tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73914837674750568212024-03-05T17:03:56.886-08:00OFFTHEMAPeuropeReconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-18256861758082755882011-08-01T14:59:00.000-07:002011-08-01T15:29:09.943-07:00Ragdale Magic<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4alzrFnvMom9BhwieV6xiZ44XMqINwg5yR08PClafoGVBBtOi7v-gBMNf21jEpywNblxhCk-42DbqSEKRuDOOjbekkYWmY3B63qpPnEmjRTQfQeVL4S-srYewHeIX_a0shr1V0fGrAOc/s1600/ragdaledouble.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4alzrFnvMom9BhwieV6xiZ44XMqINwg5yR08PClafoGVBBtOi7v-gBMNf21jEpywNblxhCk-42DbqSEKRuDOOjbekkYWmY3B63qpPnEmjRTQfQeVL4S-srYewHeIX_a0shr1V0fGrAOc/s320/ragdaledouble.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636013176143143170" border="0" /></a><br />Last weekend I returned to <a href="http://www.ragdale.org/">Ragdale</a>. I was last there for a 2005 residency with a primordial project that’s now a book manuscript called Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Life. I thought at that time that the whole narrative would be about my stay in the ICU and would focus on my delusions during my medically-induced coma. Although that original narrative is an important part of the story, the story was really not complete until after my scooter journey last year. That journey didn't give me exactly a Hollywood happy ending, but it certainly left me with a newly constructed life.<br /><br />Ragdale worked her magic with me once again. When I was there in 2005, I wrote about the two hallucinations that had been hardest to articulate; they required my complete and total concentration. Unlike the rest of the book, these two vignettes remained almost entirely intact after the second draft editing. At this last StoryStudio retreat, I successfully reworked a section of the book that involved translating six weeks worth of emails into narrative and then incorporating missing story elements. I wasn't sure it could be done and was ecstatic when I did it!<br /><br />The writer’s retreat at Ragdale last weekend was sort of a book-end experience, as we are completing the manuscript that started there six years ago, eleven years after my exit from the ICU. The decade between these visits (along with the ever patient editorial guidance of my husband Michael) grew me into a real writer.<br /><br />My illness took away my physical ability to perform my choreography and photography. Trapped behind my laptop, I began writing by default. As I prepare this project for a literary agent and publisher, I have been forced to reflect on the last few years. I was surprised to realize that… well, I’ve been doing more writing than I realized. I have written three different blogs (79 posts in all), an article in GET magazine, and an essay in a literary journal.<br /><br />While back at Ragdale responding to a countless variety of writing prompts, I discovered that I can now write about anything. I had a chance to see that, as a writer, I have a unique viewpoint. I tend to write about things that have meaning for me, things that I hold sacred and the psychology or relational underpinnings of experiences.<br /><br />Now, my dear followers and friends, you can help me with the next step. I've done my homework and decided that the Liza Dawson Literary Agency is the one for me and this book. So, if any of you know her or know anyone at her agency, I'd sure appreciate a proper introduction. This is important or I'm going to be reduced to trolling the sidewalk outside her office wearing a sandwich board.<br /><span style="color:#888888;"><br /><br /></span>Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-89638686416510239342011-03-26T07:41:00.000-07:002011-04-20T14:15:26.680-07:00The Truth<span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:Arial;font-size:13pt;color:transparent;" id="internal-source-marker_0.28186193946708415" >Times are hard. This isn't new information. The weekend I returned from my scooter tour last summer, our firefighters were camped in several intersections, raising money for their local charity. As I was stopped at the light, I scrambled for a couple dollars and opened my window. I asked him, "How is it going?" </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:Arial;font-size:13pt;color:transparent;" ></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:Arial;font-size:13pt;color:transparent;" >The firefighter paused and then said, "You want the truth, don't you?"</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:Arial;font-size:13pt;color:transparent;" ></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:Arial;font-size:13pt;color:transparent;" >"I do, actually."</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:Arial;font-size:13pt;color:transparent;" ></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:Arial;font-size:13pt;color:transparent;" >"Well, we aren't doing a tenth of what we did last year, and that doesn't even compare to what we did the year before."</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:Arial;font-size:13pt;color:transparent;" ></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:Arial;font-size:13pt;color:transparent;" >I understood. I didn't raise even one percent of what it cost me to do my Midwest Tour. Without that prep tour I wouldn't have the experience to one day take my dream ride across France, ending at Sacre Couer in Paris (add link to previous blog). I certainly wouldn't have been physically strong enough either; my body had grown progressively stronger over the course of the tour. Although I did my 50-day Midwest tour solo (with the exception of my three days in and around St. Louis), we knew that if I ever became too fatigued to continue my husband Michael or my friend and colleague Dante could grab my Tahoe, with its specially designed scooter rack, and come pick me up.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:Arial;font-size:13pt;color:transparent;" ></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:Arial;font-size:13pt;color:transparent;" >So now, if I want to continue, I need an angel to cover the Midwest tour and front the money for the French tour -- or I just have to wait. I'm now editing a book about the Midwest tour and all that led up to it. Ten years ago, when I got out of Intensive Care, I was too sick to do much other than use my laptop in bed. It took a decade's journey back to health, including my scooter journey, to return me to some semblance of a normal life. </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:Arial;font-size:13pt;color:transparent;" ></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:Arial;font-size:13pt;color:transparent;" >I am insanely grateful for the wild and wonderful journey this past summer, to every person I spoke with at a gas station, every person who pulled over to make sure I was okay when I was just getting some water, every person who shared the story of a loved one who meets the challenge of a hidden disability (or doesn't), and to the few special people who took me into their home along the way. Of course I’m especially grateful to the St. Louis Scooter Club, and all the motorcycle people on the road who treated me as one of them, regardless of the fact that I was a chick riding a three-wheeled scooter.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:Arial;font-size:13pt;color:transparent;" ></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:Arial;font-size:13pt;color:transparent;" >I will continue to ride around Southwest Michigan and Chicago in 2011 and share my stories here and @offthemap_eu. So keep an eye out for more news about my riding life, and upcoming news about my forthcoming book and all the rest of life's adventures.</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:Arial;font-size:11pt;color:transparent;" ></span>Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-72317136179945029252010-08-25T22:04:00.000-07:002010-09-02T19:15:02.705-07:00They Call Them "Twisties"!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJmqTtXQQ-W4KwK01yLBxVzGSHj2F1DfU9NqluI7GsgyNb_UCwRXyo6J4sJUpbENwVnYuifRVW2LTBN3N0TaSokSt6xtszak_S_UPS7ogs5FO-ZswUPUEcS16SthevKqo5406v3aQa2ow/s1600/ExtremeEd.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 390px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJmqTtXQQ-W4KwK01yLBxVzGSHj2F1DfU9NqluI7GsgyNb_UCwRXyo6J4sJUpbENwVnYuifRVW2LTBN3N0TaSokSt6xtszak_S_UPS7ogs5FO-ZswUPUEcS16SthevKqo5406v3aQa2ow/s400/ExtremeEd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509771031992332770" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>Me and one of my new pals, "Extreme Ed" (aka "Freak" </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>to his </b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>St. Louis buddies) </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>at </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>the Bixby Country Store in Bixby, MO.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>Photo by Brian Eaves</b></span></div><br /><br /><i>DISCLAIMER: The screaming in my mind while riding with the St. Louis Scooter Club is not in any way a reflection on the Club or it’s members.</i><br /><br />What do I mean by screaming? For example: OH MY GOD I CAN’T STOP THIS BIKE I'LL NEVER MAKE THAT TURN I'M GOING TO GO OFF THE CLIFF OH MY GOD I CAN'T STOP THIS BIIIIIIKE!!!<br /><br />From my perspective, I'm careening straight down a very steep hill and somehow I'm supposed to make a sharp curve right in the middle of it.<br /><br />Two days before beginning this 3,400 mile journey, I met with my brother and we evaluated my braking technique. I'd been taught one thing in my safety class and now, just before leaving, everybody was offering their opinion about what were the safest braking practices. Having only logged a few hundred miles on a simple Vespa scooter the previous summer, I had crammed 1,000 miles of training into the two weeks before departure. On top of that, I was now riding a Piaggio MP3 250, a peculiar scooter with two wheels in front and one in back. So I needed to know once and for all if I had to adjust my braking style, two days before leaving.<br /><br />My brother used to race motocross, and when he climbed on my scooter and raced around the high school parking lot, he made it do things I'd only seen on the Piaggio website, performed by professionals. My heart was in my throat as he whipped the bike from side to side and came within inches of dragging his knee on the ground. He rode back to me and calmly said, “It's pretty top-heavy, and the two wheels in front give it a pretty different balance." He explained that it would be easy to lock up the front tire if I applied too much pressure to the front brake, and the back tire could skid out of control. "In the end, I think you actually should brake the way you were taught.” <div><br /></div><div>The general wisdom is that in a panic situation, we do what we're used to doing, only harder and faster. A more experienced rider can use more subtle pressure, called “feathering,” to brake; but we didn’t think there was much room for it on the Piaggio and anyway I didn’t have time to get more experienced. So, we made a rule, which I had practiced for the 2, 700 miles leading to St. Louis: in turns, rear (left) brake only.<br /><br />But now I was pulling my left brake with all my might and I was still flying straight ahead while the road curved sharply right. I screamed out to John in my mind, “I have no choice, John! I’m gonna go easy!” I didn’t really think I had time for easy, and I was past the turn before I could evaluate how I did. I couldn’t tell you how much I used that front break for the rest of the ride.<br /><br />Maggie Madonia, the leader of the <a href="http://stlscooterclub.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">St. Louis Scooter Club</span></a>, always leads the ride. The novice rider goes behind her with another experienced rider bracketing right behind. Two days before, she and Pete rode 40 miles out of St. Louis to meet me and ride me into the city. Now, this has it’s own kind of stress, because there are other riders to keep track of, keep an even distance from, etc., but these two worked seamlessly as a team to keep me safe. Maggie would signal that she was going to change lanes, I'd look behind me, and I'd see that Pete had already changed lanes and was holding the traffic for me. Working together they created a kind of shield around me, and it was amazing. I was beginning to understand what it might have been like to learn to ride under their tutelage, instead the way I'd learned, out on the road all alone.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHj_mZ-lgaZtiHhEZxd_8Bju2PmgFISvFm0QHY1K_79fWccqCOXditSWSdZANeB648F6uNjnX_-NZ59jplQLJWJvyuNU3qNdXajP7gcAB6xg5KPXtuZhHOPVcQrOanp6oJQpz213SBaKk/s1600/AraStLuBr.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHj_mZ-lgaZtiHhEZxd_8Bju2PmgFISvFm0QHY1K_79fWccqCOXditSWSdZANeB648F6uNjnX_-NZ59jplQLJWJvyuNU3qNdXajP7gcAB6xg5KPXtuZhHOPVcQrOanp6oJQpz213SBaKk/s400/AraStLuBr.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509764651671062226" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Me and the St. Louis Scooter Club peeps at </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Sandy Creek Covered Bridge.</span></div><br />On this journey to Bixby, MO, Maggie was at the lead, then me, then Pete, then about eight others from the St. Louis Scooter Club. It was a wild mix of scooters and Harleys, truly a "come one, come all" attitude. Our stop at the Sandy Creek Covered Bridge was my first chance to talk to some of the riders that I'd only seen for a moment at our safety review before we left the hotel that morning. I was blown away by that first segment of the ride. At this point, I thought my arms were going to fall off. They felt like they had the first week I started riding, but now each turn was coupled with elevation and either braking or driving throttle. On the first incline when we took a curve I realized, “Whooooooa, that is a CLIFF there! No barrier, just road, a few inches of dirt and then trees lacing a CLIFF.”<br /><br />That was the last time on the ride, though, that I had enough time to even think a complete thought. The mantra-prayer sentence I'd been reciting throughout my tour, whenever I was stressed (when I was first learning to ride the gentle wide sweeping turns at higher speeds, the foggy three-and-a-half hour ride from Sault Ste. Marie to Paradise, the ride through a near tornado into Wausau, Wisconsin) was reduced to a single word: “LIGHT!” I could not even speak the word. I shouted it in my mind, just once, at that first curve when I saw the cliff. After that the prayer had to become an action, and time and space were compressed.<div><br /><div>I closely watched Maggie up ahead — in part to stay a safe distance behind her, but also to observe her ride. I could see that she had an easy, even rhythm around the turns. When I could mimic it, I could feel the road in my body and it was bliss — it was no longer me and the bike in the environment, we became the environment. During most of the tour my time and attention had been so focused on developing my skills that, I confess, I hadn’t had much fun when riding — but suddenly I thought "Ah, I can see why people want to ride!" It was sweet, that roll to the right, then left , then right, again, and again.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">When goals are clear, feedback relevant, and challenges and skills are in balance, attention becomes ordered and fully invested. Because of the total demand on psychic energy, a person in flow is completely focused. There is no space in consciousness for distracting thoughts, irrelevant feelings. Self-consciousness disappears, yet one feels stronger than usual. The sense of time is distorted: hours seem to pass by in minutes. When a person’s entire being is stretched in the full functioning of body and mind ... In the harmonious focusing of physical and psychic energy, life finally comes into is own</span>.<br />-Mihaly Csikszentamilhalyi<br /><br />But in the second segment of the ride, there came a moment of sheer terror: I got ahead of myself in a turn and I was skidding off to the very edge of the road. From my view there was only a few inches of gravel, then trees, then — cliff. I didn’t have time to picture what could have been — only to realize that my eyes were on the piece of ground that I was sliding on, and in the last instant to do what I had taught myself in the 2,700 miles of turns before; it was just a moment for me to lift my head, which resulted in what I had practiced: “LOOK UP! at the final edge of the corner and let the bike LEAN to that point!” But this correction required a quick, hard and fast lean and then... I made it. My heart was beating about 240 bpm, and I know what that feels like, because my heart had beat that fast at times when I was in the ICU.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6QamHT70aaK-3xavwDt8q8eqL4uiilYnioibjGh0Hsie4zQFGKczjjqTVbw_gsds9D-PCg8i1YcriOIscVMuRP7oGifMhKSY05ZOc2Vb39hS7pqFI8_lbq8ss9SoC_Ag2o1UaralrhNQ/s1600/MirrorFlynn.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6QamHT70aaK-3xavwDt8q8eqL4uiilYnioibjGh0Hsie4zQFGKczjjqTVbw_gsds9D-PCg8i1YcriOIscVMuRP7oGifMhKSY05ZOc2Vb39hS7pqFI8_lbq8ss9SoC_Ag2o1UaralrhNQ/s400/MirrorFlynn.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509767276661994258" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Our convoy through the Ozarks, as seen in Extreme Ed's side mirror.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Photo by Flynn.</span></div><br /><br />Did my practice save me? My instincts? Certainly the fact that I was only going 30 at the final recovery moment helped. If you look at my drive reports (part of my real-time tracking on my web-site), you will see that I was going 30 every single time the tracker located me in that pass. I have Maggie to thank for this. There was a great deal of talk about how I “rode my own ride”; for those of you who don’t ride motorcycles/scooters, this means I didn’t feel pressured to ride above my ability just because I was riding with a group. Now that is partially true - we went super slow for me all day - and the members of the St Louis Scooter Club were angels about it, charming actually, talking about how they had noticed that a certain farm had horses, or saw certain kinds of trees they had never noticed, because they had never ridden this road so slowly (as an aside, I didn’t see anything except Maggie and the road; I knew it was green on either side of me but that was about it). </div><div><br /></div><div> It took every ounce of RAM I had just to stay alive as they moseyed on down the road. But I believe there was a positive pressure to keep an even tempo. If I didn’t have Maggie ahead of me, so smoothly demonstrating each and every turn, had I been out there alone, I can assure you I would have braked more into the turns and tried to speed out of them too heavily. I’m only talking about 2 or 3 miles an hour more, but I think it would have made my ride jerkier, less stable, and less safe.