That long and winding road...

The road of recovery is a long and tortured one, it would seem. Yet no two days are ever the same. It's been five months and three weeks since the accident. There are days when I feel genuinely good. Days when I toy with the idea, the "eventuality" of my return to the saddle.

I can feel myself hurtling down the road, the hot sun and a warm breeze in my face... the sweet smell of freshly mown lawns and wildflowers forced up my nostrils and over the top of my brain. I am weightless and limber. I am once more as one with my trusty steed and that endless black ribbon. It is a most glorious rêverie.

Then there are the days which are not so good. Days when I totter around my room pained and stiff. Legs and hips barely cooperating with one another. My arms still hopelessly weak... These are the days when I cannot see past the despair and where I berate myself for even thinking such lofty thoughts. I try to visualize myself pushing a 748 lb. motorcycle, or even holding it up. Such thoughts seem so foolish on days like this. I find myself doubting that I have that amount of "amazing" left in me.

But even after five and a half months, I have to reconcile myself to the fact that I have only begun this journey. I have only started going down this road to recovery. In a year or two, I should have a better idea of where I stand in the overall scheme of things. Until then, there is much work to do. And that is simply in order to become functional. Let alone to think about responding to the siren call of The Road.

It's been a while...

So here it is, December 06. Exactly 2 months since my last entry and a little over 5 months since the accident. It seems so far away now and my present situation feels as though I'm spinning my wheels in time. It's like that Bill Murray movie "Groundhog Day".

My job is to get better. To eat my meals and convert that protein and other nutrients into muscle, sinew, new skin... to replace that which was destroyed, displaced and atrophied. I attend physio 3 times per week, to have my limbs mobilized, stretched and worked. I now exercise with weights. Leg presses, lateral pull-downs, leg and arm curls, on machines and with free weights. This week I am slated to begin pool therapy on top of that, to further aid in mobilizing my extremities.

I hobble around my room unaided, I do my walking outdoors with a walker and bring along a cane just in case. I am thinking on returning the electric wheelchair, as it will force me to rely on my own legs to get me around. People are inherently lazy. If the chair remains here, I will use it. It's just how I am.

I want to be home for Christmas... I want to get back to work... I want my life back. I want a lot of things and the list is getting longer. My wife's niece sent me a get-well card this week. It arrived here today. On the front, there is a picture of the most adorable little puppy. He looks like a Border Collie mix. I stared at the picture for the longest time. I felt an ache in my heart and that old familiar sadness. Whenever I think of dogs (and I do so quite often...), I invariably think of our dog 'Bailey'.

He was the sweetest black Lab mix, but whose temperament had started to turn as he was afflicted by arthritis and other ailments. I had known him since my wife and I had first got together. He had been her dog but adopted me as his Alpha male. He died one day, while both of us were at work. He succumbed to gastric torsion. So all I could think of at the time, was that he had died an agonizing death, alone and most likely frightened.

About 3 years later, after my better half had spent months perusing dog rescue internet sites, we found and adopted a little terrier mix female by the name of Paisley. We drove to a shelter about 40kms North of Toronto to "just have a look", as my spouse had put it. I don't know who she thought she was fooling... Nobody drives for 12 hours just to go "look" at a dog.

Paisly had been rescued from a puppy mill, where she had been bred and bred, without any regards to her health or welfare. As soon as she saw us, she came limping to us, head low and tail wagging frenetically. She was thin, frail and appeared quite timid. But she wouldn't leave our side. It was as if she knew that we were there to rescue her and give her the home she had always wanted. We had a Dodge van at the time and all the way back, she sat right up front with us, between the two captain chairs. My wife talked to her soothingly, stroking her head, as she leaned against my wife's leg.

She graced our lives for just about a year before she suffered a stroke and eventually had to be released from her suffering. It was an unbearably painful process. While she was with us though, we made sure she had the very best of everything and that every comfort was provided to her. Most of all, we made sure that she always felt the love we had for her.

