, so do I, but her mother is starting to show signs of Alzheimer's disease.  Sue is the oldest child of five and it seems, the only one with not only the ability but the desire to help her mother.

Then their is my family.  My father is in his mid 80's and has two benign tumors in his head.  My mother, 10 years his junior, is capable of taking care of herself but she can't drive and is showing signs of dementia.  Unlike Sue's mom, she has not been tested but the signs of the two illnesses are similar, and my brother can not take my mother in for a variety of reasons.

Both of them will refuse to move to Florida.  Sue's mother is rooted to her home in Grove City, PA (about an hour north of Pittsburgh) and my mother will not leave her only granddaughter.  My father, always the stoic, knows that the best care he can get is in Pittsburgh.  It makes sense for him to stay.

We are faced with some startling realities. 

1)  Our parents are not immortal.  No matter how much we with they were.

2)  I have lost two aunts to Alzheimer's in the last 3 years.  Now my mother is showing signs of it or dementia.  This scares the hell out of me.

3)  Susan's medical issues can be better served in the cool of Pennsylvania, as the excessive heat in Florida can effect her more than we like.

It does bring up a good question though about what is home.   Sue's family is rooted to the area, she is too...even though she moved 1000 plus miles to be with me.  My brother feels the same way.  Although my parents have moved and traveled a lot since retirement, they still call Western Pennsylvania home. 

I love Pittsburgh, it's rivers run in my veins and I do like going back to it.  I've written about it before.  It is really a great place to live.  I remember reading somewhere that if Pittsburgh was a European city, people would flock to it.

However home for me is wherever I've hung my hat.  I've lived in Tampa for over 10 years, in Charlotte, North Carolina for over 10 years.   Charleston, South Carolina for a bit.  Savannah, GA for a bit.  I've considered taking a job in Jacksonville/St. Augustine, Florida at one time (and in hindsight, I should have but that's in the past).   I was also offered a job in Boise, ID early in my career. 

Pittsburgh may always be "home", but somewhere along the way, it stopped being "home."

I've been halfway around the world and am serious planning on retiring to Portugal if Sue and I ever break up or she dies before me.   I'm not joking.   I've looked into it.

Jack Kerouac must have influenced me more than I thought he did.   Jean Genet too but for completely different reasons.  I remember a friend of mine - Matt the Muppet - handing me that book when I was in my 20's.   "This book will fuck up your life."   To the young philosophy minded education major, it did.    But I regress.

So here I sit, a still young man that can not imagine himself being 52, considering what he will do.  Considering yet another career change and wondering if a move would be helpful at all.   I'm not sure if I could even find another job paying what I make now.  Nor am I sure I wish too.

When my grandparents passed, I was still a young man.  I didn't understand what my parents (who were my age) were going through.  What they were feeling.   Now I face the same choices, the same decisions that they did.  It's not easy. 

The reality of it is starting to sink in.

Finally getting down to St Pete's

I woke up this morning and it was 44 F (or a tad shy under 7 C).  It was going to warm up and quickly, so if I was going to go for a ride...now was when I wanted to get going.

It's a rare free weekend where I literally have no where to go or anything to do.   It being a weekend I wanted to avoid the beaches, but slowly a plan formed in the back of my mind.  How often did I want to get pictures of Kimmie down by the water?  How often have I said I was going to do that then not?

Of course that meant going over the Howard Franklin Bridge, (275 - see map below) which I did once before and thought for sure that I would get killed on it.  However riding in daylight, coming home in daylight....that's another story right?  Plus it's been a while since I rode that bridge.  I'm much more experienced now.

After a hardy breakfast of fruit loops and coffee off I went!

St Petersburg is actually a large city in it's own right.  It's on the other side of the Tampa Bay, and truth be told their is no real easy way to it.  The city only has one overland route to St Pete and three connecting bridges.  The Howard Franklin is always a mess, the Gandy is more to the south of the city and apart from the main city of Tampa.

St Pete is the home of the Tampa Bay Rays, of the MLB.  I was tempted to go get a photo of the Rays stadium but they had a game and I wasn't going to get involved in that mess just for a photo.  It is also the home of the Rowdies's, my beloved soccer team.  Their stadium is actually open on one side allowing the view of the bay, making it one of the more picturesque stadiums in the country.

As I drove up and down the main drag of St Pete, the aptly named Central Ave, I was reminded again why I love city life.  All those little restaurants, art gallery's, and various book stores waiting to be explored.  A variety of people, colors, smells and sensual experiences.  All waiting for me.

Their were a few places I wanted to go but due to construction near the new pier, which used to be an inverted pyramid, originally built in 1973, was being rebuilt.  So I headed down towards the Dali museum and the home of the Rowdies.  It's close to the pier and right across the street from the yacht club.

