Farewell little friend!

Today, I sold the CB250.  I posted it on Craigslist about 12 days ago. A couple of nibbles. A young couple, believers came by tonight to take a look and bought it.  She's learning to ride, he's experienced and has owned several bikes in the past.  He is going to get his dream bike, an MV Agusta Brutale.  That is serious nakedness. Wow.  They let me pray for them and I watched the little CB250 pull out of our driveway one last time.

I'm happy for the sale. I'm thankful for the ease and straighforward-ness of the interaction. I am glad to have the opportunity to move on to another bike.

But I'm a little sad.  The little Nighthawk, Putnam, we called 'im, was a faithful little steed.  It started each time (classic Honda reliability) it was asked, and seemed to enjoy being ridden.  No attitude, no pretense, just a little motorbike--no frills.  I had my first real riding experiences on this bike and it was always very accommodating and faithful.  My confidence on the road grew.  I had the bike for just over 3 years and 3,000 miles.  It had about 36,6k when it left my service.

My sincere hope and prayer is that this new little family will have many safe miles of reliable Honda fun and that 'ol Putnam serves them well.

Farewell, my little friend! :)

I am so sad- I just wrote a long post with thoughts and memories of the wedding. I selected publish, and it went to 'no man's land'.  I can't locate it.  I don't have the heart, or time, right now to do it again.

Betrayed by the convenience of technology once again....

The Beautiful Machine

I don't know when I started diggin' motorcycles.  I have memories of a detailed, small scale toy as a child, with rubber tyres (as per the Triumph brochures) and springy suspension (that was also on a black and gold John Player Special F1 replica car model, but that's another memory).  In Switzerland, as a small bueb, my father took me to a motocross race.  I recall standing at the bottom of the hill as muddy bikes flew (literally) by, catching air before landing at the bottom and screaming out of sight, returning some minutes later, again and again.

As a youth in rural Virginia, i coveted my neighbor's Honda Trail 70 that she got for Christmas one year.  Now as an adult, and an insurance professional, I can understand her father's hesitation to open up access to the bike to the neighborhood kids.  But at that time, I eagerly accepted any occasional offer to ride that machine through the fields and woods.

I think I gave these machines not much thought after that (other than occasional pause when I saw one parked) until years later at work, a buddy who rode small enduro hondas for years around Texas brought up the topic.  Unfortunately, the internet was available, and I was hooked for hours on sites by Harley, Yamaha, Honda, Suzuki, Kawasaki, Triumph...Reviews, Craigslist, Cycle Trader.  Man, I was dreamin'!

Sometime around '00, '01, I finally enrolled in the Motorcycle Safety Course at a local community college.  Spent the entire weekend on a Honda 250 Nighthawk, in the rain (except when in the classroom).  I passed the test at DMV a couple of weeks later and had my license!

My pal Ken took the course around the same time (we tried to find a weekend we could take it together, but because we were so busy and important and had many duties, it didn't happen) and he was lucky enough to score a Honda Magna 750 (in line 4 cylinder cruiser) from his brother-in-law.  Maybe it was a 500.He had many great weekends cruising around Pungo. Maybe I needed a better duty...I got to ride one weekend around the parking lot near his house.

Alright, so the reality of screaming around the roads on a motorcycle lost its appeal a bit. The gravity of what one takes on when mounting a bike was not lost on me in my career as an insurance adjuster.  I stopped thinking about bikes as much...

But they were SO COOL!  Invariably, I'd pause by a Cycle World mag at Farm Fresh (only decent grocery stores carry Cycle World. If they don't have a copy, then they are sub par. Whole Foods and Fresh Market and Trader Joe's make up for this deficiency in other ways (see past or probably future post on "Beer Selection"). So that ember did not die.

Finally took the plunge in November 2012.  It was a busy year--personal best 1/2 Marathon in Chesapeake, last true camping trip (rained out in Crabtree Falls), mom died rather unexpectedly, eldest child graduated high school...what else?  As a dreamer and options guy, I generally won't close the deal, but I did.  And nothing from the list, go figure...it's a 1997 Honda CB 250 Nighthawk. It started and ran. 'Nuff said!  My son and I actually picked it up and put it in the back of our Town & Country.  Some cheap Bilt gear from Cycle Gear and I was ridin'....Oh yes, this saga continues....