Nowadays, every time I see a dog I realize how very much I miss having one in my life. Yet with both of us working, it wouldn't be fair to leave a young dog at home all by itself. Dogs are gregarious, unlike their feline counterparts. They thrive on companionship, attention and exercise. They need to be treated and fed as dogs, not as human beings. Otherwise they will lead confused and miserable lives. Cesar Milan said it best: "Exercise, discipline and affection... in that order!"

So yes... I want a lot of things. I want a dependable vehicle to replace my bike. I want to take some time off and travel. I want a decent camera when I do so. I want a gym membership so I can remain healthy and viable as a human being. I want to feel my toes pushing through the hot, Cuban sand this winter... and I want a dog.

I want to hear the click-clicking of nails on the kitchen floor. I want to hear the low: "Ruff!" when there's a knock on the door. I want to feel a snout nuzzling against my hand while I'm lying on the couch watching TV. But most of all, I want to look into a pair of big, watery, devotion filled eyes... and see my smiling face reflected there.

That's not so much to ask, is it...?

Where the Hell have I been...???

It has been a long, long time now since I have sat in front of a screen, with this blog in front of me. "So where the Hell has he been?", you may well ask. I would like to be able to regale you with stories of travels to wonderful shores, sandy beaches, nubile, skimpily attired wave babies laying langorously around me like so many sun-drunk kittens...

Or even that my better half and I have been criss-crossing North America, from the glorious fjords of Gros Morne National Park in Newfoundland, to Custer State Park in South Dakota and beyond. I'd like to be able to tell you such happy tales, but alas I cannot. I am revisiting a Hell from my recent past. On the 24th of July this year, I hit and was subsequently run over by a pickup truck, as a friend and I were heading North along Rte.31 (Bank Street).

We were returning from a day trip to New York State and were probably 20 klicks from home, just outside of the village of Vernon, when it happened. Mercifully, I was affected by what the doctors call retrograde amnesia, and therefore I do not remember the accident itself. Not the moment of impact, nor the undoubtedly horrifying last seconds before same. I have been advised that in time, these memories might come back to haunt me. I will deal with them as best I can, should that moment arise.

My travelling companion was a neophyte rider whom I had been glad to take under my wing this summer. We had already travelled many klicks together, along some of my favorite roads. It would be entirely fair to say that he was in fact traumatized by the experience, but much to his credit, did not think of bailing on riding, just because of my particular misfortune. I am so happy, for his sake, that he decided to stay with it.

Unlike my last misadventure (now referred to by my wife and I as my "little accident"...), I was not content to simply screw up one shoulder. No, no... This time we went for all four limbs and a hand. It has been months now and I am only beginning to walk with the aid of a walker. For most of my days, I am still relegated to a motorized wheelchair. My entire plane of existence has shifted. Just about every action is now hard, painful, frustrating. My days end invariably on an exhausted note, yet a good night's sleep continues to elude me, as I am constantly woken up by my pain. I know that my injuries will heal in time. To what extent I will remain affected, I cannot say. I do know that my capacities will be limited to a certain degree.

Yet of all the injuries I sustained, the most serious has been the one inflicted on my confidence. On my willingness to get back on the horse. And for that, I will never be willing or able to forgive the other driver. My physical injuries will leave me with a dubious quality of life. My life without riding? I don't know how to even begin addressing this possibility. If you are reading this and do not ride, don't even bother trying to understand what I am saying here. You simply can't. It's not a "sport". It's not a "pastime" or a "hobby". It's not only a large part of my life, it is a major part of who, of what I am.

Find my other posts which I've compiled on here, about riding, about the road. Read them. See if you can glean even the slightest bit of my love and devotion for this lifestyle. The freedom, the bliss that it provides me, to travel either strange or very familiar roads, always looking to discover, to explore, to experience.