<br /><br />The truth is, for all my panicky thoughts and momentary terrors, Maggie and the St. Louis Scooter Club guided me through my first technical ride. Now what do I mean my technical ride? This is the term for a ride that requires skills, not really a ride for a novice rider. If I have anything “bad” to say about my experience with the St. Louis Scooter Club, it is about their cute little term for a technical ride: they call them “Twisties.” It sounds like a treat you might get at the Dairy Corner, right?! </div><div><br /></div><div>Now just to be clear, Maggie repeatedly said, and I QUOTE, “This is going to be a challenging ride, with higher elevation and lots of twists and turns, which you are NOT used to.” UNQUOTE! This should have been a red flag. I probably should have asked, “What kind of elevation are we talking about, and what degree of turns?” But for some reason, I didn't. And on top of that, I’m a person that usually knows my geography, but somehow I had not put it together that we were talking about a technical ride through the OZARK MOUNTAINS. I was told we were going down the Mark Twain Trail; doesn’t that sound sweet? The lesson here, is DO YOUR HOMEWORK! LOOK AT THE MAP! FIND OUT THE ELEVATION AND THE DEGREE OF TURNS! Even when guided by incredibly safe and careful tutors like the St. Louis Scooter Club, I should have known what I was getting myself into, instead of being shocked out on the road. That was my own fault.<br /><br />And here is another lesson: had I known what the level of difficulty was, I probably wouldn’t have done the ride. But the fact is if Maggie and Pete, these two experienced riders who had ridden into St. Louis with me the day before, didn’t think I could handle that ride they would have made another plan. Okay so I won’t ever go into a ride “blind” again, but in this case, in the end, I'm glad that I did; otherwise I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to raise my riding level, safely and carefully, with their guidance. It would have been a sadly missed opportunity. And again, to be clear, Maggie repeatedly said, “We will take this at your pace and you will be fine.” Which is exactly what happened. We did take it at my pace, and I was fine.<br /><br />BUT... the real challenge came in the third section of the ride. As I was finally beginning to get the hang of the braking, the throttle, and the degree of lean needed to meet these turns, I felt a deep sharp pain in my right hip and abdomen. This was a bigger OMG moment, when I realized that this distraction could lead to an error, which could mean a ride off the cliff. I had another moment of terror when I almost failed to navigate my way around a curve. So now I had to stay with the “ride” with my full concentration on staying safe, while managing constant stabbing pains that came sometimes when I was braking and sometimes when I wasn’t.<br /><br />I knew the pain could mean one of two things: it could be the unthinkable, a severe abdominal injury (which could mean a surgery that my surgeon, the best in the country, has repeatedly said he's not sure how - or if - it could be done again on my body); or, it could just be torn scar tissue, which though painful is not a big deal. I figured I would know by morning. In the meantime, I needed to “ride over it,” mainly because there was no other way out of this terrain. And if I were to stop the bike on that steep, winding road I'd have risked a major accident for myself and everyone behind me. There was no time for prayer, just work: the brake, the throttle, the road, and the lean. I just had to focus on each turn, each moment, each now.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Flow tends to occur when a person’s skills are fully involved in overcoming a challenge that is <b>just about manageable</b> (emphasis added). Optimal experiences usually involve a fine balance between one’s ability to act, and the available opportunities for action. If challenges are too high one gets frustrated, then worried, and eventually anxious. If challenges are too low relative to one’s skills or are perceived to be low, one gets to feel apathetic. But when high challenges are matched with high skills, then the deep involvement that sets flow apart from ordinary life is likely to occur. The climber will feel it when the mountain demands all his strength, the singer when the song demands the full range of her vocal ability, the weaver when the design is more complex than anythin</span>g<i> attempted before, and the surgeon when the operation involves new procedures or requires an unexpected variation.</i><br />-Mihaly Csikszentamilhalyi<br /><br />When we stopped at the Country Store in Bixby, MO I let the photographer/motorcyclist on our two-day film team ride my scoot the final 15 miles into Salem, MO. I told the St. Louis Scooter Club that I was fatigued. Only my crew and my husband would know about the potentially disastrous situation I was in. I'd just have to sweat it out until morning...<br /><br />...and low and behold, in the morning, after no significant pain in the night, I knew it had only been torn scar tissue, which I'd experienced when I first started riding the scooter. "Whew!" would be an understatement. I’m truly thanking God on that one.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzitHr-cCOZyCafbJmJxUq3FCjHnn31M47grE27wfe7IAQTJok2_23DKtJ71t5g-sfutT2sY-g2oZn3ZzcFdBD7UQiITkhDfaaBhku8xf1ewLpUWFNfoI7eISjOcjVDLM6J2L0YTh4OI0/s1600/BridgetBohac.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 390px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzitHr-cCOZyCafbJmJxUq3FCjHnn31M47grE27wfe7IAQTJok2_23DKtJ71t5g-sfutT2sY-g2oZn3ZzcFdBD7UQiITkhDfaaBhku8xf1ewLpUWFNfoI7eISjOcjVDLM6J2L0YTh4OI0/s400/BridgetBohac.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509772218792549858" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Me and the amazing Bridget Bohac, Queen (and Owner) of the Bixby Country Store.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Photo by Brian Eave</span>s</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>So, there we were in Bixby, MO at the Bixby Country Store, a general store I had heard so much about from Maggie... and it was that much more than she had described. When I first walked in my eye was drawn to the ceiling where a toy train ran along a suspended track. I heard someone yelling, “Please turn on the train! Turn on the train!” There was candy, amazing food, a wild selection of drinks, and an incredible mixture of paraphernalia from the past and the present. As we were eating in a back room one of my photographers captured video of around six hummingbirds dining simultaneously outside the window.<br /><br />I knew that meal was my last chance to talk to my scooter club friends, because I was moving on and they would be heading back to St. Louis. I'd met several of them the day before at <a href="http://www.maplewoodscootercompany.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Maplewood Scooter</span></a>, but it seemed I'd had so little time to talk to them before this unforgettable ride, this ride where they held me to my own line, the day I learned to ride with a group, the day I became, in my own mind, a rider -- the first day that I met the edge of the road, with fear, and recovered. Of course it was just another day for them, another ride to a beloved spot, Bixby; but for me it was my first technical ride. They can call it a “Twisty” if they want.<br /><br />When we stopped just after my “near incident” I sheepishly said, “I’m sorry about that you guys,” because I knew that if I had blown it and gone down I would have put every bike behind me at risk too. The guy we called “Extreme Ed,” a big Harley rider with a shaved head and a helmet decorated with a grinning skull, calmly said, “You were okay. That is the hardest turn in the trip. It has a double apex. You had the first one, then you were too high for the second one, but you figured it out and got yourself down.” Each time we stopped he'd had something encouraging to say to me. He added, “The Rule is: when in doubt, LEAN. If you're in more doubt, LEAN more.” I hope I hear his words the next time I’m in trouble.</div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcmehezS_porC978Cv76tmRZ16LjT3ZRvEU3hTY8EI2A4GbjH8pX4F2-rNv1tFA8kTSrX8vwEAjZnl7Yrl-r9XEYGZvY_NRnw2doRkN13ykK-Kf-K2MdMrCDUEYeoWfjKaflQ_QDDRvMU/s1600/AraOffBike.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 305px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcmehezS_porC978Cv76tmRZ16LjT3ZRvEU3hTY8EI2A4GbjH8pX4F2-rNv1tFA8kTSrX8vwEAjZnl7Yrl-r9XEYGZvY_NRnw2doRkN13ykK-Kf-K2MdMrCDUEYeoWfjKaflQ_QDDRvMU/s400/AraOffBike.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509773204070099762" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">At the hotel, just before we embarked on my first "Technical Ride." </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I wouldn't have looked nearly so sassy if I'd realized what was coming!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Photo by Brian Eaves.</span></div></div></div>Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-65274522591234401132010-08-19T10:13:00.000-07:002010-08-20T07:55:38.909-07:00Just... perfect!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyZszGaB1aFqfI2ZqXZq5FVRxbVbfYKgJ-44PnHvYD5oblhcA14Fif4xJggNBu3l3d1SBpTdmS4SAcK3nbrXb74JSLJHILSfr_Ap-O4Ar5R02yUBNWkmy6AgSHyJetoKMTrdzE-nHbrHA/s1600/fruit.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyZszGaB1aFqfI2ZqXZq5FVRxbVbfYKgJ-44PnHvYD5oblhcA14Fif4xJggNBu3l3d1SBpTdmS4SAcK3nbrXb74JSLJHILSfr_Ap-O4Ar5R02yUBNWkmy6AgSHyJetoKMTrdzE-nHbrHA/s400/fruit.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507339982587387170" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Fresh fruit provided by Lori and Donna, my generous hosts for AirVenture OshKosh.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><i><b>This is a blog entry I wrote from Oshkosh, before I went to AirVenture, but with everything that was going on I didn't get to post it before the B-17 entry -- so I'm posting it now! Slightly out of order, but definitely worth sharing…</b></i><br /><br />Back when I arrived in Oshkosh, all I knew was I would be staying in the private home of (follow me closely here, it gets a little convoluted) a neighbor of a woman who had listed her home as a place to stay for people coming to AirVenture Oshkosh. I had originally called a woman named Patti, whose listing stated that she had Alpacas (fun) and would be giving rides to AirVenture (convenient). The latter would mean I wouldn’t have to risk my life in stop-and-<i>not</i>-go traffic for miles on my way in and out of AirVenture, while everyone in the cars was watching planes in the sky instead of the traffic. Sounded like a good deal, but... her house was full. So, she referred me to Lori.<br /><br />Lori said she had a room. I explained that I would need a couple gallons of water a day (to keep up with my medication and the heat), which she was fine with, and she offered a light breakfast. I over-nighted a check and prayed she didn’t have a cousin who was a rapist that would be visiting while I was there. I figured in the worst case scenario, I had my scooter and I could high-tail it out and beg someone in a camper at Camp Scholler (the campground at AirVenture) to let me sleep on their floor. I would figure it out, but I assumed that Lori’s place would most likely work out.<br /><br />The drive down there from Iron Mountain was arduous. There was a lengthy piece of Highway 47 that was under construction with no detour offered. I drove on an alternate route quite a fair piece, but when I came back to 47 it was still under construction. I called a friend of mine, Jon Sorenson, who has helped me in the past with navigation issues when I’ve been in a car and when my nav had me turned around when driving toward the Mac Bridge (user error). He went right to work figuring out where the construction was/wasn’t, but meanwhile I was cooking in the sun. And then, as has happened to me so often, I was saved by the kindness of an unlikely stranger. Out of nowhere came this teenaged surfer-looking dude! I don’t know what a surfer was doing in the middle of Wisconsin, but the kid drew me a flawless map with right, left, right, a jog, a left, and several more turns to get me to Black Creek, where I could drive illegally the wrong way for one block through town, on the gravel (“You’ll be fine,” he says), and then reconnect to Highway 47, where it’s clear. I was so grateful, and greatly relieved, because I didn’t have the energy to continue riding around trying to figure it out to no avail.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMfsok51Ay2VDyeJhyTqJkeKvCrmepPFLXQhyphenhyphenuyLRGx_-9ZXwr8oP6N-zJkccfqZyiHchqxd9yx2fpmT3n76fkyi1tzknWFMfIOtPr06VSp4rplXwARq3m9Wl-_wiMeEfVXi3cyZh3_Lo/s1600/mitchpond-2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMfsok51Ay2VDyeJhyTqJkeKvCrmepPFLXQhyphenhyphenuyLRGx_-9ZXwr8oP6N-zJkccfqZyiHchqxd9yx2fpmT3n76fkyi1tzknWFMfIOtPr06VSp4rplXwARq3m9Wl-_wiMeEfVXi3cyZh3_Lo/s400/mitchpond-2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507338731227983122" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Flooding in Oshkosh. Taken from mitchpond on flickr.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>I knew that when I got to Oshkosh there would be road closings, because they had been hit by very serious rain: 7 inches in two hours the day before. One of the closings was Highway 41, which would be part of my Route... again there was no continuous detour offered. At that point I had driven for about five hours in the heat, so I bit my lip and jumped on the freeway, which looked like it was going to get me back on track and save me a few miles. I immediately regretted it, because though the highway was also under construction, even the semis were speeding through it and past me, blasting me with winds that wanted to knock me over, or worse. Luckily it was only about 5 or 6 miles. Then Jill (the name of the American English voice on my Garmin Zumo navigator) weaved me through, I swear, every little neighborhood on the way to Lori’s house.<br /><br /><div><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ytdC34uqNiKWmus_bn6GDWMvncitQHUmsHTxpB9ZnrNg-PFT547baW5NjwmnPwPs46gWtzTVgf9UdBql9LCarqUjTNix521dMXYRAzlouHCYwyfd61rM8eHJmPJMRYY9xj7PkaJs-fo/s1600/mitchpond-3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ytdC34uqNiKWmus_bn6GDWMvncitQHUmsHTxpB9ZnrNg-PFT547baW5NjwmnPwPs46gWtzTVgf9UdBql9LCarqUjTNix521dMXYRAzlouHCYwyfd61rM8eHJmPJMRYY9xj7PkaJs-fo/s400/mitchpond-3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507339458149286466" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">A van abandoned in the water near Highway 41. Taken from mitchpond on flickr.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Arrival -- finally! All would be well. I was met by Donna and a very warm welcome. She said that she had been watching the real-time tracking on my website, so she was able to arrive about three minutes before I did - which is exactly what it was designed for, so that was great to hear. She also helped me unload the bike, which was a huge relief, and something I hadn’t experienced so far on the road.<br /><br />It just kept getting better. That night Lori and Donna took me to their local fish fry at O’Malley’s, where Connie the proprietor makes this amazing, very lightly breaded and extremely flavorful Walleye which I tried (along with some shrimp and perch) on Fridays. The place was hopping and it seemed as if everyone there was a neighbor of Lori and Donna's, and Lori was even taking orders for one of the of the tables that couldn’t get to the counter. She continued to monitor their table for drink orders throughout the night. I was made to feel like I’d been away from home for a long time and was just being welcomed back.<br /><br />In the morning there was a note from Lori asking if it would be okay if we had sphagehtti for dinner (now you may remember that the deal was for a light breakfast) -- well, those who know me well, know that spaghetti is my No. 1 comfort food. When she came home she had nectarines in hand and I accused her of calling home (my home) to find out what my favorite things were, but she hadn’t -- it just worked out that way.<br /><br />Now the deluge was actually devastating AirVenture. Normally for several days before the Monday the event begins there are hundreds of planes flying in, but the ground was so wet that there was no place to park them. So the sky was quiet, which was kind of eery and sad. I couldn’t help but think about all the people who spent five years building a plane that they were finally able to fly to Oshkosh, and then couldn’t. Not to mention all the aviation businesses who are dependent on this enormous event, with an attendance of 800,000 people, for the majority of their businesses’s income. Then there are also the Oshkosh businesses that are built around Airventure -- I couldn’t imagine the how far the ripple of impact was reaching.<br /><br />As for me, since there was “nothing happening” for the two days prior, I decided to lay low and let my body recoup. My back was in pretty serious pain on the ride from Iron Mountain and when I woke on Saturday I couldn’t even bend over. Because it was the weekend, it was impossible to find someone I could see that day and Lori was calling to tell me that she had struck out finding anyone as well, when a co-worker of hers said, “Hey, I can do it.” Kelly, who does massage in her free time, ran home, grabbed her table, and came over to do my massage in the living room. She took care of the pain and I decided to move very cautiously the next day in hopes of restoring my body in my sleep.<br /><br />Lori, who is a stylist, and I were talking about hair color. I had mentioned that mine had turned blonde over the summer. “What color was it?” she asked. “I like my grey/silver hair,” I said. She stood up, saying, “Well, let’s go put it back.”<br /><br />“Seriously?”<br /><br />“Sure, why not?" she said. "I can do it. It just needs some more toner!”<br /><br />I was delighted. “Okay then, why not?” I said back.<br /><br />So she and I and her extremely camera-shy dog Oscar (you have no idea how hard I fought to get a good pic of this dog who would run away at the very scent of my iPhone!) went to the salon and she restored my hair.<div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUNDIt7SKfeULkilfDCKJGB-j-4VjRi7ssZ-ZlxpH0cb0jogY37tjCcZQtaiYCzVo9zH5eLYyP7Y1ADWbFR9Gm9wyr6BZqCsus0zb_zXoBPejwHSqftu3DSVbVcoyVgOPv4TVwArwRVTs/s1600/gotchya.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUNDIt7SKfeULkilfDCKJGB-j-4VjRi7ssZ-ZlxpH0cb0jogY37tjCcZQtaiYCzVo9zH5eLYyP7Y1ADWbFR9Gm9wyr6BZqCsus0zb_zXoBPejwHSqftu3DSVbVcoyVgOPv4TVwArwRVTs/s400/gotchya.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507231120798112098" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The elusive Oscar.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>My last night there they made for me my favorite kind of BBQ and invited over the AirVenture guests from Patti’s house (remember Patti, way back at the beginning of this story?). Then Donna gave me an envelope with a very generous donation from her co-workers: “The Metalist Clan.” An enormous thank you to: Joel, Dick, Dave, Debi, Lori, Jenny, Jan, Donna, Amy, Tim, and Jeff!!!