La Luz

So. I put today’s first post up and made the rounds relatively early this morning… or as early as it gets around here. There were a couple of cups remaining in the pot after the Daily Reads had been read… so I went outside, put the awning down, settled into my camp chair, put my feet up, and enjoyed the last of the coffee while simultaneously finishing off the remnants of a couple of cigar ends (I’m such a frugal cigar smoker). In so doing the wonderfulness of my current abode struck me. Not my immediate physical surroundings… as Beautiful La Hacienda Trailer Park is, in reality, anything but beautiful… Nope. What struck me was…

La Luz.

The light. Brilliant crystal-clear light, seemingly emanating from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The sky late this morning was a beautiful shade of robin’s egg blue, with nary a cloud to be seen within my field of vision. If I craned my neck over Miss Zukiko and looked off towards the eastern horizon I could see puffy white cumulus clouds congregating in the distance. But in front of me and to either side… nothing but blue sky. The counterpoint to the light was the relative calm this morning. There was a distinct lack of breeze, and the trees were stock-still as a result… their brilliant verdant arms reaching straight up into the sky and creating a wonderful tableau of mottled dark and light greens against the brilliant… almost achingly brilliant… blue sky. And it was oh-so-quiet at the same time. In other words: about as perfect a morning as it gets around here.

It’s been said that New Mexico draws more than its share of artists, and if you ask those artists why it is they come here, the answer almost always comes down to La Luz. I haven’t had all that many conversations with artists since I’ve been living in New Mexico, but La Luz is central but those I have had. And those people…artists… are correct, to my way of thinking. There’s just something… something intangible, yet real… about the quality of light in this part of the world. And it just might be the best thing about living in these parts.

Today’s Pic: A re-run, taken on NM 209 just as the road drops off The Cap, about 50 or 60 miles from where I sit. It’s the best illustration I could find in the archives of La Luz… even though there are clouds in the sky… whereas there are none today. But I’m sure you get the picture, Gentle Reader.

January, 2004.

Two Things and a Re-run

Revisiting yesterday’s post…briefly: Happy Birthday, Laurie! Signed: Yours, The Doofus who doesn’t know what day it is, and quite often, at that.

―:☺:―

So. Spitzer resigns. As if we didn’t see that coming, eh? I watched a snippet or two of his resignation press conference, complete with the usual, customary, and (UN)reasonable Stoic, Silently-Suffering-Yet-Dignified wife at his side. And you know what? Just once in my life I’d love to see the klieg lights come on, the cameras begin to roll, the flash attachments fire off by the hundreds…and then watch said Silently Suffering Yet Dignified Spouse scream “You SON OF A BITCH!!” and slap the living shit out of that guy.

Please, God. Just once.

It’s the right thing to do.

―:☺:―

Two items ain’t much for a post, but it’s all I have the will motivation for today. So…like what some of The Cool Kidz have done recently, I’m gonna give you a re-run. And we’re not even close to summer yet.

I apologize, Gentle Reader. You’re free to go read new and different stuff, but should you choose to stay I think you might enjoy this. OTOH, you might not. Your call. Here’s my Greatest Hit, reprised.

―:☺:―

Greatest Hit

(originally posted in January, 2006)

(click for larger)

It was a little over six years ago, November of 1999, to be exact, that I first dipped my toe into the retirement waters. I took early retirement from the company I'd spent 14 years with, bought a brand-new motorhome and a brand-new motorcycle to go with it, sold everything that wouldn't fit in the RV, loaded up the remainder of my possessions, and hit the road. I left Rochester, NY for points unknown and with adventure in mind. The extended road-trip lasted until July of 2000 (not even a complete year) before I went back to work. In the interim, I traveled from coast to coast and border to border, managing to find a little adventure in the process.

I maintained a journal of my travels during this period of time and shared parts of the journal with friends via an e-mail newsletter I called "The Trailer Trash Report." What follows is a rather longish piece on motorcycling that was originally an installment of the TTR. This piece got the greatest positive reaction from readers of the Trailer Trash Report, so I thought I'd share it with both of my "new" readers. Here it is, in its unedited entirety.