The Dali from the parking lot

Another view of the Dali

Kimmie with St Petersburg in the background

Sadly I was unable to get a good picture, but you can see a pod of dolphins at play

Might as well enjoy the Farmers market

And some good music

And enjoy a wonderful lunch under the trees

Not only a famous book store, but its said that Jack Kerouac haunts it

Happy Mother's day!!!

Overall I could not think of a nicer way to spend a Saturday, just wandering about and seeing what I could see...and realizing that I had just barely scratched the surface of this place.  How I wish I would have stopped and taken pictures of the many murals I passed!  That I barely touched all the wonder that is Florida and life in general.

It's days like this that make riding wonderful.  It's days like this that make life worth living.  At the end, when I finally did pull into my home I logged 124 miles.  In the end though it was not the mileage that excited me, it was the smiling faces of little kids, the wonderful sandwich I had with homemade bread and artisanal cheese while sitting under the trees, letting the cool breeze off the water kept me comfortable all day.

Sometimes I forget that I live in paradise, when the weight of the world is upon me.  Sometimes it's nice to be reminded of that fact.  Funny how a bike ride to somewhere can do that.

Motivation to ride

"What motivates you?

My boss asked me that question yesterday.

I really did not have an answer ready.  "Well, I like to help people."

"Okay Ms. America and we all want world peace too...but answer the question.  Because if you don't know what motivates you how can you motivate someone else?"

It was a good and fair question.  It took me a bit of soul searching but in the end I found the answer.  What motivates me? 

Travel and movement.

I'm motivated by trying something different.  Seeing something different.  Personal growth if you want to call it that.  I'm not really motivated by money (despite owning my own business since 2008 and being in sales most of my life).    One of the best sales months I ever had was due to the promise of a exotic dinner at a restaurant I had never been to but only if I met a certain goal.

Money, like the computer or a car...or even my bike, is just a tool to help me achieve what I really want to do.  Which is to move and travel and see what is over that next hill, what is around that next bend.  The more I think about this...the more logical it becomes to me.

I may have grown up in Pittsburgh, PA but I went to school in Erie, PA and Slippery Rock, PA.  My family likes to joke that when my brother and I turned 18 , my parents said "We love you, now get out."  I guess those travel roots were put down early.

After college, I moved south as soon as I could and have spent time in Charleston, SC.  As well as living briefly outside of Savannah, GA.  It was not till I moved to Charlotte, NC (where I had a job that taught me something new everyday and often required me to travel through the south) that I was fully affected by the travel bug.

Since then I've been able to travel to the various islands in the Caribbean and a nations in Europe, Asia and South America.

I've traveled to New York City twice, Chicago twice, Las Vegas once.  I've touched down in nearly every state that touches the Atlantic Ocean.  Sue and I are planning on going back to Las Vegas sometime next year (a place she's never been) and our first trip to New Orleans.

If things work out in the long run, then Sue and I will be buying an RV and traveling the US and Canada once we retire. Well I may not be a fan of the idea of getting a trike or a Spyder, the reason I'm even considering it is because Sue wants even more stability when she rides with me.  Plus she knows that I would never ever forgive myself if I were in an accident with her on back.

I just have that travel bug, that need to see what is over the next hill, and my bike allows me to explore all those wonderful back roads near me.

Who was it that said "Four wheels move the body, but two wheels move the soul"?  They were certainly right.  As I look back on my "biking life" I've found that I've been happiest when I have a idea of where I want to go, but it's someplace that I've never been.  It's finding that small mom and pop cafe, or the old cemetery in between point A and B that intrigue me.  Sometimes getting there is more interesting than the final destination...and yes, I know what a cliche that is.  That motivates me to ride, it's just a shame that all I seem to do is ride back and forth to work, so is it any wonder why I'll chose a different path in sometimes?

Even the TV shows I enjoy watching (and I hate TV) are geared towards the exotic and unusual.  Travel shows, history and education predominately.  I used to think that one of the reasons that Jack Kerouac was my favorite author was do to his spontaneous prose, which is basically how I try to write...capturing that feeling of the moment without worrying about how it is structured.  Now in the light of this revelation, I can not help but wonder if it was his nearly neurotic need to be constantly in movement?

Yea, the more I think about this the more I think that my job is just a means to an end.  I need that gas money, I need that hotel room...but that getting away from work is why I work.  That desire to travel is strong in me.

After all, the world is always a more interesting place 50 miles from where your at.

Sometimes the best laid plans....(The unscheduled review of the Freeze out jacket)

I can not speak for my fellow bloggers and how they write but for me it's either one of two ways.  The first way is what I'm doing right now...writing off the top of my head, trying to pay attention to grammar and such but getting out exactly what my impressions are minutes after getting off the bike.
Or, the more traditional way of actually doing some research and then trying to fit my ride around that certain destination.  Generally speaking most of what I write in the first type of article.  Free flowing and relaxed...I blame Jack Kerouac's influence for that.