<br /><br />The truth, is we just hung out. How many times does someone say, “Just make yourself at home,” and even if they mean it you can’t really do that, certainly not if you just met the person, cuz if you did it would be rude? But this really was like that. I felt like we were first cousins that hadn’t seen each other in awhile, but cared about each other a great deal. I’d certainly never conceived that I could feel so welcome in a stranger's home, or that I wouldn’t want to leave, or that I would miss them so much already.</div><div><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIGOdTHeYuQ3omHPSmDuhZCZCYUbuNOxZJhnb6YdvRME_qmOs7S9ejJS1BzZDWn3sh6jaMvuoWnX_4m8wT7sZsCFb8o3iYebo27mhbsEw8GO8w9VQLYfwFLuCBeW0-0i8S1hHyPybdvWY/s1600/oscaratsleep.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIGOdTHeYuQ3omHPSmDuhZCZCYUbuNOxZJhnb6YdvRME_qmOs7S9ejJS1BzZDWn3sh6jaMvuoWnX_4m8wT7sZsCFb8o3iYebo27mhbsEw8GO8w9VQLYfwFLuCBeW0-0i8S1hHyPybdvWY/s400/oscaratsleep.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507239501582637794" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Oscar at rest (though somehow still blurry).</span></div></div>Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-77769795081422504232010-08-10T20:04:00.000-07:002010-08-10T20:34:49.199-07:00Off The Map Goes Sustainable<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirNwG0IwTQQUXnF7oSbgFLSpTUvqMhyphenhyphen1flSqd9pnIkrT9GrcFuE4AdDkckBZ9IOrAwSK_BI1WPRJLkGDI-D2l_7e3XcjNnFjbgMSjxZsS-lgTxdxs2ltaw5yFfahnW5wHEilW_6dy_Tcc/s1600/hens2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 358px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirNwG0IwTQQUXnF7oSbgFLSpTUvqMhyphenhyphen1flSqd9pnIkrT9GrcFuE4AdDkckBZ9IOrAwSK_BI1WPRJLkGDI-D2l_7e3XcjNnFjbgMSjxZsS-lgTxdxs2ltaw5yFfahnW5wHEilW_6dy_Tcc/s400/hens2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503983771373071538" /></a><br /><br />Ruth Young, a reporter for Madison Wisconsin's Isthmus Daily Page interviews me about my journey and my stop at the Speckled Hen Inn, a sustainable farm.<br /><br /><a href="http://bit.ly/OTMSustainable">http://bit.ly/OTMSustainable</a>Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-16429484556238785352010-08-02T07:50:00.000-07:002010-08-07T20:39:38.030-07:00The Story Behind The Story<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxHIviv0r0PioJjA3fSGqyrsQc4cUKEMEgX6nhMkERX-Q2c3QhDwBFC6xAQ9QPXgtuI_i0t-EC_DHtVH94EaFA2n3TLcCNnttsjZ6VsbRjxYjawdmoxfl2nHehra4w2p3FCFtJbiPuYVI/s1600/AraWithPiaggioAero.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxHIviv0r0PioJjA3fSGqyrsQc4cUKEMEgX6nhMkERX-Q2c3QhDwBFC6xAQ9QPXgtuI_i0t-EC_DHtVH94EaFA2n3TLcCNnttsjZ6VsbRjxYjawdmoxfl2nHehra4w2p3FCFtJbiPuYVI/s400/AraWithPiaggioAero.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500832131609742098" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Me and my scooter's big flying cousin, the Piaggio Aero, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">at EAA AirVenture 2010, Oshkosh.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Okay, I wasn’t going to talk about this—and I still might not. I have an editor for my blogs, he makes sure my verb tenses match and breaks up the occasional run-on sentence while leaving the language my own—but he also offers his opinion on things, like a partner on this project. And we both agreed before I started this project that one certain topic was going to stay out of the game and we were going to stick to the main points, which are: I have severe fatigue, I'm on a whole host of medications as a consequence of being in the ICU, and I’m missing my abdominal musculature, something you really need to do most of what a person wants to do. I must constantly assess my physical condition. In my everyday life I need deep tissue massage to help me unravel all the kinks I've put into stray areas of my reconstructed body, after using it in ways for which it wasn’t designed. And on this journey with the additional stress of riding the bike against the winds and sudden gusts and drafts of the semis, I find I need a recovery massage about every three days instead of every other week. The biggest challenge of this journey is fatigue; I'm only able to ride about 150 miles in a day and I need breaks every few days to recover.<br /><br />BUT... that isn’t what I’m talking about here. This is the something more, something else altogether, and a topic that I tend to not talk about - the taboo Hidden Disability.<br /><br />I’m Bi-Polar Type II.<br /><br />I was diagnosed when I was 29, put on medication, and was fortunate in the sense that it didn’t take too terribly long to find a medication that brought my life into some semblance of balance. It didn’t make me “normal.” I described the experience of adjusting to my meds as “taking the edges of the intensity away.” I still tend to experience emotions stronger than a “normal” person, but now with the proper medication, people have stopped saying, “She is so bright, it is so sad that she can’t seem to get it together.” I still have to be certain to get enough sleep, because lack of sleep is a sure-fire trigger back to my old chaotic, painful, disappointing life. So I manage it very carefully.<br /><br />Unfortunately, statistically I’m one of the fortunate ones, because 80% of Bi-Polar patients are what is called “Non-Compliant,” meaning they don't take their medication as directed. These patients also don't have the benefit of the stable life that I have gone on to lead, with a marriage of 16 years, a house we built together, and a couple of large scale photography projects to my credit, despite being Bi-Polar. In the early days after my diagnosis, life was so dramatically improved that it hadn’t occurred to me that I would be restricted from doing anything I wanted to do—even flying a plane.<br /><br />When I was 10, I flew with my Uncle Dennis for the first time and I was captivated. The weather got a little dicey so we had to fly by instruments, but he “gave me the controls” and told me to keep her on course until we got near the airport, which I was able to do it even though we were being knocked around by turbulence. I was sure that someday I would learn to fly, so as part of my undergraduate program at Northeastern Illinois University’s University Without Walls, I chose Aviation Ground School to meet my Science Requirement. During this time I began taking flying lessons at the Tri-Cities Regional Airport in TN/VA as well as taking practical flying lessons. I was a model student. One day I even had an American Airlines pilot as my instructor and he encouraged me to become a commercial pilot because, he said, I had excellent judgment and he believes that to be the most important factor in being a great pilot.<br /><br />It was five weeks into my lessons before I realized I was going to have trouble passing the medical exam. There was no way to avoid it, and my medication was on the FAA’s “No Fly” list. So of course I failed the medical. Now I understand that not every Bi-Polar person has the stability and consistency of judgment to safely fly, which is why these laws are put into place, but I also believed that I am an exception to that assumption, and I just wanted to be evaluated. All of my instructors, as well as my psychiatrist (who had been seeing me for almost four years at that time), agreed to attest to my fitness.<br /><br />When my notification of denial came from the FAA, my husband Michael, who is always the first to believe in me, said, “Ara, this is one of those fights where you may just have to stand up for those who cannot stand up for themselves.” So I called around and found the highest profile aviation attorney in the country and he took on my case Pro Bono.<br /><br />We went nose to nose with the FAA. Round 1: Denied. We regrouped and went after them again. Round 2: Denied. The process took almost three years, but after two denials it was over; they would no longer look at my case unless I was no longer on these medications... the very medications that allowed me to be safe, stable and exercise good judgment.<br /><br />During that time I acquired 80 hours of flight time, twice what is needed to solo, and with an instructor successfully completed every skill, including night flying and my long distance flight (from Chicago to St. Louis and back). But with no medical there would be no solo flight.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI4LHCi2hLSefvR_t-cdi9Z58iMgOvZrYuGzZ1d6mPuaLAY64zQ49bTzWUDwFlUR7Xx0N2Og85meFgNXIyQR-YWdGrBM02NsLj5LSW1I5noUnQFi3CXPwBtodE_vPfmGg9h-Pp5P2qs4U/s1600/B17.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI4LHCi2hLSefvR_t-cdi9Z58iMgOvZrYuGzZ1d6mPuaLAY64zQ49bTzWUDwFlUR7Xx0N2Og85meFgNXIyQR-YWdGrBM02NsLj5LSW1I5noUnQFi3CXPwBtodE_vPfmGg9h-Pp5P2qs4U/s400/B17.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500833391841450930" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">The B-17 I rode in at AirVenture.</span></div><br />Now time and the denial of a medical has not dampened my love of planes or flying one bit, so when I was planning this tour and realized I'd be able to hit AirVenture/Oshkosh, The World’s Greatest Aviation Celebration, I was ecstatic! I made plans to ride in a B-17 on the morning of the first day, and then I planned to stop by The International Woman’s Pilot Association—The Ninety-Nines—just to see what cool information they might have on early women pilots.<br /><br />When I reached their tent, I was approached by a woman wearing a kind of camping hat with a flower on it, and with a bright smile and a big spirit she said, “Are you a Ninety-Nine?”<br /><br />But the only way to become a member of this organization is to be a licensed pilot. But I had been asked by about forty guys all day how many AirVentures I’d been to—"My first!”—And I would ask them how many AirVentures they had been to, and their answers were everything from "28!" to—"My first!" I would ask them what part of the Aviation industry they are a part of, and they would tell me everything from electronics to General Aviation to Aviation History.<br /><br />And then they would inevitably ask me what I fly... like what plane. And somehow, that question didn’t catch me up. I would tell them I couldn’t get a medical, so I fly with others and ride a scooter. And we would talk a bit about the medical process… they would encourage me to fly light aircraft... (where no medical is needed) and we would move on....<br /><br />But when she said, “Are <i>YOU</i> a Ninety-Nine?” with that bright and smiling face, I heard, “Are you part of the club? Are you one of <i>US</i>?” I was stopped short. Telling her I couldn’t get my medical just felt hideous, but I was on the spot and I couldn’t come up with anything else.<br /><br />“Me?... Oh no, ah... um... well, I’m unable to get a medical.”<br /><br />She took a breath, I could see it coming, just like all the men earlier in the day, with the solutions: “You know the EAA offers help with trying to get a medical,” or, “For the new sport license, you only need a driver’s license.”<br /><br />And I would say, “True, but that only works if you’ve never been DENIED a medical, and I’ve been denied three times.”<br /><br />After that there is nothing to say.<br /><br />(Although one charming fellow said, “How fast does your scooter go?” “I know where you’re going with this,” I said, ”it goes 77 and it only weighs 450 pounds, it just needs wings.” We both laughed.)<br /><br />But looking into this woman’s bright eyes, I couldn’t laugh.<br /><br />As some of you may know from reading other parts of my story, I went through the <i>in vitro</i> process to get pregnant (stay with me, this is going somewhere). At that time, I was friends with a number of women who were all going through this process and we would all communicate with each other online. And I suddenly remembered how so many of them were tortured when they had to go to yet another sister or friend’s baby shower. At the time I understood it intellectually, but I didn’t feel that pain in the same way they did. Now, I got it—way deep down, I got it. This was my baby shower.<br /><br />I changed the subject. “I was just stopping by to get some information for my blog.” She kindly directed me to the magazines on the table and then I slipped out the back of the tent. I found a corner in the shade and sat down on the concrete and let the tears fall down my face. There is no amount of therapy that is going to take all that loss away from me. I can still enjoy flying with friends, but I’m definitely not going to any more baby showers. That was excruciating.<br /><br />So—that's the experience I had at Oshkosh (although, the B-17 ride was out of this world, and there is a video about that forthcoming!).<br /><br />But, in closing, I feel I should say why I didn’t want to talk about being Bi-Polar in the first place. I was concerned that this adventure, a woman with no abdomen, riding across the Midwest on a scooter, would just look like a concoction of a Bi-Polar person and be dismissed. The truth is, it is the concoction of a Bi-Polar woman—I do tend to think big—but I’m still well medicated, so I plan very thoroughly and carefully. It took many months to:<ul><li>plan a route with a 50 day day itinerary,<br /><li>research safety options and find a global tracking device that provides real-time tracking,<br /><li>find and figure out an SOS button, which sends a signal to my Base Camp and to two people in Europe and a Satellite Phone if I should get into trouble,<br /><li>envision the design and creation of a complex website along with the creation of all the media materials, and<br /><li>structure the itinerary to plan for whatever challenges I might face, and carefully determine what my body could handle.</ul><br />I couldn’t just hop on my scooter and take off; this trip took meticulous planning, both before and while on the road, as I continually need new supplies sent to me, and I’m sending discs of the videos I make back to Base Camp for editing.<br /><br />I get anxious when I think I will be categorized as the kind of Bi-Polar person I was in my old life, and as a result I’m pretty undercover about being Bi-Polar. This is one of those Hidden Disabilities that has a huge stigma, which keeps people from seeking help, because they too don’t want to be perceived as “crazy!” But over the last couple of days, as I’ve considered my experience at Oshkosh, thinking I wouldn't be able to share it with you, I realized I wasn’t helping matters by keeping quiet about my own disorder.<br /><br />The truth is, it's okay to be Bi-Polar, and it sucks to be crazy. I am a huge advocate of getting assessed, sticking with your doctor, sharing with him/her everything about your experience for however long it takes, so that together you and he/she can work out just the right cocktail. There are so many new drugs, even some that have come out in just the last year, that it is even worth going back to the doctor, if you had a bad experience in the past. And if you need guidance, or just more information, contact the National Bipolar Foundation, at <a href="http://nationalbipolarfoundation.org/">nationalbipolarfoundation.org</a>—they should be able to either help or point you in the right direction.<br /><br />So, I said it... I’m Bi-Polar. I take my meds. I’m sane. I live a rich and full life now, I’m not crazy and I don’t drive my friends and family crazy like I did in the old days. I'm able to finish things, like the two large scale photography projects I did over the last couple years, which I could never have done without medication. I’m having a great adventure, which I dreamed up, and I’m doing it very cautiously and safely, like an overly concerned Bi-Polar Person should.<br /><br />And that is the story behind the story.Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-73513725688926189212010-07-29T16:26:00.000-07:002010-08-07T20:40:02.983-07:00A Gift For Protection.<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVlK6tNHhdq9alGpwMvCZCQdLkWx2qjmbK6DXKNW0QB-2aEvoGhqheSZsSMwWzGq1Qm922tncdy4gXQvFIbZUl7Nk7frrN14CVhvQiNJhsPPmTkK6ZCWmQ06QnIKEeJVRmJB8OxWfnUQ0/s1600/zpost.com.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVlK6tNHhdq9alGpwMvCZCQdLkWx2qjmbK6DXKNW0QB-2aEvoGhqheSZsSMwWzGq1Qm922tncdy4gXQvFIbZUl7Nk7frrN14CVhvQiNJhsPPmTkK6ZCWmQ06QnIKEeJVRmJB8OxWfnUQ0/s400/zpost.com.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499534750433960610" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Image taken from </span><span style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">zpost.com</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">.</span></span><br /></div><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">I knew yesterday was going to be tough. I needed to get from Iron Mountain, Michigan to Oshkosh, WI. It would be about 140 miles, which is a longer stretch for me, and I would be facing more rain without having solved the fogged goggles issue (the potential wonder wipes were supposedly awaiting me in Oshkosh). I’d also heard that there would be street closings once I got closer to Oshkosh, because torrential rains had caved in some of the roads. I would need to be fairly well rested to manage these challenges, so I didn’t feel I could get up super early to beat the rain, either. So, that’s how the day looked from the onset.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Before loading up, I went to the breakfast area of the hotel and took a quick peek out the window, just to check on my scooter. I noticed a group of Harley riders getting ready to leave. Now, I had been told, before I started this trip, to be wary and steer clear of the Harley riders in Wisconsin. I was told in Southern Wisconsin there are even parking lots specifically for American-made cars and motorcycles, and that there would be little tolerance for me and my Italian-made Piaggio. In Iron Mountain, I was just a few miles away from the Wisconsin border and the home of the Harley Davidson plant. But I figured, I’m doing this trip to talk to people, so I grabbed my first bag to load and headed outside.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPGRg5-po02zHHEWQq8Oh5UWFEvzACiVvgmzjoTXOlz26R5UXxSBkPdibrGZLWIPm2Cr0xXZ0KRh4k63jFJU2Y_2XdR2l6I5Bd4PXWfzuwD3u_D3tpSdjdLbV-oJKa0FPZxs5JBJUfgv8/s1600/PACK.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPGRg5-po02zHHEWQq8Oh5UWFEvzACiVvgmzjoTXOlz26R5UXxSBkPdibrGZLWIPm2Cr0xXZ0KRh4k63jFJU2Y_2XdR2l6I5Bd4PXWfzuwD3u_D3tpSdjdLbV-oJKa0FPZxs5JBJUfgv8/s400/PACK.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499475068370122930" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:78%;" >"You can fit all that stuff on that scooter?"</span></div><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">When I began loading my scoot, I was approached by one of the group of the five Harley riders. We got talking, and she was asking me about my project, and before long, they had all gathered around us. They were asking questions to get caught up with the story, and then all of us were discussing the meaning of Hidden Disabilities. We talked about my challenges after I left the ICU, and soon they were sharing about the life of someone close to them who’d had similar challenges when she left the ICU, as well as stories about other people they knew who has faced health issues. We talked about all the times the general public just wasn’t able to understand that someone might need more time to finish a sentence, or cross the road, even though they might look “normal.”