But lest we forget, I am not alone in this. My wife has become the everything person by default. My income has dwindled to less than half, not even able to apply for EI, as the insurance's Wage Loss benefits basically zero any amount I might have gotten from the Feds. It's simply not enough to meet our financial obligations. So she finds herself scrambling to get the house ready for sale. We can't afford it and I can't live there due to the number of stairs. The stress in unbearable...

Me??? I can do literally nothing to help her. For a man of my personality, who has always been independent, self-sufficient, "man-the-provider", as it goes... it has come as a crushing blow to my self-esteem. My job has become to heal. To get better. To get mobile so that ready or not, I can be thrust back into the workplace, in a desperate bid to head off the wolves. To keep them at bay until I can begin earning my habitual wage.

Life is seldom if ever, fair. I have been trying to figure out who I ever pissed off in a past existence, to deserve such a karmic kick in the stones. Particularly at this late stage of my life. This ordeal has aged me, I fear. I can hear people whispering in the near future: "He was never quite the same after his last accident, you know? He just sorta slipped away after that...".

Yes as you know, I am stubborn... and obstinate, and ornery. I am so goddamn contrary that if I ever drowned in a river, you would have to go upstream to find my body! I am Navy proud and disciplined. But how much of that do I have left in me? That well can't be bottomless, I'm sure. I'm tired, folks...

So okay... Mark it on your calendars. It is Wednesday, 06 October 2010 and I am back on the blog. I'm sorry if this entry has not been my usually uplifting and humorous type of banter. Then again, my rants usually aren't either... :)

I promise to return to my normal entries at the next sitting. Really...

On "Twilight: Eclipse"...

Okay, so here's the thing... Over the weekend, my better half and I had ourselves a little 'movie marathon'. We attended a total of three movies over the weekend, consisting of Harry Brown, Despicable Me and Twilight: Eclipse.

Just for the record, Despicable Me: Very funny. Great writing and artwork.

Harry Brown: Awesome. Even if some might view it as a Brit version of Clint Eastwood's 'Gran Torino'. Michael Cain is brilliant and still very much at the top of his game.

Now... as for Twilight: Eclipse...

Right off the bat, (no pun intended...) I'm going to say that I had not seen any of the previous two 'Twilight' installments. My wife had attended one show while in Australia, along with her granddaughter. I suspect it was out of some sense of attachment to her, thet we went to see this latest offering. The whole plot line seemed silly, to be charitable and judging by the target audience these flicks were aimed at, I didn't hold out much hope for substance. As it turned out, I was not to be disappointed. While most fantasy movies rightfully ask that the viewers check their sense of disbelief at the door, this one asks that you leave your entire brain at home.

Now as you all know, I do not fancy myself a critic of movies. Like, at all. With that said, I am someone who grew up on a whole laundry list of good ol' vampire movies, so I'm pretty well-versed with the legend and lore. For any of you who are the least bit conversant with vampire mythology, you'll know why for me, this movie sucked from one end to the other. And it had nothing to do with the sucking of blood, which in this supposed vampire movie, was strangely lacking. For the most part, the 'good guy vampires' spent most of their on-screen time doing outfit changes and looking mildly annoyed.

The entire film is based on the premise of this young tart who is clearly jaded with her life as a 'mere mortal'. That very mindset assures this particular movie franchise a huge following amongst the overly-entitled, non-creative, dispirited youth of today. She has fallen in with both a 'clan' of vampires (who are so NOT vampires in any of the accepted descriptions provided over the last few centuries) and a 'clan' of werewolves, who are native North Americans and are actually shape-shifters and not werewolves per se. For as much as these werewolves are the size of small delivery trucks when they morph, they are woefully inadequate/savvy on the field of battle.