The second type of writing is where I have a pure destination in mind.  Various reviews, updates, and day trips fall into this category.  I originally had one of two day trips planned.  If I didn't go on one, I would take the other. I already had most of the blog piece written, I would just have to fill in the details.

This little piece of fluff is a combination of the two.  My original plan was to take off early on a Saturday morning and travel north to Brooksville, Fl (about 33 miles away or 53 KM).  It's a pretty well known destination for bikers in Florida since its surround by some lovely rural and twisting roads.  Or I would use my back up plan to visit and explore Ybor (EE-bor) City (about 30 miles or 48 KM  away) if that trip fell through for what ever reason.

Well....it was 31 F (0 C) when I woke up this morning and was slow to warm up.  One thing lead to another and another and another till I finally left the house at 2:45 PM for a ride.  Which got cut short due to a phone call telling me about a family emergency.  I will not go into the details but everyone and everything in fine.

What I will say is that this is the first time I've worn the Freeze Out Jacket I received as a gift over Christmas.  I've been wanting to review the jacket for some time but wanted to take it on a longer ride to fully form an impression of it.  I'll say this.  My first impression is very good.

Taken from the web

It's a tight fit which is good, you want to keep that heat close to you.  I did feel a little bulky with it on but then again, I'm used to throwing on a sweat shirt.

The temperature gauge on my phone stated the high today was only 52 F (11 C) which was not a great test of gear that is supposed to keep you warm in cold weather.  The wind however was blustery and that is the main concern for me.

As I rode one thought kept popping into my mind.

"I'm hot."

I was wearing a pair of jeans, long johns and a long sleeve shirt.  I had the Freeze out gloves on but other than that just my usual riding gear...and I was warm.  Hot even.  Even my hands under my gloves were warm which I can only contribute to my core being warm.

Even though my ride was cut short (total about 40 miles or 64 KM) it was a good ride.  The wind cut across the open plains but the only place I really felt it was around my neck and I could not help but think that if I had a balaclava I would have been happy as a clam.

I know, not much of a review but I was sort of weary of wearing this jacket.  I can take my hooded sweatshirt and wear it into work with no issue.  Fold it under the seat.  Tuck it up around the back and bottom of my neck when I ride home of cool nights.  Or wear the hood under my jacket.  Old habits die hard I guess.

But I'll say this.  This jacket made a believer out of me after a short ride on a cool windy day.  I can't wait to see it handles the cooler temps that are in the near future coming home at night.

Running from the bulls

On Saturday, in a city that is nothing like the fabled streets of Pamplona the bulls ran, chasing young men and woman out for a thrill though streets and over barricades.  I only wish that I could have been one of them, but with a bum leg and ankle and about 15 pounds of extra flesh...I would be but easy pickings for a bull.

Still though one wonders what goes through the mind as you stand there, and around the corner turns a 700 plus pound animal and you realize that you are in it's way...and that it has no reason to stop.

I could not participate and sadly was fated only to watch, to live vicariously though those that can run from nature.   Oh how I yearned to be a part of this event.  To hear the hooves, to laugh a nervous laughter and to run...run...run down the quarter mile track.  The event would be over shortly after it started, and bragging rights would be established over cold beers.

I'm not sure why I wanted to do this, and if I was not under direct orders not to, I would have done this.  I think of Hemingway and the other writers that have influenced me in ways subtle and not so subtle.  Jack of course, Hunter S Thompson and George Plimpton.  Writers that loved the exploration of life.  I suppose my riding a bike is an extension of that need.

The Great Bull Run and Tomato Royal (a food fight based on La Tomatina) maybe as close as I'll ever get to running with the bulls.  You can see actual video from both events here.  Sadly do to other commitments I could not attend either event...even though I informed everyone that I was going to attend the Bull Run for days in advance.

At one time in my life I would have gone, I would have run with the bulls...injury's and commitments and common sense be damned!  Not anymore.

Still though, I can't help what happened to the immortal I once was.  Who thought nothing of chasing black haired and smokey blue eyed girls though the night, of traveling half way around the world alone to see what was there.  The guy that never thought about having to many cigarettes and cold beers.  There were many short skirts and seductive smiles and late nights in jazz clubs where whiskey and poetry flowed.

I'm not a young man anymore.  I'm not that guy anymore.

The lovely Susan often says that I got a motorcycle because of a mid-life crisis.  Sometimes I think she may be right.  I own my own business, have a home that is paid in full, a car that isn't, Kimmie (which I paid cash for), two cats...two ex wives, a 401K and medical plans....a thyroid pill to take in the morning.  I've done okay for myself...but still...it never is enough is it?

