Fear

I've been giving a lot of thought lately to fear.

Fear of riding, fear of falling, fear of failing, fear of starting something new, of losing someone and some things.  Fear matters.  It motivates and it stops us. Our fight or flight reactions sometimes guide us or fail us.  We conquer it and wonder what scared us so.  We pay to be fearful every October.  Fear excites us, it scares the living hell out of us.

When I commute I sometimes take a different route and on that road is a rather easy "S" bend that quickly turns into a hard left.  It's a busy one lane road and the turn requires you to slow down drastically, going from about 40 MPH (64.4 KPH)  to 10 MPH (16 KPH) in seconds.  It's a good lean and when down right you feel the G force and stay in the lane.  When it's not done right you are put instantly into a three lane road just like a slingshot.

For a long time I would not take that road.  That turn scared the hell out of me.

Then one day I did.  Then another day.  Then the day after that.  I overcame that fear.  That being said I still give that turn a lot of respect.    I still slow down drastically, I still fear it but it's now more of a healthy respect.

Selfie

Over the last week or so I've been in class.  So my riding this past week has been drastically reduced.

This class is something new for me, I've not been in a University environment in over 20 years.  I have to learn a lot.  Like the teacher said, "You have a week to learn what normally takes a quarter to teach."  I'm fearful that I won't pass it.  That I won't be given the job promised me if I fail.  Its a lot of pressure but the payoff could be worth my weight in gold (and I'm pretty fat).

Assuming all works like I hope, I'll have to ride a little further each day but will be working daylight.  The pay would be at least 3K more a year than I make now.  It has the potential to be more, and I would be management for a change.  Good changes...but tinged with fear.  I would also have to ride the highway during rush hour...which is fearful in the relative safety of my car.

In my class I met a younger man who just bought his first motorcycle, a Suzuki S40 and I'll admit I was looking at one too some time ago.  He had taken the safety course and bought the bike used.  In the last 6 months he managed to put a little over 1,500 miles (2414 km) on it.  He stated he was fearful of it.  That he would not ride on roads that had cars or people on them.  I thought about when I first started and how, particularly at night, I would let the cars pass me on my little Zuma 125.

He told me a story about the Howard Franklin Bridge that he swore he never ride again.  I know the feeling all to well.  But we do these things and overcome our fears.

Sadly, this was fatal for the biker.

I'm not sure what drove us to motorcycling and all I know is that I don't have the love for it I once did.  I'm fearful of that.  I don't want my bike to be a garage queen and I don't want my miles to only number in the low thousands at the end of the year.  I'm fearful that he will never really develop a taste for it and just be another lost soul.

He asked me what it was like when I went down.  All I could do was stress training, riding and ATGATT.  What else could I do?  What else could I do to curtail that fear?

Then I told him something a wise rider once told me.  "Going down ain't the problem, it's what you do once you get up that matters.  Don't let that fear get to ya."

We don't have to be fearful.  We just do what we need to do.

Going home...a love letter to Pittsburgh

Plan for the immediate, understand what is coming down the road and prepare for the future.  This will most likely be my last blog entry for the month of April.  Starting on the 17th I'll be traveling back to Pittsburgh, my home town, and I will not be back till the end of the month.

Photo by Renee Duncan-Tabak

I'm looking forward to going home.  It's the city of my birth, where I spent my misplaced youth.  The waters of the three rivers run through my veins deep and thick.  "Yinzers," as Pittsburgh's natives are likely to call them themselves, have a saying..."You can leave the burgh, but the burgh never leaves you."  It has something to do of course with our storied sports teams.  But it's more than that.  The neighborhoods of Pittsburgh are a little microcosm of the American experience.

Bloomfield is "Little Italy."  Polish Hill lives up to it's name.  People party and dance the night away in the South Side, but the natives will tell you that the "slopes" are where you want to live.   Within walking distance of the nightlife, yet offering views of the city like no other.  All the little funky shops and restaurants crammed into to "Strip".  Little cites in a larger city brought about by geology and topography.

Yea, I'm a little homesick.

Lately I've been thinking about family.  About friends.  About those I've loved and lost.  About how the "Capital of Appalachia", a city of over 306 thousand people can maintain a small town feel.  How we invented the Zombie.

Somewhere there is a photo of my family, I'm in my hockey uniform.  It was taken at the Monroeville mall which is also where they shot Dawn of the Dead.  I don't know how many times my dad got up at 4 AM in the morning so I could dream of following my hero's at the time.  He must of known his kid stunk.

I remember catching fireflies out on the lawn on warm endless summer nights, the stars were different then.  More numerous.  More Luminous.  I remember riding my bike, my bicycle, up and down the street for thousands of miles.

I remember soccer games in the backyard.  Hitting golf balls at the neighbors house, and no, I never broke a window.  Drinking my dad's beer in the basement.  

One of my fondest memories was seeing my Dad, drunk on the euphoria of the Penguins first Stanley Cup win.  He had been a fan from the very beginning, and this was a sweet victory for him.  This was Pittsburgh, fans in the street yet no violence...no fires and only a few arrests.  My friends, musicians all, blowing trumpets at the airport to triumph the conquering heroes.  

This was home.  

I am going home for several reasons.  It's been over a year since I touch Pennsylvania soil.  I have a new niece that is celebrating her first birthday, and is my parents first grandchild.  Like my father, who fell in love with the Pens from the very beginning...I fell in love with the Riverhounds.  They have a new stadium that was a long time coming and I feel the need to see a game there, considering that I wrote their match reports for a bit at the turn of the century.  It seems a lifetime ago.  