</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">It was a very engaging conversation, and the first time on the tour that I was provoked to talk about the cognitive challenges that I was left with from my time in the ICU: initially being unable to read even a children's book, how I still have problems with word recall and take much longer putting sentences together </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">than I had been used to</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">. We all agreed that giving a person just an ounce of slack can end up making a world of difference. It was a great talk. They offered to put my saddlebags on my bike, which I’d mentioned was the toughest part of my day (the bending over and wrangling them onto the frames puts a lot of strain on my back, which was already hurting me). So, they kindly put the saddlebags on, we said our goodbyes, and I stopped in the breakfast room to slam a glass of apple juice and wolf down a banana. I was ready to hit the road.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">....then, just as I stepped outside, all five of them walked toward me with this air of serious conviction. I thought to myself, “My God, what have I done?” They crowded around and the biggest of the guys stopped square in front of me. He said, “There is a tradition among bikers...</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">”</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: italic;">Let me stop right here. I thought long and hard on my ride down to Oshkosh about whether or not it was even appropriate to share this with you. I looked on the Internet and there is quite a bit written about this tradition, so it isn’t the most secret of traditions, and I’ve decided that sharing this story with you, my faithful readers, is more important than whatever hush might usually surround this tradition, and I hope I will be forgiven. Back to the story...</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">So this very big, tall Harley rider opens his huge hand, and he’s holding a little black velvet pouch. “There is a tradition among bikers,” he says. “You see, you may not know this, but evil spirits sometimes chase bikes, motorcycles.” He empties this pouch in his hand and there is a silver bell. I look up at all of them. I’m holding my breath and trying not to cry, to somehow be a big girl motorcycle rider despite the fact that I’m a little MP3 scooter rider, as I look into all of their faces.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“You see, the evil spirits get caught in the bell and they spin around and fall to the ground and make a pothole,</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">”</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> he said. </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">It works better if someone gives you the bell, and we want you to have this. We want you to be safe.”</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Somehow I managed to keep the tears I was holding inside my eyes, as I held my heart with my right hand and took the bell with my left.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCe9ndN4hD13qttBsGRX0hFi4gBFEtmHbrKCL0dVk4cNvzSAf6UVhlQ0rrMbUcO0S54-tIU77oI83kHeN9mzX64BJZtBO77tZNw6O6FFkSHE1r180Qs1DeI3YgmvId9vED4qrlEc5oCeQ/s1600/protectbell.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 358px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCe9ndN4hD13qttBsGRX0hFi4gBFEtmHbrKCL0dVk4cNvzSAf6UVhlQ0rrMbUcO0S54-tIU77oI83kHeN9mzX64BJZtBO77tZNw6O6FFkSHE1r180Qs1DeI3YgmvId9vED4qrlEc5oCeQ/s400/protectbell.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499476628298432690" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">My new (and first) Guardian Bell.</span></span><br /></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /><br />“I don’t even know all your names... doesn’t one of you have a card?” I just couldn’t imagine not being able to acknowledge them or ever make contact with them ever again.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">“We aren’t business people,” said one of the few of them whose name I did know.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />“Well, at least tell me where you are from,” I asked.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />“Beaver Dam, about forty miles North of Milwaukee.”</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br />I felt like a character in a fantasy novel, being given a magical object from the High King and his Wise Advisors. And then, they disappeared, and I was left to continue my journey.<br /><br /></span>Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-45028282443123327882010-07-20T18:32:00.001-07:002010-08-07T20:40:29.520-07:00"Deadliest Catch", the Newt Suit, and an amazing Edmund Fitzgerald exhibit at the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47OQB2NHuHHLdTKeQA11RYZjkwODMzTG8tmsaM4aU2lUZG7Uxq4zskk5qrerj9YEMoxmHOXY_X4p2MbCu3aZSyM3JvdtvUDxGFcK7MgDFBIWQ4UARFFUSMgtOP-sZSR_XUR0dDi-8M8g/s1600/01.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47OQB2NHuHHLdTKeQA11RYZjkwODMzTG8tmsaM4aU2lUZG7Uxq4zskk5qrerj9YEMoxmHOXY_X4p2MbCu3aZSyM3JvdtvUDxGFcK7MgDFBIWQ4UARFFUSMgtOP-sZSR_XUR0dDi-8M8g/s400/01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498258441448469986" border="0" /></a><small><div style="text-align: center;">Campus of the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum, looking out over dangerous waters.<br>Image taken from <a href="http://shipwreckmuseum.com/">shipwreckmuseum.com</a>.</div></small><br />Before starting to watch <a href="http://dsc.discovery.com/tv/deadliest-catch/">Deadliest Catch</a> a few years back, I guess I thought shipwrecks were a thing of the past—which is silly, because we still have plane crashes and car crashes, so I don’t know why I would think that a ship would magically no longer be in danger or sink out at sea. I guess I just hadn’t really heard about it, so I hadn’t really thought about it happening.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhrTdFeXYkM1gajV9xlcCkRiuFaAMNYXQSbB4FmTN9b0GA03D_2-6YaEIz_XmVlBIzPPiuzlfiG1lxtnl8UrUMFg5xMYTTNWW0r3OzmpHThN2N_C3BbXBFkXWua1cWp31tJIKJ65AdYQ/s1600/in.com.jpeg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 276px; height: 182px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAhrTdFeXYkM1gajV9xlcCkRiuFaAMNYXQSbB4FmTN9b0GA03D_2-6YaEIz_XmVlBIzPPiuzlfiG1lxtnl8UrUMFg5xMYTTNWW0r3OzmpHThN2N_C3BbXBFkXWua1cWp31tJIKJ65AdYQ/s400/in.com.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497469015711458786" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><small>A particularly rocky moment from <i>The Deadliest Catch</i> on Discovery Channel.<br>Image taken from <A href="http://www.in.com/">in.com</a>.</small></div><br />Then I started watching <i><a href="http://dsc.discovery.com/tv/deadliest-catch/">Deadliest Catch</a></i> and I realized that it is definitely still happening. For those of you who may not be familiar, it's a show on the <a href="http://dsc.discovery.com/">Discovery Channel</a> that focuses on about six different boats during crab fishing season, and the hardships these men face in the Bering Sea. The weather conditions are insane, and the hours they're forced to work to make the necessary quotas (and still get back to port by deadline), push human endurance to their limit—and beyond—which is, of course, the fascination. It was while watching this show that I learned that vessels large and small sink quite regularly.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu53aGOUj3ZUJi8o5h9CJGDWwR8iVrhM0QTkgdstA0sqwzOuzOujKgaeGIHtZ6zLRKWQgj6j9SzavXyyoFnzMbOBDZbsOZP9tT3M300fE1E7dlshgiL74xk54Ksb5K4IFOEaC456FFE4s/s1600/is42-1256227088-22344.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 350px; height: 244px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu53aGOUj3ZUJi8o5h9CJGDWwR8iVrhM0QTkgdstA0sqwzOuzOujKgaeGIHtZ6zLRKWQgj6j9SzavXyyoFnzMbOBDZbsOZP9tT3M300fE1E7dlshgiL74xk54Ksb5K4IFOEaC456FFE4s/s400/is42-1256227088-22344.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497465379408301346" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><small>The <i>USS Edmund Fitzgerald</i> on the water.<br>Image taken from <a href="http://www.zotzelectrical.com/">zotzelectrical.com</a>.</small></div><br />The <a href="http://www.shipwreckmuseum.com/">Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum</a> has an exhibit focusing on the most significant recent shipwreck—and probably the most famous, thanks in part to the song by Gordon Lightfoot—to occur on the Great Lakes: the sinking of the <i>U.S.S. Edmund Fitzgerald.</i><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU2wOsf9vvX95ubEnJ0uXu3KG93G5Cc_cL5wKytpLqsn7l3IOa-BEraX-Fs9cu_vYT9i4RgZGX2x1bvWofNmV6gWWUue620HfuYPE8gp_pzQltfmSp0TGh7iHRZ1jqPnIbik88m19IPns/s1600/mlive.com.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 305px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU2wOsf9vvX95ubEnJ0uXu3KG93G5Cc_cL5wKytpLqsn7l3IOa-BEraX-Fs9cu_vYT9i4RgZGX2x1bvWofNmV6gWWUue620HfuYPE8gp_pzQltfmSp0TGh7iHRZ1jqPnIbik88m19IPns/s400/mlive.com.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497477585343707346" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><small>Local press coverage of the Fitzgerald loss.<br>Image taken from <a href="http://www.live.com/">live.com</a>.</small></div><br />The <i>Fitzgerald</i> was one of the largest freighters traversing the waters of the Great Lakes throughout the 1960's and 70's, and though it had been moving iron ore for a good 17 years, the ship was known for breaking speed records and carrying the heaviest loads (both qualities frequently attributed to the ships on <i>Deadliest Catch</i>, albeit on a smaller scale and with more edible cargo). CAPTAIN ERNEST M. SORLEY had thirty years of experience when he and his ship left Superior, Wisconsin and headed for Zug Island near Detroit, Michigan. En route, they were hit by a devastating gale with winds in excess of 55 miles an hour, as well as gusts of up to 75 mph. Because the locks at Sault Saint Marie were closed, and the waves in the bay to the south were known to be even stronger, the Captain took the ship on a path north, closer to Canada, to what he hoped would be safer waters. It was November 10, 1975.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxbCjHp-pn-uZt-wWE5V1XbGTwlTY5aVqiAaUbUc3OuVg4I8OoeFnaEYQum5aBPFDHCPvNhLpGCTfFTUN3cIKB-ZOroNbA9Glem7Ypl7XIAitQMn1VZvXNctxw6Wof33w7M6TqN4hkHw/s1600/whitefishpnt.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxbCjHp-pn-uZt-wWE5V1XbGTwlTY5aVqiAaUbUc3OuVg4I8OoeFnaEYQum5aBPFDHCPvNhLpGCTfFTUN3cIKB-ZOroNbA9Glem7Ypl7XIAitQMn1VZvXNctxw6Wof33w7M6TqN4hkHw/s400/whitefishpnt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497490400317836770" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><small>Whitefish Bay on Lake Superior, looking north.<br>The land mass in the distance is Canada.</small></div><br />At 3:30 p.m. Captain Sorley reported to the <i>Anderson</i> that he had lost his radar and the freighter was listing slightly.<br /><br />Radio communications between Sorley and the <i>Anderson</i>, which had been following not far behind the <i>Fitzgerald</i>, provide some clues to the fate of the <i>Fitzgerald</i>, as well as the recorded comments of Captain Bernie Cooper and First Mate Morgan Clark of the <i>Anderson</i>:<br /><br />“He’s in too close to that six-fathom spot.”<h5><i>Note: a fathom is six feet. This is in reference to the Carabou Shoals; a shoal is a sandbank.</i></h5>“He sure does, he’s too close. He’s closer than I’d want this ship to be.”<br /><br />At 5:30 p.m. Captain Sorley reports to another nearby ship, the <i>Avafors</i>, that he had a bad list, no radar, and seas washing over his decks. "One of the worst seas I've ever been in," Sorley said.<br /><br />At 7:10 p.m. Sorley sent the message "We are holding our own," to the <i>Anderson</i>. This was the last message received.<br /><br />At 8:32 p.m. the <i>Anderson</i> could no longer detect the <i>Fitzgerald</i> on the radar and Captain Cooper could no longer see her lights.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ2SEs7VnvQEoNN83xhLP1NurTjYYuCr4dsQZeko88vtPrDUAzRMtN-2byecHHonyMyyvUIu0VQs2dbqR3JWvbEOq3cZ6y_Vao6SW_3Yl4wClAxc7vjpC4bJ0SGyGgzWl92fEU9MaL8rc/s1600/pastforward.ca.jpeg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 308px; height: 164px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ2SEs7VnvQEoNN83xhLP1NurTjYYuCr4dsQZeko88vtPrDUAzRMtN-2byecHHonyMyyvUIu0VQs2dbqR3JWvbEOq3cZ6y_Vao6SW_3Yl4wClAxc7vjpC4bJ0SGyGgzWl92fEU9MaL8rc/s400/pastforward.ca.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497488754027150018" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><small>Image taken from <a href="http://www.pastforward.ca/">pastforward.ca</a></small></div><br />Reading this text in the museum, I was reminded of <i>Deadliest Catch</i> and the tension of the boat captains when another ship is in danger or waiting for the U.S. Coast Guard to make it to a sick or injured man. It seems that being out to sea is similar to being in a war: the intensity, the proximity to peril, and the challenges of doing a job in those circumstances creates a brotherhood, a bond. There is a loneliness to life at sea, and yet they aren’t alone, because all those who work there share an understanding of the waters, her boats, and the kind of life it demands, and they all have each other’s backs. You certainly don’t want to be the one that goes down, but you also don’t want to be the one who, like Captain Cooper on that night 35 years ago, looks out where to the <i>Fitzgerald</i> had been holding her own, and, instead of her lights, sees only darkness.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL-nI_FjmpIFBgHdJpFhlss7QThzRSBlU79PVj2wt5vnUOKntXb7wn4Jj4do6DtDKLpdl1-Dsz017hX9wAZiqZN8uItv4HLG2GuUzfLH8MnTMvXSxNaSHDbkcNZhd8L4qR09__XmcBRTs/s1600/mix.epicfu.com.jpeg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 276px; height: 183px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL-nI_FjmpIFBgHdJpFhlss7QThzRSBlU79PVj2wt5vnUOKntXb7wn4Jj4do6DtDKLpdl1-Dsz017hX9wAZiqZN8uItv4HLG2GuUzfLH8MnTMvXSxNaSHDbkcNZhd8L4qR09__XmcBRTs/s400/mix.epicfu.com.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497490575670254722" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><small>Diver in a Newt Suit looks into the deck of the <i>Fitzgerald</i> wreck.<br>Image taken from <a href="http://www.epicfu.com/">epicfu.com</a></small></div><br />For many years these audio recordings were the only tangible evidence we had to try and piece together what forced the <i>Fitzgerald</i>'s crew into Superior’s frigid waters. If she was indeed at the six-fathom spot, then she was in only 36 feet of water; the "depth" of the ship, from the bottom of the hull to the deck, was 39 feet. Hitting a shoal could have damaged the hull, allowing water into the hold. There are other hypotheses, however: one is that a rogue wave—or a series of waves known as a "Three Sisters"—may have been involved. A Three Sisters, where a big wave comes from behind followed quickly by one from each side, doesn't allow a boat time to right itself, driving it under. The <i>Anderson</i> reported being hit by two such waves. Another theory is that one of the hatches wasn't properly secured, and water from the waves coming over the deck gradually filled the hold, which already contained a heavy load of iron ore, resulting in a sudden catastrophic loss of buoyancy that plunged the ship to the lake bottom before the crew had a chance to react.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpgV2Cv7VYFZ0U9OzIHOWVRuO-dgjVklPi60lmXtympM2kRtvs-1NB4_d-LnhqoZZkfcwIh6jPGhlMz4K741-7Yf_2uzlb9wrqvdV2YETpUe7-gCBJVWrwCoejuPDhIJh_Pz_V0wYm6sM/s1600/newt.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpgV2Cv7VYFZ0U9OzIHOWVRuO-dgjVklPi60lmXtympM2kRtvs-1NB4_d-LnhqoZZkfcwIh6jPGhlMz4K741-7Yf_2uzlb9wrqvdV2YETpUe7-gCBJVWrwCoejuPDhIJh_Pz_V0wYm6sM/s400/newt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497490722874848274" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><small>Newt Suit on display in the <i>Edmund Fitzgerald</i> exhibit at<br />the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum.</small></div><br />In 1995, a diving crew using the NEWT SUIT underwent a mission to retrieve the ship’s bell of the <i>Edmund Fitzgerald</i> (the Newt suit is an atmospheric pressurized diving suit, originally developed by Canadian engineer Phil Nuytten). In its place, they left a bell engraved with the names of the 29 men that were lost with the ship. A ceremony was held, ringing the bell for each of the 29 men, and then a 30th time for the 6,000 ships lost in the Great Lakes.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9F_gnFOx8aFDkifwH-8Uvz1ecD2o4z5AKsQqc3LKEt1eQDj-Gn8RtfB39FJlneaVHMq8OAb0q2K948DbSfZukw1o16bTyH3KZeeyUbzs4CeBmZt7Z-aRjfeO5jyUfFPTIYEfXQ12pN5Q/s1600/BELL.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9F_gnFOx8aFDkifwH-8Uvz1ecD2o4z5AKsQqc3LKEt1eQDj-Gn8RtfB39FJlneaVHMq8OAb0q2K948DbSfZukw1o16bTyH3KZeeyUbzs4CeBmZt7Z-aRjfeO5jyUfFPTIYEfXQ12pN5Q/s400/BELL.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497491190794106946" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><small>Original ship's bell rescued from the wreckage of the <i>Edmund Fitzgerald</i>.<br>On display at the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum.</small></div><br /><br />The wreck site of <i>Fitzgerald</i> will no longer be explored, and will remain a memorial to all those who have lost their lives in the Great Lakes., bellReconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-34812375317496959992010-07-19T07:47:00.000-07:002010-08-07T20:41:18.795-07:00Rain, Fog, Shipwrecks & Potential Moose<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMbwnZOw4bEMmjng2j2N-hFbh5MtQ3yTtNaNeHHI2Fv2kw-tNWKShmxU-mnbWScGptKoLtrMEdPg9FIPHTxdM4RxObZbQP2MEcKlZFLTogtMZ6Ghik6eLMRP71oneX1wx-Qf20CFpGBJs/s1600/rain11.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMbwnZOw4bEMmjng2j2N-hFbh5MtQ3yTtNaNeHHI2Fv2kw-tNWKShmxU-mnbWScGptKoLtrMEdPg9FIPHTxdM4RxObZbQP2MEcKlZFLTogtMZ6Ghik6eLMRP71oneX1wx-Qf20CFpGBJs/s400/rain11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496181428215427634" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">Image taken from <span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">wordcutter.com/MotorcycleRiderBasics</span></span><br /><br /></div><span style=";font-size:85%;color:black;" >It took my typical three and a half hours from waking up, packing and load-in to get to the final step of entering the address into the nav and take-off. Last night the weather channel predicted rain, but the skies were clear when I loaded-in and so, I decided to wait to put on my new and yet untested rain gear (jacket and pants with suspenders from <a href="http://rideicon.com/"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">rideicon.com</span></a>). </span><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style=";font-size:85%;color:black;" >I stopped for fuel about ten miles out of town and managed to put in $7, the most to date! I didn’t get a chance to figure out if it was because the price of the Premium, which the Piaggio requires, was higher or if I was the most empty I had been to date, because then the rain hit. I figured I was pretty fortunate to have the covering of the the awning to suit up, since I wasn’t bright enough to have my gear on from the get-go.