June 5, 2000

This week's Trailer Trash Report is all about motorcycling and moderately anti-social behavior on the back roads of Oregon's wine country. I've had a life-long, on and off love affair with motorcycles. I began at age 19, with a Triumph 500cc twin road bike. From there I went to off-road riding and racing, owning a succession of Yamaha 250cc enduros and motocrossers. Somewhere during the early '70s I bought my first sport bike, a 350cc Yamaha two-stroke twin. This was when I found my niche, and between 1975 and 1985 I owned about three RD-350s (I bought 'em used and fixed 'em up), a 1977 RD-400 (which is still in the family; my son Sam is restoring it), an RD-350LC, and a Suzuki GS-750 (an aberration, but a nice one). I rode fast two-lanes all over the West Coast, Japan, and the UK, but I hung my helmet up in 1987 after surviving a pretty bad accident. My bike was totaled in that accident, and I suffered two compression-fractured vertebrae...that hurt...for quite a while!! I decided biking's risk/reward ratio leaned decidedly toward the risk side of the equation, so I gave the things up for quite a while. Until this past year.

Bikes get in your blood. Every spring after I quit riding I'd see guys out for that first ride, and I'd be envious. I'd go into bike shops, look at the new models and think "Yeah, they're good looking, but...too much money, not enough time to ride...and I'm getting too old for this stuff, anyway..." Truth be: I missed it. A lot. So, when I decided to run away from home, I also decided to get back on a bike. This time I opted for a 225cc dual-purpose bike, something I could putz around town on and go trail riding on when the opportunity presented itself. My bike is small, light weight and does all of 80 mph, flat out. I decided against getting back into sport bikes because they're simply too advanced now days. Your typical 600cc sport bike will do nearly 150 mph, box-stock, right off the show room floor. Liter bikes (1000cc) are capable of 180 mph today. Too fast for an old man! Which brings us to today's tale...

In my last report, I told you my buddy Lee has three sport bikes: two of which are an RZ-350 two-stroke twin and a 400cc sporter. Saturday Lee, another friend named Dave, and I went for an all-day ride in Oregon's wine country around McMinnville. Dave rides a Harley Sportster, and Sportys are cruising bikes, not back road burners. I rode Lee's RZ, and Lee was on the 400. We took it easy on those nice two lane roads with the good twisty bits, and it was a safe and sane day. I don't think we broke 80 mph once. We stopped often to admire the scenery, had lunch in a nice pub, and took another break for a pint in the Oregon Hotel in McMinnville, which is The Official Location of America's First UFO Sighting, which is celebrating it's 50th anniversary this year, by the way. All in all, it was a good day out.

Now Lee has another friend, Steve Clark, who is a road racer with a garage FULL of bikes; I think I counted 12 of the things in various states of running order. Steve is in his mid-40s, has been riding all his life, and races 600cc modified production class on a VERY highly tuned Yamaha four. This bike puts out 89 rear-wheel horsepower, which moves that 425 pound bike (wet...with fuel) down the road at a damned fast clip. The bike's top speed is in the 150 mph neighborhood, or slightly above. Steve also has a lightly modified Honda CBR 900RR, which puts out 130 hp and weighs a bit over 440 pounds, wet. It's blindingly fast, and so quick it'll make your ears bleed. "I have s***-box cars," sez Steve, "but nice bikes!" He is absolutely right about the bikes. Lee, Steve and I went for a ride Sunday afternoon, and I'll not soon forget it.

We rode Steve's favorite road today... a road that leads out of Albany through farm land and up into the mountains...headed west toward the coast. The road is posted at 55 mph, and the State of Oregon was kind enough to post "suggested speeds" (warnings) at each corner, which range from 10 mph hairpins up to 45 mph sweepers and all points in between. The warning signs do double-duty as brake markers, of sorts. You hold your entrance speed constant and really hit the binders about 100 feet beyond the sign, downshift, snap the bike over on its side, hold the power steady for a moment then roll on the throttle, spinning it around 10,500 rpm while accelerating out of the turn...but, I'm getting ahead of myself, AGAIN! Back to the road...it begins in farmland, with wide sight lines down the road and from side to side. The road gradually increases in elevation, with gentle up and down hill sections that are increasingly wooded. The road tightens up a bit as you go higher, and the turns are a little tighter. The air gets cooler the higher you go. The day is bright, cloudless and about 80 degrees in the valley. This is a good time and place!