Our young heroine's quandry in this series, revolves around whether to marry her vampire love-interest (if that doesn't strike you as a gaping oxymoron, I don't know what would...), or let herself be seduced by the warm-blooded and generally shirtless young lad who poses as a werewolf. So her dilemma during the whole movie, is basically a choice between necrophilia and beastiality. In one scene, the leading lady and her blood-sucking Romeo are about to get down and do the nasty. He of course assumes the role of the moral guardian and declines her obvious wantonness. My spouse almost hit me when I explained it aloud for her and anyone else who might have been listening in: "He's dead. He has no heart... no heart, no pulse... No pulse, no blood flow... No blood flow, no hard-on. She ain't getting any, regardless...".

Then of course there was the 'vampires lolling about in the light of day' scenario. Anyone knows that exposure to direct sunlight for a vampire results in SHC (Spontaneous Human Combustion). These badly made-up refugees from the GAP? They emit like a shimmering 'glow'... almost like the light sweat found on a prom queen's thigh. "Could this possibly get any gayer???", I asked myself. Oh yes, it did. Turns out that these young lotharios attend the local high school... in broad daylight. As do their equally palid yet very trendily attired female counterparts. And of course, none of the other 'normal' kids notice a thing. That is the one aspect of this movie that I actually found believable. The whole movie was kind of like 90210 meets the Breakfast Club, meets De Grassi High, meets The Count on Sesame Street... (Except De Grassi had far better writing and acting).

In the end, campy vampires and ersatz-werewolves band together to fight an army of rampaging 'newbloods', which have been mobilized by some vampire super-bitch, who has an axe to grind with our movie's vampire hero. Apparently the latter offed her mate in one of the preceding episodes of this saga.

There are probably many scenarios in life that could stand to be 'romanticized' and which might leave us all the better for it. This is certainly not one of them. While many writers have taken 'creative liberties' when it comes to the definition and character of such mythological beings as vampires, et al... none have stooped to rendering them so bland, mindless and pitiful as these brand-conscious wannabes are portrayed. If you're looking for a shot of anything stimulating, you can safely pass this one by. This one is more a giant overdose of brain pablum, a true study in pre-pubescent shmaltz. If you're over twelve years old, you'll likely find this intellectually insulting.

On Sable Island...

The decision back in May of 2010 to accord Sable Island the designation of a National Park, showed a fair degree of insight and good judgement by our federal government. This designation however, seems to have been severely misinterpreted by a vast segment of the Canadian populace. All of a sudden, we are contending with all these calls and e-mails from people who want to visit Sable Island. Like it's suddenly some kind of theme park...

The following information is courtesy of the Sable Island Green Horse Society:

http://www.greenhorsesociety.com/default.htm

Sable Island is a sand bar - 42 km long and roughly 1.5 km wide - located far offshore, approximately 160 km southeast of Canso (300km from Halifax...), Nova Scotia, the nearest landfall. The island has been the focus of human activities, imagination and speculation for roughly 500 years. Shipwrecks, wild horses, seabirds and seals, and inaccessibility have endowed this narrow wind-swept sliver of sand with a special mystique. The island is the subject of extensive scientific research and of numerous documentary films, books and magazine articles.

http://www.greenhorsesociety.com/Visitors/Sable_Island_Visitors.htm

Although most people traveling to Sable Island are those involved in operations or science, others have been able to visit. There is no formalized tourism, however, small numbers of people – including politicians and dignitaries, artists, news media, and people simply interested in seeing the landscape and its flora and fauna - have traveled to the Island. The latter includes individuals and groups who have organized their own trips, or have won the opportunity in a lottery or purchased it at a charity auction. Such events have been held to benefit worthy organizations such as Clean Nova Scotia and the Nova Scotia Nature Trust. During an average year about 50 to 100 people visit Sable Island (not including those involved in unintended “visits” necessitated by accident or emergency).

Regulations respecting the administration of Sable Island are the Sable Island Regulations of the Canada Shipping Act. All visitors must obtain permission from the Canadian Coast Guard.

The following provides some details pertinent to visitors, which also generally apply to people visiting Sable Island as part of the operational and scientific programs. Anyone considering a visit to Sable Island should refer to “Sable Island Policies and Procedures”, available from Canadian Coast Guard.