</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:85%;">When I was at the hotel I had checked my air pressure and was delighted that the new gauge I bought in Ann Arbor (at <a href="http://www.motorcityharley.com/"><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">Motor City Harley-Davidson</span></a>) actually works. The stem on the gauge is mid-sized and allows me to read the pressure on the back tire in 30 seconds instead of the 20-30 minutes (honestly) it would take me with a full-size gauge, trying to get it into the only micro-sweet spot where the pressure could be read. Now, I knew the back tire pressure was perfect, but both the front tires were under and I confess, I didn’t have it in me to go over to the air in the rain and put air in the tires. I knew I wasn’t going to be going very fast, and I know this is a big shame on me, but I’m telling you the truth, I just wasn’t up to it.<br /></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style=";font-size:85%;color:black;" >This morning was not only a test for the rain gear, but for this anti-fog potion called Cat Crap which I had gingerly applied and buffed as directed (I believed) on my clear goggles. Well, I don’t know if I didn’t use enough (they say use very little), or if I buffed too much, or if I was supposed to use it on the inside as well as the outside -- but unfortunately, the Cat Crap was... well, crap. I have another product en route to me which has some great reviews, so we will see how it does next time it rains.</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br /></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGmMaEhmlKEGvDYmVyHxhiObfSJa5UlJEhqBDMAboPy4xQmuXpxucraEeSapB8-w8dFnTEvRteVIKmuC6QRb2e3Mb760IBdMN-TyrjIIJtuK4spNn5GOnEdAp0UJwzM-pV7lEBoz-W1VE/s1600/uYQR2253230-1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 249px; height: 288px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGmMaEhmlKEGvDYmVyHxhiObfSJa5UlJEhqBDMAboPy4xQmuXpxucraEeSapB8-w8dFnTEvRteVIKmuC6QRb2e3Mb760IBdMN-TyrjIIJtuK4spNn5GOnEdAp0UJwzM-pV7lEBoz-W1VE/s400/uYQR2253230-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496182984429928754" border="0" /></a></span><span style=";font-size:78%;color:black;" >Image taken from <span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">w3.clhosting.org</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:85%;">Just as I was pulling onto the road a couple other bikers pulled into the station to seek shelter under the awning. In general, my stress is less in these conditions, because I know that my Piaggio MP3 250 was designed to be ultra stable and this is the very kind of situation where Michi can show what she is made of, but riding in the rain can still feel arduous. I felt like I was in some Jedi Knight training on the slippery roads, which I couldn’t really see through foggy goggles and foggy air. Rain pelted my face and the cold temperatures chilled my bones, and my right hand began to feel numb. Every now and I again I wouldn’t be able to see anything at all, so I would pull over and wipe out my goggles with my sloppy soggy gloves and that would help for about 20 seconds. According to the drive report of the real-time tracker on my website, I chugged along at around 30 mph for most of the trip, finally reaching <a href="http://shipwreckmuseum.com/"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-style: italic;">The Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum</span></a> about three and a half hours later.</span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkXMYMEwaJFNxWR4HhiZYdRTXfX_CKXAr2eD4kGkvOTxxIUujZFgwcTBtaQnWX8rKDZ4q5L6cXxsWe-otkq9jce_T1qOE7Axcf1EOn78D7gaBoy1yL9uBD3iTQNJkzhS9jhaiiXwqJLt8/s1600/is74-1258574773-54509.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkXMYMEwaJFNxWR4HhiZYdRTXfX_CKXAr2eD4kGkvOTxxIUujZFgwcTBtaQnWX8rKDZ4q5L6cXxsWe-otkq9jce_T1qOE7Axcf1EOn78D7gaBoy1yL9uBD3iTQNJkzhS9jhaiiXwqJLt8/s400/is74-1258574773-54509.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496187323225331954" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:78%;">Light Tower at the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum, on a sunny day.<br />Built 1861. Image taken from <span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">shipwreckmuseum.com</span></span><br /></div><span style=";font-size:100%;color:black;" ><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Shortly after I arrived the power went out. I didn’t have much in the way of signal on my phone, so I asked Michael, my husband, to do an internet search for massage therapists in the area. Given that my body doesn’t have an abdominal muscular structure, I need to have occasional massages to unkink it from the inordinate taxation I put on other systems (like my back). Riding the scooter affects other things (like my wrists, ankles and neck), and riding in the rain compounds all of these issues. Getting chilled is my most dangerous fatigue issue, so just as soon as I was able to unload the scoot, I jumped into a hot shower and then under the blankets. If I get too chilled, or chilled for too long, I can end up bed-ridden for a couple of days. I was pretty sure that I managed to get warm fast enough, but many muscles were very cramped up from the long ride in the rain.</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style=";font-size:85%;color:black;" >I was again incredibly lucky and found Mike Metzler of Northern Michigan Advanced Clinical Massage. He was kind enough to make an hour long drive each way to put my body back on track. He also left me with some water, an apple (which I really wanted! I haven’t had any real fruits or veggies since I left home) and a tennis ball, which he showed me how I could use the ball to fix my hip on my own when I’m on the road. He explained that at their clinic they place great importance on educating and empowering their clients to be able to take care of themselves. All way cool!</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-size:85%;color:black;" >Amazing how tough a mere 35-mile ride can be when conditions are right (or wrong). Also, I suspect that the view along the coast from Sault Ste. Marie to Whitefish Point, where the Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum is, would have been unbelievably spectacular had I been able to see it through the fog and the foggy goggles. I do have to push on, but I’m starting to accumulate a list of great places in Michigan I can look forward to revisiting in the future.</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikqP_4itvH0rU-ev90khC4bVnLibwwbNxv8OOSLmHOSQlvyXDXD86Z-k-uQDjrPlPpHHrjT3XXHnDcuMqDjZrkqhuF5Sn02w9Vl41nvtmHbBy7kmUpnANyhOhe7IC8J7O558VRWbQnzSE/s1600/MOOSE.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 360px; height: 319px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikqP_4itvH0rU-ev90khC4bVnLibwwbNxv8OOSLmHOSQlvyXDXD86Z-k-uQDjrPlPpHHrjT3XXHnDcuMqDjZrkqhuF5Sn02w9Vl41nvtmHbBy7kmUpnANyhOhe7IC8J7O558VRWbQnzSE/s400/MOOSE.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496190824840310946" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">Image taken from <span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">statesymbols.org</span></span></span><br /><br /></div><span style=";font-size:85%;color:black;" >When I checked into the Crew Quarters where I would be spending the night</span><span style=";font-size:85%;color:black;" > at the Shipwreck Museum</span><span style=";font-size:85%;color:black;" >, I was told to look out the back window during breakfast time, as there is often a visiting moose. It was presented very casually, like it might be just another interesting thing to see, but I’ve never seen a real moose in person, so if one appeared just outside the window, well, that would be a big deal to me. If only I could get up early enough for a moose-sighting.</span></div></div></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"> <!--EndFragment--><br /></div>Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-32139906940382078062010-07-17T14:34:00.000-07:002010-08-07T20:44:13.498-07:00Scooting Across The Mackinac Bridge!<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnykmp50fB8nwzi-0g0XmUz-xEFhrXiSAl4jpebJvl543xeICkt8uuat7wvyEtzJcU22rPVkllasaMyOFUINcFcAl0dj_k7PnLsj9v5wmggvrMVrgITg1T5TyAlE90iICJenjGDaeI2_Q/s1600/MackinacSkyBig.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnykmp50fB8nwzi-0g0XmUz-xEFhrXiSAl4jpebJvl543xeICkt8uuat7wvyEtzJcU22rPVkllasaMyOFUINcFcAl0dj_k7PnLsj9v5wmggvrMVrgITg1T5TyAlE90iICJenjGDaeI2_Q/s400/MackinacSkyBig.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495063843562963074" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Mackinac Bridge, a.k.a. "Mighty Mac"</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Image taken from <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">50statesproject.wikispaces.com</span>.</span><br /></div><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;" id="internal-source-marker_0.048573426140533504" ><br />I'd only gone a few miles from The Gables in Cheboygan, Michigan when I looked down at my dash and noticed that my trunk light was on, meaning my trunk was open. This was a pretty big bummer, because I was pretty overheated having already spent half an hour at a Shell station, getting the tire pressure corrected and managing a problem with the helmet camera, and now I would have to unwire the camera and take off my pack and get all disconnected from the monitor just to close the trunk. Regardless, I had to pull over; but when I did -- the trunk would not close. Now, this trunk has always been temperamental and has required a good slam to get it to shut properly, but this time the latch just wouldn’t engage.</span><br /><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;" ></span><br /><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;" >I once again called the Vespa dealer in Grand Rapids, looking for a dealer close to me, but this time they told me what I had expected to hear a couple days earlier when I was in Gaylord, Michigan: “There isn’t one in over 100 miles. You could go to Detroit.” Well, Detroit was not on my way to Sault Ste. Marie, so I sent up a tweet asking if anyone could point me toward someone who might be able to fix it between here and there.</span><br /><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;" ></span><br /><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;" >In the meantime I talked to Michael, my husband, who chastised me for not taking the duct tape. I explained that the roll had been too big, but it gave me the idea that I might be able to get a piece of duct tape between where I was and the bridge (The Mackinac Bridge). I was having visions of the wind tossing my critical possessions into the lake as I scooted across.</span><br /><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;" ></span><br /><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;" >Before too long I came to a small town, Indian River, where I stopped in an oil change place. Again I had to go through all the gyrations of getting unhitched from the helmet cam, and just as I finished I looked up to see a rather tall smiling man looking down and me. “I have to ask, why do you have a camera on your helmet?” he said. I answered, “Well, I’m delighted you did ask, because then I can tell you that I’m riding 3,400 miles on this scooter to raise awareness about Hidden Disabilities." I pause for the puzzled look on his face, then explain, “This could be any disability that you can’t tell by looking at a person, such as a person who's deaf, or autistic, or has MS.” He whipped out his wallet and said,”Let me give you five dollars.” I was taken aback! People have donated on the website but no one had ever just opened their wallet in front of me and handed me cash. “My name is Ara, and who are you Sir?” “I’m, Pat, Pat Allor.” He must have detected my surprise, because he said, “You are trying to raise money aren’t you?” “Well, yes... usually it's through the website... but this is great, THANK YOU!" I then </span></span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;" >explained that I was there hoping to find some duct tape.</span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;color:transparent;" > <span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> “Now what would you need a piece of duct tape for on a rig like that?”<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">I explained about the problem with the trunk so he took me inside to get some duct tape, but it turns out he didn’t work there, he was just stopping in there on his lunch break. He took a look at my broken latch and figured he might be able to fix it at his shop which was just down the road a couple miles. I figured I had nothing to lose so I headed over to <a href="http://tririverscollision.com/"><span style="font-style: italic;">Tri Rivers Collision</span></a> and Pat and his colleague, Dave Cooksey, took it apart and messed with it until they got it working again. They aren’t quite sure why it stopped working and they don’t think their fix is permanent, but it is working for now. Pat helped me get all suited up again, as well as tightening the strap on my helmet, and I was off.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >Now here is when things started getting weird. The nav had me traveling south, but I knew the bridge was north of me. I have the settings to take all back roads, so I thought it was possible I needed to go south for a bit to meet up with some other road that would take me north, but it was carrying on for just way too long. I stopped a couple different times and expanded the map and it was in fact taking me up to Sault Ste. Marie, so I tried to chill and just go with it, but again, I was heading farther and farther south and it was getting later and later in the day.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:arial;" >Finally, I was getting too exhausted to carry on much more, and if I had to I was just going to get on the real highway and get going north. So, I called my buddy Jim Picard and asked if he could figure out why the nav was taking me the way it was. It didn’t make any sense to him, and the bridge was now about fifty miles behind me. I asked him to give me an address at the base of the bridge and I would put that in the nav and start over. This managed to get me heading north and moving toward the bridge.<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8EdAEIbAT-4MukKZkLCx3cvdwoxaYK_ks0MJemX3XuJP1pbbodzmkHwNF4uUNd4rGDf65HeLh77a8e1krfHLO9VQPICq004_Fib3KNu8J4GsVXrj_1HwvQV4TZ-oXIMKU375S6mlQJG4/s1600/BeachView.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8EdAEIbAT-4MukKZkLCx3cvdwoxaYK_ks0MJemX3XuJP1pbbodzmkHwNF4uUNd4rGDf65HeLh77a8e1krfHLO9VQPICq004_Fib3KNu8J4GsVXrj_1HwvQV4TZ-oXIMKU375S6mlQJG4/s400/BeachView.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495053106141260210" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;">Mackinac Bridge, a.k.a. "The Big Mac"<br />Image taken from <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">prklevans.wordpress</span>.</span><br /></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;color:transparent;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Once the bridge was in sight, or the tips of the top of it, I pulled over and turned the camera on because I didn’t know what the traffic would be like once I got closer. Now for months everyone I asked told me no matter what I do, don’t drive on the grates on the bridge and I would be just fine. Well I ended up at a peculiar on-ramp, and I couldn’t figure out if it actually went onto the bridge or not, so I just jump on it and suddenly I'M ON THE BRIDGE!</span>!!!<br /><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;color:transparent;" ><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXuLukbGf3xrQ6vws3GUD32lD3mXpuPu0Xg_XUUQEx5D2Ang-y5U3fvNsqgpDvV149KKRyw-t2FFI81NtBs0ErMpDST5Iii4ca-u7dy6IZhnFl2ocLo-1fEuiqbXMx2rMHN0qZPQtpl78/s1600/1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXuLukbGf3xrQ6vws3GUD32lD3mXpuPu0Xg_XUUQEx5D2Ang-y5U3fvNsqgpDvV149KKRyw-t2FFI81NtBs0ErMpDST5Iii4ca-u7dy6IZhnFl2ocLo-1fEuiqbXMx2rMHN0qZPQtpl78/s400/1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495061056361712242" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Mackinac Bridge (pronounced "MACK-in-aw")</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;color:transparent;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Image taken from <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">yoopersteez.com</span>.</span></span></span><br /></div><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;color:transparent;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;" ><br />There I was, it was actually happening. I didn’t see the grate that everyone was talking about so I was kind of puzzled, but being on the bridge was glorious and beautiful and fun. I was rolling along in the left lane enjoying the view when suddenly just ahead, about forty feet in front of me, was the grating I'd been hearing so much about, and to the right -- was a truck going about 15 miles an hour. Fifteen miles an hour, especially in the wind, is not a good speed for me, so I had to pass him -- but I had never passed anyone before and I had to pass him before the grate, aaeeeiieieieieieie!!! I just made it.</span><br /><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;" ></span><br /><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;" >So, I’m cruisin' along the beautiful bridge and it is like I am flying over this huge expanse of water. It was exhilerating. "Absolutely brilliant!" as Ewan and Charlie would say (<a style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);" href="http://www.longwayround.com/"><span style="font-style: italic;">Long Way Round</span></a>). I screamed and hollered with delight the whole way over and then.... there was construction and they funneled me over to the grates!!!!!!</span><br /><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;" ></span><br /><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;" >I shouted, “I’m glad I didn’t know in advance this was gonna happen to me. I’m just gonna have to pray that my Piaggio MP3 is gonna keep me safe.” It did in fact pull and lurch one way and then the other with no predictability, but I relaxed into it and I was okay. I just treated it like I treat the rough winds. I think I rode the grates for about a mile or so and then I was back on the pavement for another mile and then it was over.</span><br /><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;" ></span><br /><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;font-family:arial;" >Once on the other side, I attempted to put the final destination back in the nav but it gave me the same confusing error it had given me that morning, saying the route was too long to calculate. Well it turns out there are two Days Inns, both in Sault Ste. Marie, one in Michigan and one in CANADA! So the nav had been trying to take me on some crazy roundabout route to Canada earlier in the day - ack! Well... I won’t fall for that one again.