Every sport biker has his favorite road, usually very lightly traveled, well maintained, with good visibility and lots of twists and turns...from very tight turns to fast sweepers. The road is the challenge: you try to master it, find "the line" through all the corners (the line can change, but that's another story), and ride it as quickly and skillfully as you possibly can. You score extra points for form. When you're "on," when you put it all together, when you get it absolutely right, it's a glorious feeling that's nearly impossible to describe. It's exhilarating, and it can make you laugh right out loud in your helmet. You walk around for days with a goofy grin on your face after one of those rides where you get it right. Those rides don't happen that often, though. "Getting it right" means matching engine speed and road speed perfectly through the bends, holding the right lean angle, hitting the right brake points at the right times, clipping the apex of each curve perfectly, dialing in the right amount of throttle at the right time, and not missing a single shift, up or down, all while trying to stay out of jail and stay glued together the way you came out of the box, more or less. The activity demands total concentration...anything less than total concentration means a sloppy ride, at best. At worst, you could win a ride in a large Ford van owned by the Fire Department or someone like them.

We left Steve's place with Steve on the 900, Lee on the 600, and me on the baby bike...with the 14,000 rpm red line. Five minutes or so and we're out into the country, and Steve picks up the pace. We head into a series of right-left-right sweepers posted at 45 mph. I look down at my speedo going into the first turn and I'm doing 70. Steve and Lee are pulling away...quickly. I dial it up a bit and I'm doing 80 coming out of the last turn. Steve and Lee are dots down the road. The first twinge of fear hits...these guys are fast! I wind that little Yamaha out to it's red line in fourth, then fifth, and shift into sixth at 125, indicated. Those guys are still pulling away!! I have VERY brief thoughts about insanity, medical insurance, life insurance, and my kids...but hold it open. I keep it at 125 for what seems like a minute or so then throttle back, hit the brakes and downshift for the next corner, a 35 mph left hander. I'm feeling a little more confident at this point, so I lean a bit further, get a bit more aggressive with the throttle, and exit cleanly, pulling to red line once again through third, fourth and fifth. The bike is an absolute jewel above 10,000 rpm. Below that, there's next to no power at all, but in between 10K and 14K it goes pretty good for a 400. Up ahead I see Steve and Lee have slowed, waiting for me to catch up. I catch up and we repeat the process all over again for the next 20 minutes or so. They run away and hide, I get a bit quicker, they wait for me to catch up. I'm feeling better and better as every minute goes by. Finally, we go through a little town and stop on the outside of town for a break and a root beer. We bench race for about 20 minutes, and then we switch bikes and head out again.

This time I'm on the 600, Lee's on the 900, and Steve's on the 400. I understand IMMEDIATELY why Lee was pulling away so quickly. This 600 is a beast, a weapon. The power comes on around 7K and explodes to its 12K red line. Wheelies are no-brainers on this bike; it takes serious concentration to hold it on the ground through the first three gears. Steve is in the lead, and his road racing skills are such that he can stay comfortably ahead of Lee and I, even though we're on much more powerful bikes. This guy is amazing...smooth AND fast. We head back into the country, reversing our route back home. This time I'm more familiar with the road, but I'm on a bike with a steep learning curve. The bike is a pure racer with a tacked on license plate, and it's intimidating. I'm probably only using 50 percent of it's capabilities and it's awesome. Make that awe-inspiring. You don't want to screw up on this thing...you better know what you're doing. Five miles down the road and I think I have the brakes figured out. They're powerful and allow for serious late braking into turns. The throttle response isn't as easy to dial in as the brakes...the power is either on or off, with little or no ability to modulate the throttle. I'm riding pretty conservatively (it's not MY bike, after all), but I'm also riding a LOT faster than I was on the 400. I'm keeping Steve in sight, and we're losing Lee. I'm establishing a rhythm now, the road ahead is clear, and the bike is a willing and eager accomplice. The speed picks up, I look down and I'm doing 135 on the straight. OK...that's too fast...throttle back. A few minutes later I back it down to 75 or so for a moment or three and Lee catches up. He waves me over, asking if I want to trade bikes. I say "OK," we stop, swap mounts and head back out.