Access

Request for permission to visit Sable Island must be made in writing to the Director of Marine Programs (Canadian Coast Guard, see Contacts, below), and the request must include the details regarding the purpose of the visit, mode of transportation to/from the Island (type of aircraft or vessel), the number of people in the party (and their names and addresses), the anticipated arrival and departure dates, and requirements for logistical support on the Island.

Accommodations & Logistical Support

The Sable Island Station, administered by the Meteorological Service of Canada (Environment Canada), provides the year-round infrastructure for all programs conducted on the Island. Although support of operational, scientific and conservation activities is the primary role of the facility, the Station also provides support for visitors. Arrangements for logistical support on the Island can be made by contacting the Operations Manager (Sable Island Station, see Contacts, below).

Logistical support must be organized well in advance because availability varies depending on operational requirements and programs underway. Camping is not permitted on Sable Island. Visitors who have obtained authorization for overnight stays must arrange for accommodations at the Station. The Station has no vehicles for rent, but visitors may be able to charter a Station vehicle and driver, subject to operational requirements.

The Station is equipped with a variety of radio and satellite communications systems, similarly available for use by visitors subject to operational requirements. Visitors are expected to be as self-sufficient as possible, and fees are applicable to any services required (see Fee Schedule, below). Station activities have priority and visitors are permitted on site only as long as they abide by Station procedures and guidelines.

Travel

Once permission to visit Sable Island is obtained, visitors would usually organize their own transportation to/from the Island (charter aircraft or boat; or private boat). In recent years, the most common modes of transport for visitors have been fixed-wing aircraft chartered through Maritime Air Charter Ltd (the only fixed-wing charter service to the Island, see Contacts, below), and private boat.

Air and sea travel to and from Sable Island can be confounded by weather, sea state, mechanical and personnel problems, and offshore emergencies. For the fixed-wing aircraft the most common causes of delay are poor weather conditions (either in Halifax or on the Island) or lack of a landing area on the Island. Cruise ships have encountered difficulties with weather and surf conditions, and of the fourteen such ships that have come to Sable Island, ten had to sail away without having landed their passengers on the Island.

Most boats and cruise ships visit Sable in July and August. August through October offer the most favourable conditions for travel by air. Throughout the year the normal delay due to weather or beach conditions is a day or two. However, flights are occasionally delayed much longer, and visitors must be prepared with enough supplies, and a healthy attitude, to deal with such delays.

Maritime Air Charter Limited uses a Britten-Norman Islander, a fixed-wing aircraft designed for short distance take-offs and landings. Some visitors come as groups of five or six persons for a “day-trip”. The Islander’s payload is 485 kg (1070 lbs), so when a party of people arranges to use the Islander, they must consider their combined body weight and strike a balance between number of people and amount of baggage. All flights – fixed-wing and helicopter - depart from the Halifax International Airport. Depending on the direction and strength of winds, the air travel time between Sable Island and the airport is between 1.25 to 1.50 hours.

In addition to the aircraft charter costs, visitors should expect other charges associated with the landing on the Island as well as any required ground support provided by the Station.

Briefings & Cautions

On arrival, a briefing will be provided for all visitors regarding environmental issues and restrictions; persons staying at the Station will also be briefed on facilities and emergency procedures (fire alarms etc).

ZL is occasionally available to provide environmental briefings, and, if visitors are interested, ZL will take them for a walkabout, providing explanation of the Island’s landscape, flora and fauna, and personal introductions to some of the Island’s four-footed residents.

Sable Island is remote and isolated, and is at times inaccessible. Commercial and medical services normally provided on the mainland are not available on the Island. Although Sable Island is not a highly hostile environment, there are many natural hazards associated with weather, surf, flooding and high tides, unstable terrain, beach conditions and soft sand, and wildlife. Visitors must be cautious, and they should consult Station staff for advice regarding their proposed activities. Anyone using a vehicle or working alone should carry a hand-held marine VHF radio or cell phone, and make arrangements for emergency support.

