Another Shot at Oregon

After working Louisiana for nearly 3 months, Delta Airlines and the Hilton chain probably thought I'd fallen off the face of the earth and I too, had become somewhat complacent, enjoying spending time with my wife,  relatives and my stuff.  Oh well, the break's over.

During my two weeks of retreat from assignments, I constantly was on edge waiting for the phone to ring, announcing an assignment in a cornfield in Nebraska or in a pine thicket in L.A. (Lower Alabama) but instead got the call to Portland.

It has been several years since I've visited the state so I was naturally excited to book a flight and buzz up here a week ago.  This long Presidents' Day weekend gave me a chance to get out.

My first adventure was east of here near Troutdale.  There are several waterfalls in the area and I did a little hiking for well needed exercise and a chance to take a few pictures.  My first stop was Wahkeena Falls, a long cascading stream flowing down the mountainside.  I only walked a ½ mile or so up to the midpoint before turning back.

Multnomah Falls was really my target.  A couple of my friends had visited there a year or so ago and sent me pictures of them there so I wanted to go as well.  One of the friends had been goading me to walk (climb) to the top and warned me to wear good shoes When I arrived, I checked out the maps around it and discovered that the trek was approximately 1.3 miles up the mountain to where the water fell into a duel set of pools. Along the way, I wandered off the main trail to explore the raging river that would eventually be the falls. 

I accepted the challenge and started up, stopping occasionally to take a picture but in reality, it was to collect my energy and get a breath.  The asphalt coverd trail zig-zagged through a series of switchbacks that rose at probably a 20% grade, leaving my knees and hips aching.  The trip down was a piece of cake but somehow I managed to form and eventually pop a blister between a couple of toes.


With my sense of accomplishment at hand, I found a few more interesting sites.

Monday, even though it was raining, I took a ride west over to the Oregon Coast.  My target there was Cannon Beach and the huge Haystack Rock that I'd heard so much about and seen pictures of.  During the two hour trip from Portland, I saw a little snow at higher elevations and hoped it wouldn't get thick enough to need chains which I didn't have.  No big deal there, my concerns were soon assuaged.

Even though it was misting rain and in the low 40°s, quite a few people were on the beach and in true Oregonian fashion, no one had an umbrella.  There's something about the area that almost demands you don't carry one.

Anyway, it was a pleasant experience walking quite a distance along in the sand.

Mama's 90th surprise birthday party

She was ninety on January 12 but we delayed having a surprise party for her on the following Sunday.  We figure that there were 85-100 well wishers gathered in Farmerville, Louisiana to give her a first surprise party.  Mama told me it was the most fun she'd had in ages.

She had both her living sisters and brother there as well as a host of nieces, nephews and friends.  Both, my brother and I had our kids and grandkids there too.  A total of 8 grand children and 7 great grandchildren.

Hey, the Canbile Ramblers even provided entertainment.  It just can't get any better than that!  Check out that wash tub.

The Funeral

I was caught in traffic at lunch Thursday, as what I can only assume was a fireman's funeral crawling slowly through Ville Platte, grinding traffic to a complete halt.  There must have been a dozen modern fire engines with sirens blaring that preceded this one.  I was overwhelmed at the solemnity of the firemen riding on the old Mack engine that served as the funeral caisson.

The one on the front running board, standing at attention, particularly impressed me with his haunting stare that seemed to penetrate straight through the camera and looked directly into my head.

I am not sure of the significance, if any at all, but he was the only one without a cap.

Hannah Abigail Albritton

Welcome to the world, sweetie.

Scary, isn't it?  Yeah, I know, me too.

Hannah was born at the Woman's Hospital, in Baton Rouge and weighed 7 lbs, 13 oz.  Everyone is doing well and soon will be headed home with Mom, Dad and big brother Henry to celebrate Christmas.

She, is absolutely gorgeous.

Rollin' On The River

After watching Henry's last basketball game of the season, Jared and I took his father-in-law's boat out on the river.  Actually, it was the intercostal waterway beginning at the Port of  Baton Rouge at Port Allen but who's counting?

Earlier that morning, I'd ridden into town on the Harley, ignoring the lower 40° temperatures, figuring it would eventually warm.  That was a bad guess....it didn't.  Anyway, we launched the boat and were on the water around 11:00 A.M. supposedly testing a new tachometer which never registered, maybe because it was defective or maybe because it was wired wrong, nevertheless, it didn't work on the old 70 hp Evinrude.  Even though we figured that out in the first 5 minutes, the notion of a river ride was there and before long, we were headed south on the Gulf Inter-Coastal Waterway that eventually makes it's way toward Morgan City and ultimately into the Gulf of Mexico.  Completed in 1949, it is part of a sophisticated network of waterways that connects the Mississippi River with waterways across the southern United States.