</span></span></span></span></span>Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-21926514378662228712010-07-14T20:50:00.000-07:002010-08-07T20:42:36.502-07:00Cheboygan, Synchronicity & Smooth Sailing<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsyL6e7s48OrN0iElPHb5x4gNn7N7bwC1IPkdgfSQruh3xrLFH5IdJ7X_YI77Q0WBrlbpMzHC1SQOMx8Jgw6qoMg5K4SLATWFDQjXwXBGdCzdPnHzFWOPGxZsv-uExpl4EmPAAYKbzeo4/s1600/4788681344_30d2a478a8.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsyL6e7s48OrN0iElPHb5x4gNn7N7bwC1IPkdgfSQruh3xrLFH5IdJ7X_YI77Q0WBrlbpMzHC1SQOMx8Jgw6qoMg5K4SLATWFDQjXwXBGdCzdPnHzFWOPGxZsv-uExpl4EmPAAYKbzeo4/s400/4788681344_30d2a478a8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493981740574383602" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center; margin: 0px;color:transparent;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Sick Scooter.</span></span></b></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial,serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:x-small;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span id="internal-source-marker_0.18851543287746608" style="text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>Day Four: Fixing up my Scooter (and my Body) in</b></span></span></span><span style="text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b> Cheboygan, MI.</b></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b><br /></b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The weather report said heavy thunderstorms in the afternoon en route to Cheboygan, so I set about getting up bright and early to avoid testing out my new rain gear just yet. I had already put in a call to my bodyworker back home to see if she could help me find a Deep Tissue Massage Therapist in Cheboygan, because I was hurting pretty bad in quite a few places and I was worried that if I got chilled in the rain, I would definitely be out of commission for a couple of days. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I fell back asleep after my 5:00am wake-up call, but started hustling around 7:35 when I woke again. I was loaded up and on the bike by 9:00 which, although later than I intended, was my earliest to date. I was punching in the address to The Gables Bed & Breakfast in Cheboygan into the nav, the last step in my departure procedure checklist, when the nav powered down. This was weird. I tried to restart it -- no luck. I tried to turn the bike on -- no luck. I couldn’t even get the key out. It was making a funny high-pitched noise. I wondered if I did something to trigger the anti-theft device on the bike.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I called the Vespa dealer “back home” in Grand Rapids (where I bought the bike) and Dan, the mechanic who got my scoot all suited up for this ride, attempted to talk me through getting the key out. I was able to do so, in fact the ignition was stuck between the on and off positions and wouldn’t move. He said he had never heard of this before. He said he figured something was wrong with the ignition, that maybe some of the tumblers had jiggled loose.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial,serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">My mind was racing. There are a tiny handful of Vespa dealers in Michigan and I wasn’t so sure I wanted to take my Piaggio to a non-Vespa shop for an ignition problem. I asked Dan, “If you were in my shoes which would you do — have it towed 300 miles to a Vespa dealer or take it to a local shop and see what they could do with the ignition?” I was imaging having to get towed to Detroit and wondering how I would ever make up the miles to get back on schedule. He said, “I would wiggle that thing around for a long time.” But it was like Excaliber in the stone. It wasn’t going anywhere.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;color:transparent;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I asked if he could look up where the closest Vespa dealer was to Gaylord, MI. Now here is the first miracle in the story — get this, the nearest Vespa dealer was in GAYLORD, MI!! NO LIE!!! </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQe00Z2Nk4kDWtbykNVqXXWRA87ssdJg7uj67ljqvK6DUw-Zfk4ZldHCgAxV7TgLbW3V6Gk40Ion-duOAT0WlJm2vyt0LPFfZhfXP83_JDYeuphEm9TWU2IJuvrN0jgw96NYMruPLWgvA/s1600/4788695132_2603bb52cd.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQe00Z2Nk4kDWtbykNVqXXWRA87ssdJg7uj67ljqvK6DUw-Zfk4ZldHCgAxV7TgLbW3V6Gk40Ion-duOAT0WlJm2vyt0LPFfZhfXP83_JDYeuphEm9TWU2IJuvrN0jgw96NYMruPLWgvA/s400/4788695132_2603bb52cd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493982065826437954" border="0" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Thanks to Chris Maxsom from </span></b><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Total Powersports</span></b></i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"> (Gaylord, MI) for </span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">fixing me up and getting me on the road in record time.</span></b></span></div></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I called and talked to Jeanne at </span></span></span><span style="font-style: italic; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><a href="http://total-powersports.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;">Total Powersports</span></a></span></span></span><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. I was afraid that, given they didn’t know me, they might not be able to squeak me into their schedule -- but she said no problem and that they were rolling out the red carpet. She sent Chris Maxson, their sales manager out to get me. He was there within ten minutes. Once at the shop, Mike Peppler got me set up and Chris Smith started right to work on my scoot, while Mike took my information. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">In about fifteen minutes Chris, the tech, came out with the word. Turns out the Piaggio has two off key positions (I forgot to ask why), and if you take the key out while in the “half-off” position, rather than the “full-off” position, the engine is actually still on. So my engine had been on all night which had killed the battery. He gave me a power jump and told me not to stop the engine until I got to Cheboygan, and then use my charger through the night (which was set-up for me before I started this trip by Scott Sternaman: Shoreline Smart Homes).</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">They then told me they were going to put me on their website and see if they could get their people to follow the project! AND, they didn’t charge me a penny for all their trouble! A big huge heartfelt thanks to Total Powersports, Gaylord, MI!</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I took off for Cheboygan without further incident or rain. When I arrived I set about trying to find a body worker. Now given that I don’t have an abdominal muscular structure, the rest of my body takes on an extra load and, given the additional burden of riding the scooter — well, under normal circumstances I need to have body work to undo all the damage I do just trying to live. With the added strain, I was in a world of hurt and needed someone with some medical knowledge and skilled enough to be able to navigate the terrain of my unusual body. When I left, I knew I would need to find people along the way to unkink what I’m doing as I ride the scooter. I’m particularly feeling the additional stress between my shoulders, my lower back, my wrists and my ankles.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLNPPdBcCGEPJwnro_NiYMRMx8DrOqIk6LlD9UnF9H-a4mVVmmjwC1nt3MflajVc4s_PkN3tRquhgcdLeoOLyKKfN3mKkDid24oL-OkU-hTrv5ST8PK5AyEIAB3KV6iDOzb77_EAzbamo/s1600/house_for_website.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 254px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLNPPdBcCGEPJwnro_NiYMRMx8DrOqIk6LlD9UnF9H-a4mVVmmjwC1nt3MflajVc4s_PkN3tRquhgcdLeoOLyKKfN3mKkDid24oL-OkU-hTrv5ST8PK5AyEIAB3KV6iDOzb77_EAzbamo/s400/house_for_website.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493982863343329842" border="0" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center; margin: 0px;color:transparent;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:verdana,serif;font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><b>The Gables Bed & Breakfast (Cheboygan, MI). </b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; margin: 0px;color:transparent;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;font-family:verdana,serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><b>Image taken from </b></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);">thegablesbnb.com</span></b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; margin: 0px;color:transparent;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial,serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-style: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">When I got into town, the B&B was not yet open so I sauntered over to Alice’s Restaurant for a snack. I asked my server if she knew of any massage therapists and she mentioned several places, but I figured the one who works with a chiropractor would be the most likely to have the skills to manage my broken body. Dr. Dom’s office gave me her number — Shellie Charboneau. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /><br />Now here are the next couple of crazy and fortuitous parts of the story: first, she is usually completely booked on Monday, but for some reason she was open today and was just getting ready to go over to her mom’s for lunch, so she was available. Not only that, but her place was literally next door to my B&B, so I could walk over while my bike was charging (at the realtor’s office -- thank you Jessie and Chuck Knopp). But wait, that’s not all — she races motocross! Now, for those of you not familiar with the term, that means she races a motorcycle. In fact she competed last weekend at Onaway Motor Speedway in the 30+ Class (with all the boys) and took first place!<br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMRp9fFNw1bt2rEBj_PxI_neIoUqsKz4jCrLhp5y6YHMC3s52XawpouDn7bKhsfYFdittJ7leqNgKguhQZyJRRVy04VOI2TqbYmT-kbtbZcV0uS4V284ww9MepT3yiXd0MJEo-w9E4suE/s1600/4788711116_1edccff89a.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMRp9fFNw1bt2rEBj_PxI_neIoUqsKz4jCrLhp5y6YHMC3s52XawpouDn7bKhsfYFdittJ7leqNgKguhQZyJRRVy04VOI2TqbYmT-kbtbZcV0uS4V284ww9MepT3yiXd0MJEo-w9E4suE/s400/4788711116_1edccff89a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493983534307176578" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Shellie Charboneau, Massage Therapist and Motocross Racer, </span></span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:12px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">fixed my overworked body, pained from riding</span>.</span></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 15px; white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:12px;"><br /></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;font-family:Arial,serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Well, Shellie knew exactly what my body needed. She uncompressed my neck from wearing a helmet, pulled apart my shoulder-blades from holding my arms up for all those miles, took the stress away from my lower back and reassembled my wrists and ankles that were hurting so badly (I couldn’t even hang my left wrist limply over the handlebar without it hurting, much less use it to break.) Now I am all fixed up. I’m not feeling pain at all, anywhere</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span><br /><br /></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEycucDsxcSlQK7Eexvunw8vnyPNZRrZKZgC9gG_DO83OIqD67xnhvYZ72QXDWcBzOskGBPUsLMHZoyB49Hd5JjKLK6tXdRy8H52I7a66AaGwxKE3pWFAxwxqtKnQczp9bPVFi3BvM_bI/s1600/4791594245_df44d2d88e.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEycucDsxcSlQK7Eexvunw8vnyPNZRrZKZgC9gG_DO83OIqD67xnhvYZ72QXDWcBzOskGBPUsLMHZoyB49Hd5JjKLK6tXdRy8H52I7a66AaGwxKE3pWFAxwxqtKnQczp9bPVFi3BvM_bI/s400/4791594245_df44d2d88e.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493984193439844162" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Inside the Gables B&B.</span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b><br /></b></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: pre-wrap;font-family:Arial,serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I’m still amazed at how fortuitous the whole day was; that I would manage to breakdown in one of the few towns in the entire state of Michigan that has a Vespa dealership, that the only referral I would get for a body worker in Cheboygan would be located right next door to where I was staying, and that she would be a biker chick - what a day! If this is any indication of how the rest of this tour is gonna go, then I am smooth sailing!</span></span></div>Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-23137990863536611462010-07-11T12:39:00.000-07:002010-08-07T20:46:18.220-07:00Tall Ships & True Tales<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQiTtH83IaTSwIdd8OqZk7QOCWE7IeHc_bqVGz1Yow0lUmbaXRcBseDY6FXg1asgDwMEOxFzriqoA-2oeupNp0xI7NMJqB5oxdGbZa1KgeXbgFVGyTgTSo5o26i_1PIBSj0Xh5FonLKv4/s1600/TCtall.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQiTtH83IaTSwIdd8OqZk7QOCWE7IeHc_bqVGz1Yow0lUmbaXRcBseDY6FXg1asgDwMEOxFzriqoA-2oeupNp0xI7NMJqB5oxdGbZa1KgeXbgFVGyTgTSo5o26i_1PIBSj0Xh5FonLKv4/s320/TCtall.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492736133408439362" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:Arial;font-size:11;color:black;" ><br /><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Day Two: Tall Ships & True Tales (Traverse City, MI)</span></span><br /></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:11;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"> <span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br />I can’t stop for more than 30 seconds without someone sauntering over to ask me about my unusual scoot. What a blessing. I had never realized what a lure this three-wheeled ride would be — which then gives me an opportunity to tell people that I’m riding 3,500 miles to raise awareness for Hidden Disabilities.</span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><br />"What is a Hidden Disability?" they all ask.</span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><br />My response…</span></span></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:11;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"> <span style="font-family:times new roman;">Any disability that one might not recognize just by looking at the person. They might be deaf, autistic…</span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><br />Often, the person interrupts me and starts listing other Hidden Disabilities, like MS…</span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;">I can’t begin to tell you how many stories I’ve heard in just the last two days.<br /><br /></span><a style="font-family: times new roman;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit7msVqPGt0ni4mMaoRndiF2C3sl75Juix-kQNbbcej3CqiljUVOmFxkzKW3-3-Llnc7zkITCLr5g8nqEvl1fiNjxgutGbJpT5VjtctvN-mGU1N4w_6vWtnZ4iXFtIJ_9zSaofOV7lGZ0/s1600/TCaft.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit7msVqPGt0ni4mMaoRndiF2C3sl75Juix-kQNbbcej3CqiljUVOmFxkzKW3-3-Llnc7zkITCLr5g8nqEvl1fiNjxgutGbJpT5VjtctvN-mGU1N4w_6vWtnZ4iXFtIJ_9zSaofOV7lGZ0/s320/TCaft.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492737125106358594" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;"> <span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br />I'm spending the night at a unique Bed & Breakfast, which takes place on a Tall Ship on the water at Traverse City, Michigan.</span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;">Tonight I heard from a crew member of the Tall Ship, Jeremiah Bailey. Jeremiah’s brother, who has MS, works on a Natural Gas Rig in Colorado. He’s only 25. Sometimes one side of his body goes numb or his hands don’t work. He will get worse over time.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">I’m stymied sometimes by people’s stories. I have so many questions, but they all seem too personal to ask. I wonder if they have insurance, if the person has enough support within their family or community. I wonder what could change in their life that would really make a difference.</span> <span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><br />At this point, I just want the very first step: I would like to get people to stop and think for a moment. If someone isn’t behaving the way people expect them to </span></span></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:11;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">—</span></span></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:11;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"> or want them to </span></span></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:11;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;">—</span></span></span><span style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:11;color:black;" ><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:times new roman;"> then maybe something is going on with them.<br /><br /></span> <a style="font-family: times new roman;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLu_jEdQ_8jrpm8sTvUggXsMBqMvPNe5Ge9sOakerKDs-8EVxINSaKs5m8oACiSFO7AbCtrD_zoCSSAZ7RqGBbsQiItZ_ZX_sRxCh4kUFddsso5AHs10xGQIDaxxenkx47-HiNBNmDZCE/s1600/TClines.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLu_jEdQ_8jrpm8sTvUggXsMBqMvPNe5Ge9sOakerKDs-8EVxINSaKs5m8oACiSFO7AbCtrD_zoCSSAZ7RqGBbsQiItZ_ZX_sRxCh4kUFddsso5AHs10xGQIDaxxenkx47-HiNBNmDZCE/s320/TClines.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492737404063671170" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:100%;"> <span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br />I am honored to have these strangers share their stories with me. Together we will figure this thing out.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;">And on we go!</span></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:Arial;font-size:11;color:black;" ><br /></span>Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-69051045892972328792010-07-10T20:54:00.000-07:002010-07-11T18:04:55.387-07:00Night One: Sleeping On A Sub!<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPA2qjhTDhk2lTpDQRneyfQMUo7IrBSi7QupV5l9dNHzkylQ_KIrrvpIdeFGo5PwVAzPmw28ZYVa6GFc_PorBEb4kREAMokfa5JQ6BRyGrKYStXULZdlNr-OzNuxNSLzjoZOoO1jOF93o/s1600/Sub.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 289px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPA2qjhTDhk2lTpDQRneyfQMUo7IrBSi7QupV5l9dNHzkylQ_KIrrvpIdeFGo5PwVAzPmw28ZYVa6GFc_PorBEb4kREAMokfa5JQ6BRyGrKYStXULZdlNr-OzNuxNSLzjoZOoO1jOF93o/s400/Sub.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492496300412004418" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">USS Silversides. Decommissioned sub, museum, and place to lay your head,<br />in Muskegon, Michigan. Image from <span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">glnmm.org</span></span>.