The 900 is a revelation. Where the 600 is brutal, abrupt and hard-edged, the 900 is smooth, comfortable and deceptively fast. It has gobs of torque and is incredibly quick...so much so it's scary. You twist that throttle and you ACCELERATE...no ifs ands or buts...pure, raw acceleration. Keep in mind, this bike puts out 130 hp at the rear wheel...and the bike and I together weigh only 575 pounds...or about one horsepower for every 4.5 pounds of mass to move. That sort of power-to-weight ratio is normally found in race cars, or sports cars costing six figures. It's more power than I can use, but DAMN did it feel good to let that sucker wail!!!

So anyway...we motored back on in to Albany. I explored the Honda's capabilities on the way back in, being respectful of its sheer presence. I'm not sure I'd want to own one of these things...nice place to visit, but ya wouldn't want to live there. It's an amazing piece of machinery, though. Quick, fast, light, comfortable, good looking, and, no...I'm not going to tell you how fast I went on that thing. I'm thoroughly impressed with how far the manufacturers have taken the product in the last ten years. It's been at least that long since the last time I rode sporting machines. Today's bikes perform as well as pure racers of comparable size did ten years ago. It's the motorized equivalent of the computer industry, I guess.

Safely back home after a great ride, and a good dinner (ribs and beer), I'm wondering how I can arrange frequent visits to my Buds and their impressive stable of sport bikes. I really, really, really like the company and the riding! This weekend was a tremendous amount of fun, but it taught me a bit, too. My personal state of tune isn't really high enough to be riding with these guys. It's been a long time since I was out carving up back country roads, and it was obvious I'd been away too long. You never really forget HOW to ride, but you need a lot of practice to keep the skills sharp, especially if you're going to ride at supra-legal speeds. I think I should probably stick to my little 225. Getting on my bike after riding the sport machines this weekend is...uh...boring. At least it's boring on the street. I just have to keep telling myself that 45 mph on a fire road or a logging trail is just as good or better than 135 on a sport bike, now, don't I? ;-)

So...it's Monday morning here in Oregon and I still have this goofy grin on my face...how was your weekend?

Well, you know I've moved back into sport bikes since I wrote this oh-so-long ago (in inter-tubes time), Gentle Reader. But I don't have any partners in crime (locally) with which to terrorize the locals. Or suitable roads, either, being as how roads here are arrow-straight and curves (heh) nearly non-existent. But that's quite another story.

Random Notes

Pwn3d… I sat down to read my e-mail this morning immediately after lighting off the coffee pot and before I'd consumed my first cup, in keeping with the Ritual de lo Habitual around these parts. And the first thing I read was this, from The Second Mrs. Pennington (in part):

Have you sent Bobby a birthday card yet? I know he would really like one ;-).

Aiiieee! I immediately replied, thusly:

Sweet Jesus! I forgot his birthday. I can't believe I did that. I'm such a lousy father and grandfather and I'm SO embarrassed. Thanks for the nudge, and check your inbox in about ten minutes or so. There will be a gift card from Amazon in there shortly.

The only problem is I didn’t really, actually forget… his birthday isn’t until Tuesday next. Chances are pretty danged good I would have remembered between now and then. Chances are equally as good I might have forgotten, though. Old Age can really be a beeyotch, at times.

Please. Remind me… yet again, Gentle Reader… to NOT attempt anything that requires the least little bit of actual thought before I pour… and consume… that first cup. I have a tendency to embarrass myself, otherwise.

Yanno?