With travel delays common, and no health services available, medical problems can be aggravated and become life-threatening situations on Sable Island. Visitors must be financially prepared to assume the cost of chartering aircraft for medical evacuation or other emergencies.

*****************

Still feel like heading out to explore Sable Island? By all means, be my guest. But don't assume the Canadian Coast Guard will sail or fly you out there and then cater to your needs once you're there. After all... it ain't Six Flags.

Sable Island Fees Schedule:

Aircraft Landing (Includes transportation to main station area)
Fixed Wing $500 each
Helicopter $200 each

*** NOTE: The landing fees DO NOT INCLUDE the price of your flight.

Fuel

Diesel $1.55 per liter
Gasoline $2.60 per liter
Propane (emergencies only) $150/cylinder

Electricity $1.48 per Kwh

Vehicles (1 hour minimum, plus driver at labour rate)

Crew-cab Pickup $90 per hour
Gator utility vehicle $40 per hour
Bombardier tracked vehicle $140 per hour
Tractor $85 per hour
Loader $85 per hour

Accommodations $300 per person per night
Access to station food supplies $55 per person per day

Labour

Mon–Sat, 0800–1630 $90 per hour
Outside of normal hours $135 per hour
Sundays $180 per hour
Callout (less than 4 hrs notice) Minimum of 3 hours at applicable rate

Communications Services

Fax $5 + $1 per page

Phone $1 per minute
Cell call $2 per minute
Internet Access $0.50 per minute

Waste Processing and Disposal

Burnable waste $0.50 per pound
Recyclable waste No charge if properly prepared
Non-burnable, non-recyclable $0.60 per pound
Hazardous material $1.50 per pound

Freight Storage and Handling $1 per day per Kg

All charges must be paid with cash, traveller's cheques, or credit card (Visa /MasterCard).

Personal cheques are not accepted.

A copy of the Canadian Coast Guard's Sable Island Visitor's Guide is available in PDF format at the link below:
http://www.ccg-gcc.gc.ca/folios/00018/docs/sable-island-visitors-guide-eng.pdf

A trip in the country...

Last weekend was pretty much a peach as far as the weather went. It was a little on the warm side if anything, but certainly not too hot to enjoy a ride out in the countryside to see my daughter and her hubby. I find that when the air is hot and humid, it does a better job of carrying the scents of trees and flowers. It's simply the best time of all for riding, as far as sensory perception goes. Fall riding may be the overall champion by far, but hot summer riding has a special place of it's own in my heart.

It was early afternoon as I flashed up Baby and headed down the Anderson Road. I was being bad, as I opted to leave my riding jacket home. It was just too hot to consider wearing one. Baby hummed along as we threaded our way along the back roads which would lead us to Bank Street, also known as CR 31. I took my time, enjoying the feel of the wind against my body. I made a mental note to look for a lighter pair of riding gloves... something that wouldn't make my hands sweat in these temperatures.

Before long, I was turning off onto John Quinn Road, past the llama farm and toodling down the two-lane blacktop, watching for deer. I hooked up with the 31 just North of Snake Island Road. There is a little, black Yamaha cruiser which rests under a shade tree there. It looks so forlorn sitting there, with it's little 'For Sale' sign pasted to it's windshield... I keep thinking it would be a perfect first bike for my better half... The coast was clear so we wheeled left onto the 31 and headed South for Winchester.

Even though this road is still a two-lane road, the pace of traffic is a little brisker here. Nothing under 100kmh, unless there's nobody else riding your tail. I tend to like going a bit slower, as you never know when a critter is going to decide to make a guest appearance in your day. I was fortunate in that the traffic was relatively light and I wasn't forced outside my comfort zone, speed-wise. I stopped at the Timmie's in Winchester for a short water break.