<br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">USS Silversides at the Great Lakes Naval Memorial & Museum</span><br /><br />Well it's the first night of my Midwest Training Tour and I'm spending it bunking down in a submarine, a real submarine! The USS Silversides, commissioned December 15, 1941, just 8 days after Pearl Harbor was attacked. To get the lay of the land (so to speak), I took what was without question the coolest tour I’ve ever been on!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPsSqE0HoLPsn3a36yl_4QtSnjX2E9MD8VJ8RJyJdTGUJUM9lr_YgfpnboPh2uIaAIDhmw60uHdzEbk3gm1crvDN4khhL4a4sv_7IRQVi7VxRQVpKfWYTpyDUW6-6W2rUqLfdKQSvaKL8/s1600/SubElectric.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPsSqE0HoLPsn3a36yl_4QtSnjX2E9MD8VJ8RJyJdTGUJUM9lr_YgfpnboPh2uIaAIDhmw60uHdzEbk3gm1crvDN4khhL4a4sv_7IRQVi7VxRQVpKfWYTpyDUW6-6W2rUqLfdKQSvaKL8/s400/SubElectric.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492686080479919106" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Electric Room.</span><br /></div><br />But wait -- first let me make something clear: I’m really not into war. I’m freaked out by the Bomb, internment camps, all that stuff -- but seeing the movie in the museum here, and experiencing the hour-long tour of the sub itself, I certainly got some insight into the culture of that time and a sense of how life was on a U.S. sub.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKFV8Xvyscim1yZh-Z6-LwAKyo9RVYW3nEpOPPiUKFRQLdrSCy2rnVuLfsnVmE8VivgWKsfsjw9e4mbL6A7yDP_wsbWsEqDMA0ZRZ1GLzBjA-OfXkoFuZ_0Sn9guVmCfU4AGDPJcGiQOY/s1600/SubFLAG.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKFV8Xvyscim1yZh-Z6-LwAKyo9RVYW3nEpOPPiUKFRQLdrSCy2rnVuLfsnVmE8VivgWKsfsjw9e4mbL6A7yDP_wsbWsEqDMA0ZRZ1GLzBjA-OfXkoFuZ_0Sn9guVmCfU4AGDPJcGiQOY/s400/SubFLAG.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492686448063576210" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Some of my sub buddies from Boy Scout Troop 264.</span><br /></div><br />The tour I took was lead by Gary Reynolds and joined by Retired Officer Dan, with Boy Scout Troop 264 from Griffith, Indiana. It began with a solemn ceremony in which the Boy Scouts (guided by Gary) lowered five flags, appropriately folded them and handed them off to him with a salute. I don’t need to have served in the military to have been touched by the honor of it.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJYiZnzVLPP-iZycSTZvy89v_HTHcBZroHuKTyWPC6JJ5zLJ11-dafQHSkf3HBLf7XgCpwgIE8sBew1gs4oWDX79VQIEiwaDaMU0Km4dLduix90Kc7bgECi1aPRSZ3uXVdwpzMjLt2W2E/s1600/Sub+type.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJYiZnzVLPP-iZycSTZvy89v_HTHcBZroHuKTyWPC6JJ5zLJ11-dafQHSkf3HBLf7XgCpwgIE8sBew1gs4oWDX79VQIEiwaDaMU0Km4dLduix90Kc7bgECi1aPRSZ3uXVdwpzMjLt2W2E/s400/Sub+type.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492686737633800674" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">An underwater Underwood.</span><br /></div><br />The tour itself was amazing! It included information about how submarines work, the military practices on the ship, the history of the patrols made by the USS Silversides, and the stories of some of the men that served on this ship. It was honestly fascinating. Here some of the interesting tidbits I learned:<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAWqEk68NFA0ksUDSept8lnmpResesDtO0-XdA89mS4cmSiZbvtMOA9n6tIbpIY-NLiulaT5ewkLZGZ6h_SR2hvrm51JC0suS_bTEm6_r6cfBv2vwPqOd1s4__9vnv9eAgUjbkNKJ2ltg/s1600/Submarine-Burial-at-Sea-Cobia.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 346px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAWqEk68NFA0ksUDSept8lnmpResesDtO0-XdA89mS4cmSiZbvtMOA9n6tIbpIY-NLiulaT5ewkLZGZ6h_SR2hvrm51JC0suS_bTEm6_r6cfBv2vwPqOd1s4__9vnv9eAgUjbkNKJ2ltg/s400/Submarine-Burial-at-Sea-Cobia.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492686969208254162" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Burial at sea aboard the USS Cobia, 1945. Image from <span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">ussflierproject.com</span>.</span><br /></div><ul><li><span style="font-style: italic;">How was a person “buried at sea”?</span> The body was wrapped in a tarp and weights were added to prevent the enemy from finding it, giving away the location of the ship. A special ceremony would be performed with all officers on deck, in uniform. The body, with a flag draped over it, would then be placed on a board. The board would be tilted so the body would slide out from under the flag and into the sea, leaving the flag behind.</li></ul><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC0iHomHxeWNZ7TaxOxU0GSI37qRga0NuKqjVddtmZWyKmiHq6pdAld-nHy0n9FyyJm4s0m6L2XCiDqGL6glJJ-dLCDEaPqwxwfSQN4O3KWrYoZdsWpl7h6iu6kINlMQbFO4AMy8MqA3A/s1600/SubPlaque.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC0iHomHxeWNZ7TaxOxU0GSI37qRga0NuKqjVddtmZWyKmiHq6pdAld-nHy0n9FyyJm4s0m6L2XCiDqGL6glJJ-dLCDEaPqwxwfSQN4O3KWrYoZdsWpl7h6iu6kINlMQbFO4AMy8MqA3A/s320/SubPlaque.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492695409798598898" border="0" /></a><br /><ul><li>Mike Harbin, Torpedo Man Third Class, was the only serviceman killed on the Silversides. He was hit by enemy machine gun fire on her first war patrol in May of ‘42. Rumor has it that his ghost still haunts the sub. (Boy Scout Collin explained to me that the ghost usually appears early in the morning or late at night, when you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up or a rush of cold air; he thought that with all of us on board there was probably too much activity for the ghost to appear tonight.)</li></ul><ul><li>The propellers are called “screws.”</li></ul><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwWksVtembIjjlkV_x0o_Gxo-mSC01ymqu6cyjGTe1ITkVpc8GWQLETWXGWRU1a_31oYsIJT1di-krDAGmGWJu8IaiFMiM6_FJ45fuSq1qrUijooep7wAFA3HVZU2tD1I-D86rf8nsmQ/s1600/Silversides-Wardroom.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLwWksVtembIjjlkV_x0o_Gxo-mSC01ymqu6cyjGTe1ITkVpc8GWQLETWXGWRU1a_31oYsIJT1di-krDAGmGWJu8IaiFMiM6_FJ45fuSq1qrUijooep7wAFA3HVZU2tD1I-D86rf8nsmQ/s320/Silversides-Wardroom.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492687371036099730" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Ward Room that once served as a makeshift<br />Operating Room. Image from <span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">ussflierproject.com</span>.<br /></span></div><ul><li>A ship’s pharmacist, Thomas Moore, with only improvised instruments (he used bent spoons as retractors) and an anatomy book, once performed a successful appendectomy on the table in the Ward Room. This scene was reenacted in the 1943 movie <span style="font-style: italic;">Destination Tokyo</span>, starring Cary Grant.</li></ul><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuBqLQQ81W4ExAHpfnY6VxBqHvahqjxuCyW0KmlmFTWn_Q6yRxS1UqZYpk1-EITeIu0YPdPyttanA9TnRKxZS6iwxW482gQj9Vv0T12BWvJHPZ8lvv5vkpUfGXVBGit6Zc98gEZwzoAak/s1600/dt-lobby6.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuBqLQQ81W4ExAHpfnY6VxBqHvahqjxuCyW0KmlmFTWn_Q6yRxS1UqZYpk1-EITeIu0YPdPyttanA9TnRKxZS6iwxW482gQj9Vv0T12BWvJHPZ8lvv5vkpUfGXVBGit6Zc98gEZwzoAak/s320/dt-lobby6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492687734810786898" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">Lobby Card for Warner Bros.' <span style="font-style: italic;">Destination Tokyo</span> depicting<br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:85%;">the appendectomy scene. Image from <span style="color: rgb(153, 51, 0);">carygrant.net</span>.<br /></span></div><br /><ul><li>The nickname “Pigboats” came from the odor that resulted from the fact that purified water was used first for the engines, then cooking and hand-washing, and then bathing. Officers were allowed a shower once a week, but the enlisted men could only shower once every 13 days. (Scouts Daniel and Anthony helped me with fact checking on this one.)</li></ul><ul><li>This sub had its “screws” removed because the U.S. has a treaty with Canada saying there will be no active warships in the Great Lakes.</li></ul><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ekhOi5IgrqwTP6jTVg_qDgOA8hf2IOgyUZ65AA6F9F1SWDeQB9pFMgVM5uMZGfnvXlBHEwYtyhN8SdiS4buPt73yyCtmwubjZX_wrczHUhAJo1PksFR3aP3c-IcnKrMqkBqh8bfYwMI/s1600/SubSil.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ekhOi5IgrqwTP6jTVg_qDgOA8hf2IOgyUZ65AA6F9F1SWDeQB9pFMgVM5uMZGfnvXlBHEwYtyhN8SdiS4buPt73yyCtmwubjZX_wrczHUhAJo1PksFR3aP3c-IcnKrMqkBqh8bfYwMI/s320/SubSil.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492688199686277698" border="0" /></a><br /><ul><li>The USS Silversides is 80% active. The engines are run on Memorial Day to honor the 3,600 men who died on U.S. submarines in World War II.</li></ul><ul><li>On a side note, I just read that starting in 2012 women will begin serving as official crew members on U.S. submarines for the first time.</li></ul><br />Something else I got from this visit: I guess I'd never heard much of Roosevelt’s “Day of Infamy” speech, beyond that opening declaration, until seeing the museum’s movie. It becomes clear why so many young Americans were motivated to enlist, and risk the ultimate sacrifice.<br /><br />In FDR’s own words:<br />“I believe I interpret the will of the Congress and of the people when I assert that we will not only defend ourselves to the uttermost, but will make very certain that this form of treachery shall never endanger us again...we will gain the inevitable triumph - so help us God.”<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Hj_FK_8r7v_KzGCt5l7mmocmmrdsLvK2A2qMLEgb755JS0fu7Tm7JlJERub0x3h11DW7sVG4kH5a8ib6puYKwlXFwY6immFUHcgwVT6-WuS9icOxioHxUNs7HfHHVmik2XBxVW-Kqe4/s1600/Sub+Bunks.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 239px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Hj_FK_8r7v_KzGCt5l7mmocmmrdsLvK2A2qMLEgb755JS0fu7Tm7JlJERub0x3h11DW7sVG4kH5a8ib6puYKwlXFwY6immFUHcgwVT6-WuS9icOxioHxUNs7HfHHVmik2XBxVW-Kqe4/s320/Sub+Bunks.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492690450885925730" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;">The crew sleeping quarters; bunking down with torpedoes.</span><br /></div><br />Throughout the tour Gary repeated the average age, 18-20, of the young enlisted men who served on the USS Silversides. Their bunks lie in rows alongside the torpedoes. I could not help but think about our young men and women now serving in Iraq and Afghanistan -- the intensity of what they are called to do, the risks and challenges that they bear, and the ways that it changes them forever.<br /><br />We only just started this journey and already I'm finding inspiration all around me. I can't wait to see what the road will bring next.Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-2714262681094841742010-06-23T06:05:00.000-07:002010-06-25T12:02:50.739-07:00My New Best FriendI’M ECSTATIC! Now that is a very strong word, so you may think I’m exaggerating -- but no, this is the real deal, full on, over the top excitement!! And what’s crazy is, I’m excited about a product. Not my typical area of intense exclamations. <br /><br />Before we go any further, I should warn you, my faithful reader, that this product I’m about to rave over relates to a specific bodily function, and I know that “nice girls” are only supposed to talk about bodily functions in private (if at all), but this product is so remarkable, even life changing, that I’m willing to talk about it -- or rather scream at the top of my lungs about it -- regardless of whatever “nice girl” rules I might be breaking. <br /><br />So, what’s this all about? Well.... peeing. Yes, this is a post about peeing. But hold on for a few more paragraphs and I think you’ll be cool with the topic, and the aforementioned product, and even afore that, the ecstatic part. Just hang with me. <br /><br />Here’s the deal: I take a medication that forces me to drink somewhere around 7-8 LITERS of fluid a day... notice, I didn’t say glasses, I said LITERS (that comes to about 2 gallons a day), and that number can go up in warm weather. This presents a problem for servers in restaurants who swear they just filled my glass literally 6 seconds ago, but that is a story for another blog. The primary fallout is that I have to pee OFTEN. There is no old fashion version of a road trip where the Dad’s says, “You’ll pee when we get there,” and barrels off down the highway. Oh no, anyone who has traveled with me since I’ve become disabled knows that I’m a constant interruption on the road. This also means when I have to pee, I really to have to go, because I’m likely holding more pee at that interval than most people pee in a whole day. As a result, I can’t say (as many discerning women might), “Oh, that gas station was just too disgusting, I think I’ll hold it until the next one.” I don’t have that luxury. I’m trapped.<br /><br />Now, we move on to my next challenge. I don’t have an abdomen. For those of you who are new to this blog see (<a href="http://offthemapeurope.blogspot.com/2010/04/backstory-2210.html">Backstory</a>); all the abdominal musculature was removed from my body, so I can’t do the hovering tricks or other antics that girls use to avoid sitting on a scary toilet. <br />Again, I’m trapped. If we add the complication of squatting when camping which for me is extremely difficult if not impossible without making a mess out of the whole deal, well, I have some peeing issues to say the least.<br /><br />As I’ve been preparing for this trip, I’ve been worrying about how I was going to manage having to pee in the outside world for 50 days straight. Now, I had a vague memory from when I was about 12 or so, of there being a plastic sideways funnel for just such a purpose in the Whole Earth Catalog -- but I’d never heard or saw of anything like it since. When I presented my growing concern to my friend Liz Cross, who had just given me a hardcore Camping 101 lesson the week before, she set to work trying to resolve this problem. I am thrilled to say it was she who found the miracle product.<br /><br />Before I introduce it to you, I just have to say I think that this marvel of ingenuity and convenience is the greatest mechanism of liberation for women since The Pill (hence my use of the word ECSTATIC! at the beginning of this blog)! As soon as it arrived I tested it, and I can honestly say there was not a single drop of dribble-age the very first time, AND I barely had to move my drawers! I’m telling you it is just that simple. Okay, take a look at the video:<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/6r6MNj_05m8&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/6r6MNj_05m8&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />A single pack of 5 only costs $4.95. And the thing is, one doesn’t need to be going on some big adventure to make use of this amazing little product. For me, it’s life-changing, a whole new way of thinking about peeing in the world! There are plenty of times when I don’t want to sit on a toilet in a restaurant, gas station, department store, I could go on, but I’m sure you get the the idea. And the cool thing, I was all crazy evangelical BEFORE P-Mate said they were going to sponsor Off The Map. This is an honest to goodness partnership!<br /><br />The P-Mate is truly my new best friend!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.pmateusa.com">pmateusa.com</a>Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-72032214924447865432010-06-18T17:56:00.001-07:002010-08-07T20:47:52.345-07:00Up to Speed<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZsOmZGWXaJ-5dw6O9D7M0huKNt6STH1xnPSu1kcfY572FV9p_XSWXEofR8xN_NW64rjwaII6y-_U5aeFW0zAAn3mZcE8spN-gR1xLm5fhkWuPeT9WAl5QJ9JzH_8yayXWiFx-K28ROw/s1600/fbgreyjacket.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 298px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZsOmZGWXaJ-5dw6O9D7M0huKNt6STH1xnPSu1kcfY572FV9p_XSWXEofR8xN_NW64rjwaII6y-_U5aeFW0zAAn3mZcE8spN-gR1xLm5fhkWuPeT9WAl5QJ9JzH_8yayXWiFx-K28ROw/s320/fbgreyjacket.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484283900540424402" /></a><br /><br /><br />As of today, I am 21 days out from departure on my Midwest Scooter Training Tour (hitting the road Friday, July 9th). I thought I’d take a moment now to revisit some of the basics about this project, just to get everyone up to speed: this summer’s trip will act as a training session for my big tour of France, which is next summer. This training tour covers 3,400 miles: 7 States, 26 towns/cities in 50 days. I’m staying mostly in lower cost hotels, with a couple of B&Bs thrown in, but there are about 10 days camping (yikes!) well as a few more adventurous stays like in an overnight on a submarine and another on a Tall Ship.<br /><br />Now let’s address the bigger question: what is this project all about? Well, I have a Hidden Disability (which you can learn all about in gruesome detail, if you wish, on the new website which I’ll describe in a moment) and I’m doing this project to share my story in hopes of raising awareness about Hidden Disabilities, something I and millions of other Americans deal with every day (see posting with H-P article). Around my depart date there will be a super cool web-site which will include real-time tracking that will allow all of you to follow along with me on my journey, as well as my updates and videoblogs and photos and the works. <br /><br />In the meantime, you can keep up with me on my <a href="http://www.facebook.com/#!/group.php?gid=114980305182668">Facebook Group: Off The Map: Europe</a>, <a href="http://twitter.com/offthemap_eu">Twitter: offthemap_eu</a> or meet-up with me through FourSquare.com (ara@offthemap.eu).Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-78842958511805015762010-06-02T17:44:00.000-07:002010-08-07T20:50:13.479-07:00Safety<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0KOyv4VHORuJ8chseMvlhsRNpe9-OEbWpuP2IxaL3QAaH5j7-QrskFzmpToF53cOmr69-Jn9AGc6rWTYypacL0q7zccyN0xkymC9JwXIjd_kH-TjCsgy-PpkqoCsXZ96wQ6XE3Dnwsk/s1600/IMG_0324.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0KOyv4VHORuJ8chseMvlhsRNpe9-OEbWpuP2IxaL3QAaH5j7-QrskFzmpToF53cOmr69-Jn9AGc6rWTYypacL0q7zccyN0xkymC9JwXIjd_kH-TjCsgy-PpkqoCsXZ96wQ6XE3Dnwsk/s400/IMG_0324.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478343334793252050" /></a><br /><br />What a lucky break: it was raining today for my private motorcycle safety class. Instead of rain catching me alone with the scooter in the U.P. on a gravelly road or the busier streets of Minneapolis, I had gentle guidance from Steve of Michigan's Safest Riders. It was awesome! I was so happy.<br /><br />When I arrived, they asked what I wanted help with. I explained that I was having trouble with balancing the scooter, primarily starting out and at slow speeds. I also wanted to learn with confidence how to use the safety feature on the Piaggio MP3 that locks the two front wheels so that the bike doesn't fall over. As I found out during my lesson today, if I lock the wheels if they aren't straight, it can be a disaster; so I'm not locking them anymore until I'm stopped. I also was turning too wide, because I wasn't comfortable leaning properly.<br /><br />The pavement in Kalamazoo was quite wet, with puddles scattered about. The parking lot we were working in had plenty of places where it was chewed up, so I had to pay very close attention. Steve was great. When I did an exercise perfectly right off the bat, we skipped ahead, and we spent as much time as I needed to become comfortable on the exercises that were a bigger challenge for me. In fact, at the end of the lesson, he asked me if there was anything I would like to do again. When I told him which exercise I wanted to work on, he had his assistant set it up and he let me run it until I could feel it right in my body. Better still, when I would do it wrong, I could feel what I had done wrong.