―:☺:―

So…yesterday was quite the gorgeous day, kinda-sorta. For mid-February, anyway. It was at least 68 degrees or so, complemented by bright sunshine around 1100 hrs yesterday morning. Albert The Propane Guy stopped by and filled up my tank around that time and we both agreed it was a brilliant day, especially considering what was in the offing for today…as in: we’re under a winter storm watch and it’s colder than the proverbial well-digger’s nether regions, as I type.

So, I did what any red-blooded, All-American biker would do when gifted with a brilliant day in the middle of February. I uncovered Miss Zukiko, dusted her off, and took her out for a spirited run that lasted about an hour and a half. I should have taken pictures of the poor girl when I uncovered her. You wouldn’t believe what over two months of accumulated dust looks like on a dark blue motorcycle. It took me nearly 15 minutes to dust her off and make her presentable. It was that bad, and words cannot begin to convey how dirty she actually was. But that didn’t affect her willingness to run, once she was cleaned up. At all. We both had a great time… And, you know what’s best about a ride in mid-winter?

I left home with a clean face shield.

I returned with a clean face shield.

Nary a bug-splatter. Not a single one. And that is nice!

It was still nice enough, weather-wise, when I returned to El Casa Móvil De Pennington that I sat outside and had a cigar while letting the lady cool off before I covered her up again. It was just a wee bit too early to pop a beer, so I made do with what was left in the coffee pot. That worked.

―:☺:―

Today’s Pic: More Kyoto. This photo is the front view of this pic. It was pretty danged crowded that day, as you can plainly see, Gentle Reader. The crowds didn’t dampen my enthusiasm one whit… I was stoked beyond belief as we walked up the stairs and on to the temple grounds, to use the vernacular of the time…

Back to Normal... or As Normal As It Gets Around Here

Well, now. Yesterday was certainly… interesting, eh? Speaking strictly about politics, of course. I’ll freely admit to getting a lil bit wrapped around the axle because of yesterday’s events, and I’ll also admit that I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. To be blunt: yesterday was the first spark of enthusiasm and/or excitement I’ve felt in this primary season. Perhaps it’s because we (the Republicans) apparently have a nominee and we can concentrate our energies and resources on the national campaign. There’s just one lil problem, though: no one has told Mike Huckabee (or that doctor from Texas, mentioned only because he’s…well, still there) that the Fat Lady is done singing and has, in fact, left the building. About which: this.

JUDY WOODRUFF: What does Romney's getting out mean? And how hard is it going to be for John McCain?

RICHARD LAND: Well, Romney's getting out means that the most likely challenger to John McCain is now out of the race. And I've known Governor Huckabee for 28 years. He's a great guy. But I don't think anyone but Governor Huckabee and his wife think that he has a realistic chance of beating John McCain to the nomination, given the delegate counts that are currently in place.

And so it effectively means John McCain -- barring some health catastrophe or barring some unknown scandal that no one knows about -- he's going to be the Republican nominee.

And I think that -- look, John McCain is pro-life. Now, if Rudy Giuliani had been the nominee, it would have split the party. But John McCain has a reliable pro-life record that goes back to his days in Congress. It's not spotless, but it's pretty reliable.

And, you know, the conservative rating groups give him an 80 percent to 85 percent rating on his voting record. He's a pretty conservative guy.

Which seems to be the received wisdom across the board. I cannot remember hearing one single talking-head saying “this ain’t over” last evening…not one… unless you consider Huckabee himself to be a “talking head.” I do not. There’s interesting analysis at the link, by the way, from Richard Land (the president of the Southern Baptist Convention's Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission) and David Bossie (president of Citizens United, a conservative nonprofit organization). Neither of which were McCain supporters, but both of which admit, somewhat grudgingly, that McCain is acceptable. It’s a start.

I think the remaining GOP primaries might could be interesting, if the “anyone but McCain” group decide to mount an intensive campaign for Huckabee. Or, God Forbid…Ron Paul. Yet: it’s still VERY early days and approximately half the states have yet to hold their primaries. It could be interesting, in the Chinese proverb sense.

We’ll see.