As I pulled in to the parking lot, there were several 'Hardly-Dangerous' riders who were involved in an animated discussion. I noted that they were from 'The Dark Side' and after I leaned Baby onto her jiffy stand, nodded at a couple nearest me. They turned away, rather than engage in a conversation. No sweat off my back... I'm used to bumping into pretend riders by now. I'm sure that for riders from Gatineau/Hull, making it to Winchester must seem like a really long ride. Yeah, right... I just ignored 'em. Their friends were hard at work, trying to impress one another with tales of how many overpriced, bolt-on, genuine H-D parts they had added to their rolling boat anchors. The funny part was that they seemed to believe that some people actually cared about that shit...

I gave my little girl a call and provided her with a sitrep on my progress, before downing the remainder of my water bottle. I was glad that I had brought a couple of bottles with me today, although a black leather saddlebag does not make for a really great cooler. I heaved Baby off her jiffy stand and we lit out of there. I only had a short jaunt from there to reach the Little Nation Road. Heading South once more on the 32, we arced over the overpass which sweeps gracefully to the left. I always like the view from this vantage point. It's all very country and farmland.

Before long I was threading my way along the side road which would take me across the Little Nation River and to my daughter's homestead. Arriving there, I backed the bike into the top part of their driveway and dismounted. I was greeted by a series of incredibly loud cock's crows. My daughter and Matt met me outside and I was taken for a tour of the shed, where they had quartered the mama duck and her brood. As we passed through the entrance, I could hear the loud humming emanating from what was left of the recently-discovered beehive. Best not to piss them guys off...

The ducklings were just too cute. There were 12 of them all bustling around their mama. Their resident rooster, Walter (named after Walter Cronkite, due to his stern demeanor...) made a guest appearance to check out the new arrival in the coop (me). He was the one I had heard as I arrived. We then sat and chatted for a little bit outside, before being forced to retreat inside by the relentless sun. It was much cooler indoors and we busied ourselves checking out sailing sites and viewing pictures of a recently renovated property of theirs.

We chatted about their recent interest in sailing and 'the life nautical', as it were. They are weighing their options with regards to abandoning their life on land, in favour of one on the water. There was plenty of discussion of things to consider, recent innovations for living aboard and stories of those who had made the transition. It was a very enjoyable visit. As I was leaving, Matt showed up with his camera and took a few shots. It was very nice of him to do so, as I had been whining about not having any shots of me and Baby. I even got to do a ride-by with a little parade wave which he captured perfectly.

I thoroughly enjoyed the ride back home. The air was sultry and warm and the breeze created by Baby and I thundering along the blacktop was just perfect. Another by-product of the air being so warm... less bugs. After I arrived back home and housed Baby in the shop, it took less than 5 minutes of cleaning to have her back in showroom condition. The rest of the evening was spent in air-conditioned bliss...

The Rifleman's Creed.

About a month ago (June 10th) I posted an article on the blog entitled: "My Bike". In it, I wrote an 'hommage' to the Rifleman's Creed.

For those interested, this brief entry will lay it out for you:

The Rifleman's Creed (also known as My Rifle and The Creed of the United States Marine) is a part of basic United States Marine Corps doctrine. Major General William H. Rupertus wrote it during World War II, probably in late 1941 or early 1942. All Marines learn the creed at recruit training and they are expected to live by it. Different, more concise versions of the creed have developed since its early days, but those closest to the original version remain the most widely accepted.

"This is my rifle. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My rifle is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. My rifle, without me, is useless. Without my rifle, I am useless. I must fire my rifle true. I must shoot straighter than my enemy who is trying to kill me. I must shoot him before he shoots me. I will...

My rifle and myself know that what counts in this war is not the rounds we fire, the noise of our burst, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the hits that count. We will hit...

My rifle is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its sights and its barrel. I will ever guard it against the ravages of weather and damage as I will ever guard my legs, my arms, my eyes and my heart against damage. I will keep my rifle clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will...

Before God, I swear this creed. My rifle and myself are the defenders of my country. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviors of my life. So be it, until victory is America's and there is no enemy, but peace!"