Still though I think about the thousands of miles I have placed on her and I realize that no...it's not a mid-life crisis.  Its me being who I am and I'm not that same young man anymore.

So the bull run went on without me.  I'm still interested in grabbing the bull by the horns.  Of exploring this world and learning what I can from everyone and everything.  Yet...yet, I don't know if I want to ride again.

This past month has been hard on me.  I've grown used to riding in my car back and forth to work.  I can listen to my NPR and not have to examine the weather report like some sacrificial lamb.  Over the past several weeks I've been asking myself "is it worth it?"

Honestly the jury is still out.  

Wanderlust

And now on with the show.

Kimmie roared to life the other night, yes roared.  I could just hear her say, in the petulant voice of a pretty Korean girl..."I need to go further, I need speed.  I need the open road.  It's been so long since we gone on a long ride!"

Perhaps it's the summer weather but I have gotten tired of the daily commute.  I am up for an adventure, I need...no, crave something different.  I've been reading blogs like Road Pickle, Riding the Wet Coast and Scoot Commute,  I envy their tales of long trips and adventures and just doing something different for a change.

I suppose every rider experiences that need in their life to just keep going, to see what's down the road and around that corner.   In our case I've been thinking about a ride to St Augustine.  Sue and I visited recently but traveled by car with my family.  The idea of taking the bike there has appealed to me for some time.  I know that Kimmie will hold a overnight bag without issue, so a weekend trip is within grasp.  I feel ready to make such a trip.  I suppose given enough time I'll want to travel the country.

Only two issues.  I don't have any (unplanned) vacation time left this year, so  it needs to be next year.  Susan has been using my jacket and back up helmet so we still need to get her proper gear.  Plus she is not feeling comfortable behind me.
She has confidence in my ability, but I am a full foot (0.30 m) taller than her.  So she sees nothing but the back of my helmet (and I refuse to ride without a helmet).  At a little over 200 pounds (90.7 kilos) I'm very good at blocking air flow.  So she's hot, with pins in her back from a car accident in her teenage years she needs to sit a certain angle to be comfortable.  That may not be possible on the bike.  Funny how you learn new things about someone you have been with for a long time.  I've a feeling we will be doing more 2-up riding in the fall and winter when the temperatures fall to a much more manageable degree.  Now that I'm used to having her back there, I can't imagine riding without her.

Kimmie quotes Keiichi Sisawa in my ear:   I would think that a motorrad's purpose in life is to go places isn't it?  The traveler's purpose in life is to travel.  - from Kino no tabi.  "Let's go." she whispers.   I turn the throttle and she purrs.  I think of Jack Kerouac “Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.”

She whispers, demanding now...."Let's go for a ride"

Here's to you Jack Kerouac

Yesterday I had some personal business to do in Clearwater and St Petersburg, Florida.  My plan was to originally take the Bergi down, get some good shots of it framed against the deep blue of the Gulf of Mexico waters and then have dinner at the Flamingo, the bar where Jack Kerouac supposedly had his last drink.

As it so happened I ended up having to take my car down since I had no way to properly strap the GPS to the Bergi (Note to self:  get a GPS mount) so no pictures of the bike on the Bay.

October 21, 1969 was the day that Jack Kerouac died at the age of 47, and American Literature lost a unique and original voice.   Kerouac, for those of you that may not know, wrote the seminal novel On the Road.  Although personally I don't consider this to be his best work, preferring his next work - The Dharma Bums, to be the height of his work as a writer..

I read On the Road years ago, I was influenced by it like thousands of others before me, not so much to leave home and travel about the country...as it did for a few people I know...but to go ahead and experience different things and sensations.  To break out of my shell...to explore and fall in love with life.

On the wall of the Flamingo

As a young and hopeful writer at the time I fell in love with his "spontaneous prose" which at times seemed sporadic and musical, crazed and insane and oh so wonderful.

I read more of his work, and that opened me up to other writers and ideas and ways to live.  Where as Jack's work influenced me to live with a sense of adventure and wanderlust, in the end his work has always struck me as sad and lacking.  He was always traveling, looking, searching for something that always seemed just out of reach.

Sitting at the bar, a bottle of beer in front of me, I reflected on all of this.  The journey that lead me to sit alone in a bar on a Tuesday night, perhaps on the very seat one of my icons sat on forty years ago.  I paid for the beer, walking out of the bar feeling a little down...knowing that a great talent died way to young.

I looked up, two people on a cruiser pulled up her arms wrapped around his and they smiled...then pulled away and went off on their next adventure somewhere down the road.

I smiled, looked up at the sky and gave a silent "thank you" and went home.