―:☺:―

In the meantime, look for a whole helluva lot of articles like this one in the very near future. Excerpt:

The Republican Party spent decades building its brand as the party of small government, free enterprise and fiscal discipline. That brand put Ronald Reagan in the White House in 1980 and gave Republicans control of Congress in 1994. When it became clear two years ago that Republicans had abandoned those principles, voters swept them from power.

The path back requires re-establishing the GOP as a party of limited government and economic freedom. This is essential to Mr. McCain's political future, the fortune of his party, and the economic well-being of the nation. And the first big indication that he intends to bring back the party of Reagan will be who Mr. McCain taps as his running mate.

The WSJ talks about some of the usual suspects and some unusual ones, as well. One intriguing name I heard mentioned last night is Kay Bailey Hutchison. I could buy that… OTOH, either Romney hisownself or Fred wouldn’t upset me, either.

More ideas here, here, and at The Weekly Standard, whose article concludes with “This list will grow like kudzu.” No kidding. Ya think?

―:☺:―

A lot of folks have been dissing Peggy Noonan of late, but she has a block-buster of a column in today’s WSJ… “Can Mrs. Clinton Lose?” Excerpt:

If Hillary Clinton loses, does she know how to lose? What will that be, if she loses? Will she just say, "I concede" and go on vacation at a friend's house on an island, and then go back to the Senate and wait?

Is it possible she could be so normal? Politicians lose battles, it's part of what they do, win and lose. But she does not know how to lose. Can she lose with grace? But she does grace the way George W. Bush does nuance.

She often talks about how tough she is. She has fought "the Republican attack machine" that has tried to "stop" her, "end" her, and she knows "how to fight them." She is preoccupied to an unusual degree with toughness. A man so preoccupied would seem weak. But a woman obsessed with how tough she is just may be lethal.

The bits about Hillary are good, but it’s Noonan’s observations about Obama…and you simply cannot discuss Hillary without talking about Obama… that grabbed my attention. She’s very, very astute on that subject, and the GOP had best begin working on this lil problema toot sweet. I’m sure McCain’s folks already are.

―:☺:―

Today’s Pics: Motorcycles Past. I may have mentioned that there was a time in life…an extended time, like four years or so… when I didn’t own a car. At this particular point in time (1975 - 1977) I owned three motorcycles, two of which you see here, and another RD-350 that served as a “parts bike” for the gold motorcycle in these pictures.

The gold bike is a Yamaha RD-350B (it might could be an RD-350A but I doubt if anyone can tell the difference, not that it matters a whole helluva lot, anyway) and that was my “daily driver” for nearly two years. That bike took The Second Mrs. Pennington and I all over Tokyo and quite a few other places, most notably the mountains and vicinity around the Kanto Plains. I kept it basically stock, primarily because I didn’t have the money to build it out at the time. But I told folks it was all about “re-sale value” and other white lies.

The bike with the red tank is a DT-1, or perhaps a DT-250, which I purchased for the princely sum of $50.00…if memory serves. The guy I bought it from told me it didn’t run and I was welcome to it…make an offer. So I did. The day I went to pick it up I took a brand new spark plug with me, a new set of points, and an assortment of tools. I replaced the plug, kicked the bike through twice with the ignition off, switched the ignition on, kicked it again…once… and it started right up. I rode it home, finished the tune-up, kept it for about a year and sold it for three times what I paid for it the week before I left Japan. That bike was one of the most cost-effective, not to mention FUN, motorcycles I’ve ever owned, bar none. I wish I had it today.

The pics were taken in the parking lot outside of the Single NCO Quarters at Yokota AB, Japan, where I lived after TSMP left Japan in late 1976. Note the cherry blossoms in the second pic... Yokota was a beautiful air force base…as far as air force bases go.

On Any Sunday...

Well, it’s Sunday. Big Doin’s for NFL fans today and for masochists from all over the US, if not the world, who will tune into the NFC game just to watch people suffer. In a good way, of course. Hell, I might even watch. I watch the playoffs in nearly every other sport, but rarely pro-football. That might change today. There’s sure to be lotsa crowd shots of people in Green Bay whose sensibilities and/or sanity I question. Am I being redundant by sayin’ that? I mean…you have to be jes a lil bit “off” to live in that part of the world, dontcha?