MONTES Classic Series, Cabernet Sauvignon 2011, Chile

"Ay Ay Ay It's Christmas..."

1st Day of Christmas

What a happy day.  I grew up blessed with lots of wonderful traditions that helped with the anticipation of Christmasness.  Time off before, running around last minute shopping, Johnny Mathis and Frank Sinatra, Christmas Eve service, the feast (pork, sauerkraut, yummy cookies and cakes), and finally, busting into the loot.

Well, one thing that has been a tension for me, that a focus on the REAL gift of Christmas has overcome, is the idea of "loot."  Yes, I am a materialistic pig.  There is always something on "the list" and some secret expectation of "the thing" that I wanted.  I don't even know what that is anymore!  And I'm glad.  As a child I was secretly envious of friends who got "the thing" they wanted.  I dared not hope, and yet, I did. And was frequently, secretly disappointed because of not getting "the thing".

Well, that is life, and I am glad I did not get "the thing" because "the thing" is not what it is about. "The thing" fades and dies...it passes into Goodwill donation piles.  God save me from "the thing!"  And He has!  There is great joy in anticipating and meditating on the coming and present Gift. He does keep giving and giving, and makes me increasingly grateful for his grace.  So who needs the Mattel Battlestar Galactica hand held game?  Really, I didn't and I don't.  Thank you, mom and dad for being sensible, while still preserving an awesome sense of mystery, expectation and wonder.

Merry Christmas!

Something's Amiss

A consistent theme, existentially, for me is this:  I cannot get my brain and heart around the immensity of God's love and mercy for us, through Jesus Christ.

Something is rotten in Denmark, and in me.  If the Gospel is true (and it is) and as big a deal as it seems (and it is) then why the gloom? Why the foreboding?  Little trials like work difficulties, illness, loss, death, hunger, poverty, shame, failure are nothing compared to the vastness of Christ's imputed righteousness and grace.  We no longer must strive for acceptance!  We are no longer required to provide proof of our capabilities and worth (like at work). Glory, Hallelujah!  Amazing Grace! We are right with God through Jesus!

And yet....

Do I dare allow myself to fall into the reality of God's extravagant love for us, His people?  Do I dare, as 'Mater would say, "to not to?"

Oh, to be free of the flesh that wars against the ability to know, the world that propagates false solutions to real emptiness and longing, and the devil that lies.

  

Thankful Heart

Yes, and every night will end
And every day will start
With a grateful prayer
And a thankful heart

Scrooge was saved! In the George C. Scott version, I believe, the Ghost of Christmas Past came for his "reclamation." Oh for the increasing fulfillment of the evidence of my own reclamation. I want to be able to sing with the angels and muppets and former scrooges that every night will end and every day will start with a grateful prayer and a thankful heart! As I write this my youngest asks to be taken to the pool (!) now, to practice some strokes. What? Now? Before dinner? No way! And leave me alone while I write my blog!!! Sheesh!

Anyway...where was I?

Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer

(Editor's Note: The original draft of this blog was lost, due to some inane loop when "insert image" was fat-fingered on the iPhone instead of spell check. This necessitated a lot of fussing, getting out of bed, signing in to the right account (additional editor's note-see 12/27 post by "Laurie"--which it really wasn't--it was by me, but I was signed in as Laurie, who apparently has posting privileges on my blog--which is fine, but I'm just trying to clarify) and then trying to recapture an inspired moment that happened in the warmth of my bed. Now I am freezing out of bed, writing this. Anyway, the original post mused on Rudolph's red nose, old time depictions of drunks in the comics, a stomach bug that caught some of our family a few days before Christmas, and the idea of red bums as a result of said bug. The line of thinking was going to rapidly degenerate from there, so I ended it tactfully, but alas...)

I wonder why Rudolph's nose was red?

(Editor's note: I just can't do it...)