I've celebrated a birthday, my father celebrated his eighty-second birthday a month before.  My mother is ten years younger and celebrated hers a few days later.  Time is running out.  So why not go home and celebrate my being an uncle?  Why not get a family photo?  Why not create memories?  

Home is where the heart is they say...but it's also where the memories are.  My heart, my soul is in Pittsburgh.  I am going home to connect with old friends.  To re-establish ties and to make sure that the people I love are cared for.  

I am going home.  

Falling for Pennsylvania all over again.

I was born and raised in suburban Pittsburgh.  I grew up there and in a lot of ways it will always be home.  It is over 1600 miles from me now and a lifetime away.

As I drove the back country roads of Butler and Mercer county, where my parents are "snowbirds" and my girlfriend's family still lives year round,  I looked for bikes.  Only one Burgie sighting the entire time there.  Other bikes seemed scarce, probably due to the rain and the promise of cold weather - the temperature was in the low 60's and high 50's while I was there; typical for the time of year.  Most but the most serious motorcyclists had put away their rides for another year and the promise of spring.

In another week or two and the leaves would be in full glorious color and as I drove down some of the twisty roads that make up this part of Pennsylvania all I could think was how much I wished I brought the bike.   There is always next year of course.

A simple trip to nearby McConnells Mill State Park brought back memories of college and what first sparked my interest in hiking and other "outdoor activities."

At times I do miss home and all the memories and friends that I had there.  Florida, despite it's own natural beauty and interesting people is just a different place.  In some ways my home here in West Central Florida is home but my heart belongs somewhere else.   Sometimes I think it belongs in Charlotte, NC.  Other times in Charleston, SC.  Two very different cities where I have fond and loving memories.  You never know where the road takes you, and the heart has it's own GPS.

It just calls to you don't it.

Natural springs outside of Slippery Rock, PA

The New River Gorge Bridge in W Va

Highways, bridges and soccer.....a punishing night on the Burgie

I've been wanting to ride the Burgie down into St Petersburg for some time.  After all I would be able to get some glorious shots of my ride against the ocean, the yacht club and other interesting things.  This past Saturday night the local soccer team, called the Rowdies were playing, and I could not think of a better reason to ride down.

As it so happened though life through me a couple of twisties before I could even start to plan to go to the game. My camera went boom, meaning that any picture I took with it was a fuzzy mess. My wallet was either lost or stolen, and since my bank is up north it would take several days to get my bank cards straightened out.  My license reissued, etc.  I questioned if I should even bother going down but as a nearly perfect Saturday dawned I had my answer.  I would ride the sixty miles down to the game, enjoy it and spend some time exploring the city.  So I jumped on the Burgie and went.

Traffic was not this bad on Saturday.

Frankly there are lots of ways to get into St. Pete but generally speaking the easiest and quickest is to cross one of the three bridges that connect Tampa to St. Pete.  The Howard Frankland being the one I choose.  This is also a major highway (I-275) and a very long bridge which is open to the water on both sides (remember this, it's important for later).  At various times I've seen dolphins leaping from the water, sea birds hunting from fish and several species of fish break the waterline for whatever reason.  All while traveling at a nice clip of 70 miles per hour.  The ride down into St Pete was uneventful, I don't care for driving on highways but felt pretty secure and sure of myself on the way in.

Photo courtesy of Jay Anthony

Once into St Pete I drove past the famed Dali museum, the Pier with its upside down pyramid (which has since closed and is being rebuilt.  For pictures of the old pier please use this link), around the lovely yacht club with the boats flying their multicolored flags. The real fun started when you get to the game.  I'm a member of Ralph's Mob, where your expected to stand, sing, clap and generally yell yourself hoarse for the entire 90 minutes of a soccer game.   It was a pretty good game, with the Rowdies dominating it for the most part - but their is an old saying in soccer.  "Football is a lot like life sometimes despite the effort, it's disappointing in the end."  The Rowdies lost 2 - 1 in a game that they should have won.  The reasons for that loss is for another blog.  So I considered my options and decided that after the game instead of enjoying a soft drink or two at the after-game party, I would head home; after all I lived 60+ minutes away.

Courtesy of Jay Anthony (find the author as well)

St Pete's offers a lot of motorcycle/scooter parking which is nice, I found a spot 2 blocks from the stadium earlier that eveing and started home.  I pulled out and the wind off the water hit me like a ton of bricks.  It got worse as I entered the highway...hitting me from both the side and the front of bike.  My speed dropped as I turned the throttle up, but if I turned it to much I didn't feel safe from the side winds that seemed to want to drive me into the next lane over.   I moved over to the right as far as I could, feeling the bike be pushed, fishtailing a bit, the wind relentlessly pushing me over to the left.  The bridge went on and on, I leaned forward and into the wind never feeling that I would lose control but feeling I was on the edge.  Again and again I was buffeted.  It seemed to take forever to cross that three mile span.

I got off the bridge safely and I'll be honest, feeling a bit lucky but decided to cut through town to avoid the rest of the highway as the wind was still playing havoc on the bike.   What I didn't think about was the part of town I would be riding through.  I was riding through an area of town so rough that even the cockroaches were packing guns.  I never feared for my safety, I actually thought I was safer on the city streets then on the highway at the time and besides...I was on a scooter.

The last 15+ miles of ride was into a strong headwind but this I could manage.  So eventually I made it home, safe and sound and with some knowledge under my belt about how to drive in unpredictable gusts of winds.  I would have to work on that.