―:☺:―

Before I move on to (arguably) “bigger and better” things…there’s this… Best comment on a blog I read yesterday:

· Comment by happyfeet on 1/19 @ 7:06 pm #
Is that different from muesli? I like muesli. Kashi is kind of like muesli plus you get interracial lesbians. Yay!

Yes, it really is a comment. There’s a link hiding up there.

―:☺:―

So, it’s Sunday. And once upon a time, in another world, another time, another season, and another life, I would be doing this:

The pic is of YrHmblScrb and several dedicated competitors on the starting line somewhere in the wilds of Hokkaido, sometime in the summer of 1969 or perhaps 1970. The time period is before motocross caught on as a Big Time Sport in the US, and is exactly the point in time when the Nipponese fielded their very first purpose-built MX bikes. Up until about 1971 (or so) if you wanted a competitive MXer you didn’t buy a Yamaha, a Honda, or a Suzuki…you bought a CZ, a Maico, a Husky, or maybe a Bultaco. European, in other words. Or…you could do as most of us did (at least those of us who raced in Japan), you bought a stock dual-purpose bike, tore it down, and rebuilt it with factory “race kits” and after-market items. Like my friends and I did with Yamaha’s immortal DT-1, an example of which I’m sitting astride in this starting line shot.

Motocross in Japan was interesting, to say the very least. Especially in Hokkaido, where the races were generally held on ski slopes, which made for fine MX tracks… what with the changes in elevation, off-camber corners, and relatively wide open straights. That was just the physical aspect of the racing…there were also cultural differences which made for some “interesting” times, not to mention great good learning experiences. And lots of drunken evenings with the local club(s) after practice on Saturday. First and foremost, though: the Nipponese were fierce competitors, and they were competitors with a great sense of honor. There was very little, if any, “dirty” racing; we were all in it for the fun of it. The “fun of it” is pretty much the way amateur racing is anyway, no matter where you go.

Lotsa fun. And lots of memories, too many of which have faded away, unfortunately. One memory that sticks in my mind, though, is of the evening my friends and I were at the public bath in some small Japanese town after either a hard day of racing or a hard day of practice before the race. Japanese public baths are segregated by gender, with the larger baths having separate facilities for men and women. The smaller baths, however, usually only had a partition (think: movable wall) that separated the men’s and women’s areas in the large soaking bath. And that partition was less than effective. If one really wanted to look into “the other side” from your side…well, it wasn’t hard to do.

So…there we were…several of us Yankee GI bike racers, soaking in the bath, and there she was…on the other side of the partition, doing the same thing, yet coyly coming into our view every so often. And she was pretty well-built for a Japanese woman, who are generally not known for being…um…well endowed. One could NOT help but notice, and we were certain she was noticing us, as well. But nothing was revealed, really…until one of us, and I really, truly, do not remember who…stood up and gave the lady a lil show of sorts. And she reciprocated, knocking us back on our collective asses, figuratively speaking. It wasn’t blatantly erotic or meant as a come-on, or anything else in that space…just an unobstructed 360-degree view of the “goods,” so to speak, and such very fine goods they were, too. And just as quickly as it began, it was over. She exited the bath with her towel wrapped around her and a big smile on her face. Made our day, she did.

(I’ve told this story elsewhere on the blog, but damned if I can find it…and I looked, too.)

So, anyway. I continued my racing career for a brief time after returning to the US (to Boron Air Force Station, a great assignment for a dirt biker!) and here’s a shot of YrHmblScrb after a Hare and Hounds somewhere in the great Mojave desert. The pic was snapped immediately after I pulled into the pits, and I’m exhausted…which is fairly plain to see.

My racing days came to an end when I (a) got assigned to Turkey for a year and (b) got old and slow. MX is essentially a young man’s game, although there are classes for “Over 40” and “Seniors” and the like. But that ain’t me. It was a LOT of fun at the time…but times change.

By the way…that woman with the captivating smile behind me in the mud picture? That’s The First Mrs. Pennington. Lovely, isn’t she?