Even though the temperatures were cool on the water, the bright sun helped quite a bit as we enjoyed seeing life along the river, disturbing Louisiana Blue Herons, dodging the occasional log in the water and negotiating around ever present barge traffic.

One special treat was spotting a young Bald Eagle a few miles south of Bayou Choctaw.  I can still kick myself for forgetting my good camera and having to rely on the cell phone instead.

While we could have gone on and on, boat motors are not known for their gasoline efficiency so we turned around just south of the Bayou Jacob Road in Iberville Parish and made our way home.

A nice venture and experience for sure that was a little different, especially for me.

Monster!

I think we may have created a monster.

Saturday morning I took an early ride up to Baton Rouge, where my grandson Henry and his kindergarten buddies were engaged in the beginnings of a basketball team.  Unfortunately for Henry & Co., they were playing a muuuuuuch older group......first graders, but somehow they managed to score two or three times.  His dad (my son) is one of the coaches.

That was great in it's self but the real story begins after the game, when his dad just kidding around (or at least I thought he was kidding) asked Mr. Allstar Kindergarten Athlete if he wanted to ride with "Pop"....that would be me.

"Suuuuuurrre!", he said, with eyes as big as the headlights on the Harley.

We had planned on me dropping by their house after the game, so when they took off in the truck and I followed along later, I pondered how this was going to work out and at the same time trying to imagine the conversation that went on with Henry's mom when his dad came in saying their 5 year old was about to be inducted into the world of motorcycling.  The imagery of tattoos, chains and leather were probably floating around was drifting around there somewhere.

Never the less, as I leaned low turning into their driveway, all three were coming out to meet me.  Henry was adorned with an LSU kiddie football helmet reminiscent of Jack Nicholson's character in Easy Rider.

Henry's little legs were nowhere near long enough to touch the back foot boards so they suggested he sit on the gas tank and lean back on me.  After a brief reminder on what items were hot, he eagerly crawled on board astride the 5 gallon motorcycle tank and acquired a death grip on the mid part of the handlebars.  Asking if he was ready, and getting a head nod affirmation, I fired Boudreaux up and we circled the lawn and eased out on the street.

Although our cross country adventure was only few minutes  and just 4 or 5 blocks in the neighborhood,  it was a ride he will remember.  I would have loved to have taken him further but since he did not have a legal helmet and the possibility of a Baton Rouge policeman could have cruised by and found issues with our adventure, I thought it best to get him back as soon as possible.

He's already looking forward to another ride.

Freezing fingers and plastic shields

Around this time of the year, when the temperature drops and I take long(er) motorcycle trips, I'm usually able to stay comfortable with enough layers and leather.  My feet, stay relatively warm with thermal socks but regardless of how hard I try, at interstate speeds, the constant wind on my hands and fingers turn them into icicle digits.  I can't seem to find hand protection that can withstand  several hours of 70 mph blasts of 35 - 40° humid air defeating some really great ski gloves.

I've thought about heated grips, electric gloves, bat-wing fairings for the bike and all sorts of concoctions that either were non-effective, too expensive or simply too much trouble to deal with.

Recently, someone sent me a link showing some clear acrylic wind screens that would block the wind and looked like something I could deal with.  They were not too big, not all that expensive and didn't require batteries or electrical hookups, all for $89 plus tax and shipping.  I began thinking on these and figured, "What the heck?  I can make my own!"

Bouncing the idea off my brother-in-law and with a general design in my head, made my way to Home Depot for some materials.  There, I bought a pair of corner braces ($2.87), 3' metal strap ($6), box of nuts and bolts ($3) and a sheet of Lexan ($18) clear plastic.  The Lexan has more flexibility than plexiglas, relatively flexible, can be shaped with heat and most important, is not quite as likely to split or shadow when drilling or sawing it.

After settling on a general design, I cut out a rough draft on cardboard and mounted it on the corner braces that I had attached to the mirror bolts on the handlebars.  Applying masking tape to both sides of the plastic, I transfered the shape from my template with a marker and cut it out with a jig-saw.  The reason for masking tape is two fold; (1) the tape gives you something to trace the pattern to and (2) further reduces the chance of the Lexan splitting or shattering when the jig-saw starts it's cut.  After the shape was cut, I sanded the edges and drilled holes for the mounting brackets to attach the Lexan.  It should be noted here, I recommend using Lexan by brand because my first attempt was with plain plexiglas which shattered when I attempted to cut it out.  It was cheaper but not near as strong.  Add another $8.00 plus gas back to Home Depot on the cost.

It took a bit of time to adjust the angle to be aesthetically appealing and to be effective in blocking the wind  but I believe I have something I can live with for the next 3 months when the weather warms.  This coming weekend, I probably will refine the shape a bit more to remove a few flat spots and make it more rounded.

Hopefully, my new hand shields will keep my hands from losing all feeling on my next 500 mile ride in January or February.

Detroit again

My third run at Detroit will be a short lived version, lasting just two weeks.

Since the clocks have gone back to standard time and the days have gotten shorter, there has been little, if any, exploration time.  When I arrived last weekend, the trees were at their zenith in autumn colors and by mid week, the rain and wind had put most of them onto the streets and ground.  Now, the tree tops are virtually bare and the gray skies afford little to be excited about. There's even a little bite in the air that makes you glad you brought a jacket.

However, I have a need to get out for some reason and since I am one to always seek a bargain and the temptation of finding a unique lens for the camera at a low-ball price,  drives me to pawn shops and thrift stores. So, out I go with smart-phone in hand, Googling "pawn shops" and choosing one, I begin following the turn by turn direction of the provided GPS Navigator.

My first stop was the American Jewelry and Loan.  At 10 a.m., it was already a popular place and the crowded parking lot only sharpened my dodging skills as I avoided running over frenzied pedestrians.  A young clipboard wielding lady greeted me at the door and asked as I walked in, "What brings you here today?"  With a blink, I responded that I was there just to browse around.  With a cheeky smile, she beckoned me to just, "go on in!"   Wow, that's different.

I have to tell you, the patrons of this store aren't the high tea crowd and felt a little out of the place for being (a) noticeably non-local, (b) over 50 and (c) no visible body art.  As I made my way through, I saw an entourage of media people with at least 3 large format video cameras flanked by sound techs and boom microphone grips.

At this point, the lightbulb went off in my head and so I whipped out the Android again and googled "TV pawn store shows" and found myself in the beginnings of a taping session for the truTV's Hardcore Pawn documentary series where the obstinate owner regularly gets in it with his customers.  It's the cheesier knockoff of the more popular Pawn Stars filmed in Las Vegas.  The owner apparently had not arrived, so the crews were drifting around the store getting various shots of patrons.  I have an idea most were there for the TV hullabaloo except maybe a dozen or so lined up to either make a payment or to un-hock something of value they had previously taken a loan on.

Seeing nothing that sparked my interest and not wanting to be part of a TV episode, I made my way out through aisles of fur coats and jewelry cases toward the door.  Outside, I did manage to check out a way overpriced Harley-Davidson before getting out on the freeway to dodge refrigerators in the lanes and getting an eyeful of decaying buildings on the horizon.

This is not the garden spot of the world, especially with winter coming on.

 Lagniappe: Just for fun, since we're talking pawn shops.

Wild Hogs - Arkansas Style

With very little planning other than a desire to go, my friend Louis, my brother-in-law Gary and I fired up on a rather cool Sunday morning headed up to check out the leaves in the Ozark and Ouachita Mountains in western Arkansas.

The players

Louis

Gary

 Yours Truly

I know, don't even start.  Louisiana is a beautiful state in it's own right but hey, it was October and we are not known for our four seasons.  We have the hot humid season and the not so hot humid season.  With that in mind, we figured we would put at least 400 miles on us the first day to get into curvy roads and into the hill country.  

As we began on Highway 7 in southern Arkansas the colors began to spring forth in a way we had not seen at home.  Highway 7 is a well known crooked little pig trail and following the Ouachita River north and was an adventure itself.

Reaching Hot Springs in mid afternoon, we found the city over run with hillbillies coming out of the woods to participate in a downtown Halloween fest.

Monday morning, we waited until an enormous fog burned off.  By 8:30 we were continuing on Hwy 7 toward the mountains.   The colors were even more vivid and somehow managed to distract our attention away from the endless collections of old camper trailers, abandoned refrigerators and old rusty Fords that had not moved in 40 years.  Somehow, the odor of the ever present chicken houses were not that bad.

Being a Monday, traffic was at a minimum and having to pass motor homes was not much of an issue even as we began to ascend Mt Magazine and Petit Jean Mountain.

While it was exciting taking the curves, hills and switchbacks, it was a lot of work that would later prove to be the source of sore shoulders and backs.  Imagine riding a beast 4 times as heavy as you are and guiding that thing by pulling on one horn and pushing on the other while clamping your legs around it's neck.  Nevertheless, I would and will gladly do it again.

Monday night, we found a hotel in Arkadelphia and turned in early.  The next morning, cold again, we rode down to the Waffle House to continue our quest to over-eat.  As we rode up, there was a dual sport motorcycle already parked there.  A "dual sport" is a bike that is basically a street legal dirt bike.  Finding the owner already in there, I engaged him in conversation and found he was from Illinois, had been on the road since June and had been to Alaska already this year. "Mark from Illinois" said he would probably go to the Gulf of Mexico then head back for home.  He said he just didn't like riding in the snow.  I can only imagine.

By the time we had arrived back home in South Louisiana, we had put just over a thousand miles on our bikes.

I say, it was a good trip that cleared my head of a lot of junk and will look forward to another "Wild Hogs Adventure" in the future.

Rest In Peace, Jim

                  Jim Haldane