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1iHOedcWJ-GOJl73hSwMKefvTqmS2zotq2kl-PbxRbx48NF5ZNDeCRrGxc2_LfaWjAsg4KOQ2Weoz3IgnxmI6gIWlGhuWIVqIhaRBaJc5phYPJq-1gZtsJvD9wELW3t2Ylvh8Hx0ZBe0/s1600/IMG_0331.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1iHOedcWJ-GOJl73hSwMKefvTqmS2zotq2kl-PbxRbx48NF5ZNDeCRrGxc2_LfaWjAsg4KOQ2Weoz3IgnxmI6gIWlGhuWIVqIhaRBaJc5phYPJq-1gZtsJvD9wELW3t2Ylvh8Hx0ZBe0/s400/IMG_0331.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478343974535501074" /></a><br /><br />He said he was "very comfortable giving me my endorsement" (again, on this new vehicle). He went on to say that he was impressed with my progress from the beginning of the lesson—when I really couldn't lean on turns at all—to the end of the lesson when my lean was very appropriate for the bike and the size of corner.<br /><br />Then I stopped at the Secretary of State's office on my way home to take the written test and get the official <bold>CY</bold> on my driver's license. Plus, this would allow me to get a new driver's license with my current hair color. I'll 'fess up and tell you: I failed the exam my first time through, but there were some questions that one could not know without reading the book... and I hadn't read the book. For example, in the State of Michigan, at what MPH does one need to wear sunglasses? I said 15 (correct answer: 35). There were also some clutching questions that I hadn't paid enough attention to during my first class (as it wasn't relevant to my twist-and-go scooter). Oh, and in case you don't know: What goes first when you drink alcohol? A. Vision, B. Hearing, C. Balance, or D. Judgment? I answered Balance—but the correct answer is Judgment.<br /><br />Having blown the test the first time, I took the book, went to Orchards Mall, bought a Diet Dr Pepper, and read the Michigan Motorcycle Operators Manual. When I got back to the Secretary of State and took the test again, I did just fine. In 30 days, I will have a new license, with my CY and an adorable new picture (they let me see it, so I know I'm pretty cute).Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-65466820052529522142010-05-25T05:51:00.000-07:002010-05-25T07:07:49.875-07:00Custom Piaggio MP3 scooter rack nearly complete!Cześć, merhaba, and hello, everyone!<br /><br />(This blog post will likely only appeal to hardcore gear-heads, so those not interested in the construction and technical details of Ara's custom carrier (or "rack") for the <a href="http://www.piaggiousa.com/scooters.php#/home/Piaggio%20MP3%20250" target="_blank">Piaggio MP3 250</a>, designed for her <a href="http://www.insideline.com/chevrolet/tahoe-hybrid/2008/first-drive-2008-chevrolet-tahoe-two-mode-hybrid.html" target="_blank">2008 Chevy Tahoe Hybrid</a>, should bail out now.)<br /><br />Guest blogger Michael (Level-Two Tech Support, Base Camp Manager, and Eighth-Level Geek) here! Ara has mentioned <a href="http://offthemapeurope.blogspot.com/2010/04/girlie-helmet-crew-takes-shape-31810.html" target="_blank">previously</a> we are working with Mike Huspen at Fab-N-Weld to fabricate a custom carrier for the scooter. Today, we went to see the latest incarnation, and I've got to tell you, the artistry and simplicity of its design has me all gooey in my slacks. We couldn't wait to tell our faithful readers about it (unfortunately, the only camera available was Ara's <a href="http://www.apple.com/iphone/specs-3g.html" target=_blank">iPhone 3G</a>, so the pictures are less-than-stellar; we'll take better shots soon, I promise). <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVgzmnWjXX-q47hq4yI-Si2J5Xpg1aDYiinjP4PaF-gEI-UkrCGwfr56rUMrrWn7tV5ALADjP-VAZekgVzH_0xKNOaC_Y3kt9tKLQvVulM9AOpzMDqH4ugjCsxhJ0oIiVVpt71QbcATFQ/s1600/approved.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVgzmnWjXX-q47hq4yI-Si2J5Xpg1aDYiinjP4PaF-gEI-UkrCGwfr56rUMrrWn7tV5ALADjP-VAZekgVzH_0xKNOaC_Y3kt9tKLQvVulM9AOpzMDqH4ugjCsxhJ0oIiVVpt71QbcATFQ/s400/approved.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475195789586395218" /></a>We've worked closely with Huspen on a number of other projects so he his familiar with <a href="http://offthemapeurope.blogspot.com/2010/04/backstory-2210.html" target="_blank">Ara's limitations</a>. Thus, the leading design principle was that no strongman tactics would be required to get the bike on to the carrier, or to batten it down once on the carrier. Beyond that, Ara gave him a fair amount of freedom with this project, outlining problems she saw and letting him determine the best way to solve them. Suffice it to say, the direction Huspen took has received the full thumbs-up from Ara!<br /><br /><a name="return1">Back in April</a>, we looked at the 1st-gen carrier Huspen created, and could see things were definitely moving in the right direction. The carrier was designed with a platform atop a central fulcrum, with the "default" orientation of the platform being as a ramp. The idea was that Ara would drive her scooter up on to the platform, and the weight of the scooter would cause the ramp to tip up to a horizontal orientation. Then, while still sitting on the scooter, she would reach over and tighten a pin to lock the platform, dismount, and use ratcheting tie downs — hooked to rings welded to the platform — to secure the scooter in place for transport.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJbbT97KGg1d2uAlBmnYCHy2t9wdXZ_PT7l2nHz3Rmm6Rv-n5cGRLd4LES8fVpV50dsJul5fqpZ3D55pDr9B-p0k9djUlx2GIFwSRpdp98fFZz7fK1OXutrFEzFmI7ZXCF185REjWFl84/s1600/thinking.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJbbT97KGg1d2uAlBmnYCHy2t9wdXZ_PT7l2nHz3Rmm6Rv-n5cGRLd4LES8fVpV50dsJul5fqpZ3D55pDr9B-p0k9djUlx2GIFwSRpdp98fFZz7fK1OXutrFEzFmI7ZXCF185REjWFl84/s400/thinking.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475196277793415266" /></a><h6 align="center">Custom Piaggio MP3 carrier, v.1.0.<br>Huspen (left) studies the angles;<br>Ara (on scooter) waits in position.</h6><br />Huspen got a number of things right on the money with the 1G carrier. Sufficient space between the innermost edge of the carrier and the Tahoe's bumper allowed Ara to shimmy in and open the rear lift gate. The lift gate had plenty of clearance to open, too, even with the scooter on the carrier. Carrier width was even within <a href="http://ops.fhwa.dot.gov/freight/publications/size_regs_final_rpt/index.htm#cmv" target="_blank">DOT limitations</a>. He really did his homework.<br /><br /><a name="return2">Nevertheless</a>, there were some issues<a href="#footnote1">*</a>. The combined weight of the carrier plus the scooter is upward of 600 pounds — aggressing the maximum <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tongue_Weight" target="_blank">tongue weight</a> for the 2008 Tahoe Hybrid. Considerable thought was given to reinforcing the factory hitch/tow bar assembly, but this idea was discarded<a href="#footnote2">**</a>. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk69XpeJJJNYBKAXUR69aN0Nrqi2cdP_NIu6B3_XJNGVhE6SVvpgtQpXklr_LClGGWSVky07ecthVuqlE3yN9B7_s4wD_a5dS-h-8yM0aCn29_p1dzjLzyHJc-crfPmFDCwNOUCMtRfRg/s1600/hitch.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 329px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk69XpeJJJNYBKAXUR69aN0Nrqi2cdP_NIu6B3_XJNGVhE6SVvpgtQpXklr_LClGGWSVky07ecthVuqlE3yN9B7_s4wD_a5dS-h-8yM0aCn29_p1dzjLzyHJc-crfPmFDCwNOUCMtRfRg/s400/hitch.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475196678843113986" /></a><h6 align="center">The paltry hitch ratings for<br>2009 Chevy Suburban half-ton K1500 LZ,<br>identical to those for the 2008 Hybrid Tahoe.</h6><br />Ultimately, Huspen bolted a second receiver tube to the bumper/tow bar. An extended pintle goes in to this second receiver. Once the main carrier is mounted in the factory receiver tube, the extended pintle bolts on to the carrier, forming a single unit. This setup will help resist carrier torsion and also distribute the tongue weight over a larger portion of the bumper/tow bar. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigWf7PNNqpTrBNiZDYh-w99-2no_cp1sihFscwYYfx2Q7cy7rkLoUT-QZ8uUCaCmRIqyQZDc7xTYYk0dKcGj0FrTrv5GJeBV4KUTP46GKNQPCkrtIbvJObweGjs3yX66PFISL-DKuphb8/s1600/layered+overhead.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigWf7PNNqpTrBNiZDYh-w99-2no_cp1sihFscwYYfx2Q7cy7rkLoUT-QZ8uUCaCmRIqyQZDc7xTYYk0dKcGj0FrTrv5GJeBV4KUTP46GKNQPCkrtIbvJObweGjs3yX66PFISL-DKuphb8/s400/layered+overhead.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475197109611526098" /></a><h6 align="center">Custom Piaggio MP3 carrier, v.2.0,<br>featuring dual-pintle anti-torque design (patent-pending).</h6><br />Another exquisite feature of the 2nd-gen carrier was the addition of a DC winch to pull the scooter into place. This eliminated a number of balancing and safety concerns we had around Ara riding the scooter up on to the ramp<a href="#footnote1">*</a>. Now, all Ara has to do is lock the front fork, attach the winch hook, and gently pull Michi up the ramp!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSrYx9q01SJDUc_UTOPmCP43SxlcsI6xIEWlK7ZdAcjS7ImDtViLIj4dXrNvpLXEpF1NMJMDSmez8SeTKAHQx7Cnmg5VcyiVm4DfAo985JJOGuLnuIi8vOp_dQyPrsuGCsLULIYpYC5-o/s1600/winch+cu.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSrYx9q01SJDUc_UTOPmCP43SxlcsI6xIEWlK7ZdAcjS7ImDtViLIj4dXrNvpLXEpF1NMJMDSmez8SeTKAHQx7Cnmg5VcyiVm4DfAo985JJOGuLnuIi8vOp_dQyPrsuGCsLULIYpYC5-o/s400/winch+cu.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475197557611052322" /></a><h6 align="center">The one-ton, DC-powered winch. In its final iteration,<br>the cord(s) will allow the controller (itself out of frame)<br>to unplug from the winch for stowage inside the vehicle.</h6> <br />Huspen wisely chose combination tail lights with stop, turn and tail lamps that feature illuminated side markers. Carrier 1G had the lights mounted, but no electrical work had been performed; carrier 2G was wired for action.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd8Dm4xJiYEv_H_KCqBSjz3Mdmq8dJgVCn2vNUR6dvZHIrwFHTgwTMVEJmBmuaO92e9sBttKVL6enDvPKoYXJUlCOkRVaOPrHapMwLDCGTu0u5xoV_N1G2Zt1IljzTWKjbQyrMAEwMbUg/s1600/loop.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd8Dm4xJiYEv_H_KCqBSjz3Mdmq8dJgVCn2vNUR6dvZHIrwFHTgwTMVEJmBmuaO92e9sBttKVL6enDvPKoYXJUlCOkRVaOPrHapMwLDCGTu0u5xoV_N1G2Zt1IljzTWKjbQyrMAEwMbUg/s200/loop.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475205131364254386" /></a>I got in the driver's seat to turn on the headlamps so that we could test the wiring, and was able to check out the reflective safety tape that runs the entire edge of the carrier. The tape even wraps around the front of the carrier so that the driver can see exactly where the sides of the carrier are (see photo below).<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOJi8jmHSgFAIP1FKWsR_-t_ZTkNGUffkbgNXKmyPWIa8-mzX2VuhwVKEd4UYWDLbGNH6tRMp2InFWEjT92J6rjzjfYm9PMxdwwJnFMQ0CE-1j-uHujsJ6XFVFVNcQ6dnVmw_rm8Xdp7A/s1600/sideviews.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOJi8jmHSgFAIP1FKWsR_-t_ZTkNGUffkbgNXKmyPWIa8-mzX2VuhwVKEd4UYWDLbGNH6tRMp2InFWEjT92J6rjzjfYm9PMxdwwJnFMQ0CE-1j-uHujsJ6XFVFVNcQ6dnVmw_rm8Xdp7A/s400/sideviews.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475195155184520482" /></a><h6 align="center">Side view mirror perspectives for driver (left) and passenger (right).<br>Green arrows indicate the carrier's safety tape,<br>visible even in these images taken with a cell phone camera.</h6><br />We plugged in the wiring harness and gave the turn signal a go. <small>(Click on the image below for a 770KB animated version!)</small><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://offthemap.eu/blogs/images/blinkies.gif" target="_blank"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJL9jG2TLbbUNLLRDXywKLEJqzxO06lsGi3i0fa8MSdVGqlHLgbzaJegNei44Bb8ftKbq6NMsfmvtTiQNkX3OEfDi8RC_cl20vansfVxBNdZFs1qDc8PsceqX6_Uem5ATCEM6MdUcZ-3Q/s320/taillights.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475199265927549842" /></a>Very exciting. It's in the home stretch! Once the carrier is complete, the next step for Ara will be a trip up to Grand Rapids for a three-hour safety instructional with Pastor Freak's son, a one-on-one class customized to her own specific needs, as well as the abilities and limitations of handling the Piaggio MP3. Driving the Tahoe up for the lesson (instead of scootering there and back) will not only cut Ara's travel time in half, it will save wear and tear on her personally — not to mention provide a nice road test for the carrier itself! <br /><br />We welcome any questions or comments you might have about the carrier. As of this writing, it isn't finished, so if anyone thinks of something we didn't take in to account, please speak up! Thanks!<br /><br /><br />____________________<br />Notes:<br /><small><br /><a name="footnote1">*</a> Many of the issues we encountered with the 1G carrier had to do with the intricacies of Ara's primary disability: her lack of an abdomen. Although she is fine balancing on the scooter while she is riding it, the delicate process of trying to drive the scooter up the ramp was a problem. Moving with enough momentum to overcome the ramp lip (and gravity), but without so much momentum that she slams into the roll stop, was hard enough. But those "in-between" moments when the front wheels were on the ramp but the rear wheel was still on the ground were precarious; Ara's feet couldn't touch the ground or the ramp. That put her in danger of falling over. Additionally, once level on the platform, she couldn't lean over far enough to reach the locking mechanism that would secure the platform in a horizontal position. That meant she would have to dismount without the platform being secured — another dangerous situation.<br /><a href="#return1">(Back up to text)</a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Hhp3Pysvu82QOlKSLdX0qba15N_XtomNyfd_Qr9OFha9f5kgqxUM32AGcNf-O-dIaLkv-u0x-_AyNE-kVbQMw7UwbASkZZ1c7Vb3tCWC-dx-C5M3fubmmEQgriJc0CPPdJjeBjBzZV0/s1600/cu+of+lock.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Hhp3Pysvu82QOlKSLdX0qba15N_XtomNyfd_Qr9OFha9f5kgqxUM32AGcNf-O-dIaLkv-u0x-_AyNE-kVbQMw7UwbASkZZ1c7Vb3tCWC-dx-C5M3fubmmEQgriJc0CPPdJjeBjBzZV0/s400/cu+of+lock.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475201101342099154" /></a><h6 align="center">The locking mechanism,<br>roughly level height with the receiver tube,<br>was too far out of Ara's reach.</h6><br /><br /><br /><a name="footnote2">**</a> Newer model GMC truck hitches have integrated body-frame architecture, where the receiver tube is attached directly to the bumper assembly. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR7nRJ9No2AVzePf0KTyvN6E3Sq43mRU3osxCsJvfAtXLetGxT2XwGv5eu6J7THsLUi75H-EXayK-hU_EkWrNSkR1Xt3MT5B3mg-uBQD158FQgx8qiy3_LH82odlRB4tukkqEaizB_3eQ/s1600/underneath.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR7nRJ9No2AVzePf0KTyvN6E3Sq43mRU3osxCsJvfAtXLetGxT2XwGv5eu6J7THsLUi75H-EXayK-hU_EkWrNSkR1Xt3MT5B3mg-uBQD158FQgx8qiy3_LH82odlRB4tukkqEaizB_3eQ/s400/underneath.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475202130627599218" /></a>Previously, buyers had the option of a receiver tube attached to a tow bar assembly independent of the bumper, similar to aftermarket models (e.g. <a href="http://www.rigidhitch.com/" target="_blank">Rigid</a>'s). An example of this can be seen at <a href="http://www.cardomain.com/ride/3293491" target="_blank">Shawn's 2000 Tahoe Limited</a> page. The main difference between the two designs is not so much their towing capacity or distribution, but rather how the receiver tube distributes tongue weight to the frame. The aftermarket-type receiver tube/tow bar setup attaches to the vehicle at numerous points, distributing the load over more of the frame; the integrated receiver tube is essentially attached at one point only: the center of the bumper. A vehicle's bumper is designed to be a crumple point upon impact. On the Hybrid Tahoe (and the 2009 Suburban), the bumper is attached to the frame at its ends, allowing for some degree of flexion at the integrated tube. Reinforcing the bumper tube would not be a straightforward endeavor, as there are at least two fenestrations in it already (one each for the receiver tube and the wiring harness). Reinforcement could also compromise the safety of the designed crumple zone, and would require a major disassembly process… so this approach was set aside.<br /><a href="#return2">(Back up to text)</a><br /></small>Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-28746659060090669262010-05-14T14:12:00.000-07:002010-08-07T20:49:01.999-07:00The Word is Getting Around<a href="http://news.motorbiker.org/blogs.nsf/dx/a-tour-de-france-on-a-scooter-for-a-special-girl.htm"><br />A Tour de France on a Scooter for a Special Girl</a><br />Journalist:Mike Werner Normandy, France<br />Bikes in the Fast Lane: Motorcycle News<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo_SkVg-KeE7qpsG2_LJnvC-28IDWWvhl3i6VJFE7oivlHy6LB9HzF2o7w_LB-iJzaZ3jsbUP1m9KRwjbCQuoMYKeMF02Rqb7dmYAJprRU9zviyGXfQVm3kZjoEiXFqUz8nw_3x3DrLio/s1600/mp3side.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo_SkVg-KeE7qpsG2_LJnvC-28IDWWvhl3i6VJFE7oivlHy6LB9HzF2o7w_LB-iJzaZ3jsbUP1m9KRwjbCQuoMYKeMF02Rqb7dmYAJprRU9zviyGXfQVm3kZjoEiXFqUz8nw_3x3DrLio/s400/mp3side.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471238762264845410" /></a><br /><br />Please "Digg" this article. If you would like more information about how to increase visibility for this article please contact me at ara at offthemap dot eu.Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-5902315824933516012010-05-07T09:44:00.001-07:002010-08-07T20:51:24.870-07:00One Scooter. One Woman. One Big Message.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ZCcAW5MXcoU79sXbmu-0FBsZnYdD5PjHCVClSKKQu5DprLw1GQ1Jv5SyBEDvOXX7LvPi8ESwIP_UHV5Zg0ZOZpsHYbQZr9VWxRf1RmvUH_1cxJkfUEBbk1XlXdpzCVAW4TT8GZnEAz4/s1600/IMG_4739.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ZCcAW5MXcoU79sXbmu-0FBsZnYdD5PjHCVClSKKQu5DprLw1GQ1Jv5SyBEDvOXX7LvPi8ESwIP_UHV5Zg0ZOZpsHYbQZr9VWxRf1RmvUH_1cxJkfUEBbk1XlXdpzCVAW4TT8GZnEAz4/s400/IMG_4739.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5466404000749404962" /></a><h6 align="center">Photo: Dante Frederick</h6><br />The Herald Palladium, Southwest Michigan's newspaper, ran a story on my project which they entitled <a href="http://bit.ly/localmission">Her Mission: Spotlight Hidden Disabilities</a>. You can read the archived version <a href="http://bit.ly/localmission">here</a>, or click on the thumbnail below to download a PDF version (1.6 MB).<br /><br />As the Herald-Palladium's on-line archive doesn't display the pic, I've included it above.<br /><br /><a href="http://offthemap.eu/blogs/pdf/h-p_onep.pdf" onMouseOver="window.status='H-P article'" onClick="window.open('http://offthemap.eu/blogs/pdf/h-p_onep.pdf', 'chrisnewwindow1', 'width=600, height=1000, left=48, top=80, menubar=0, toolbar=0, scrollbars=1, location=0, directories=0, resizable=1, status=0');return false"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 157px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxClksGvugYs-P5Q5h1LM_VUN-w-1TWKyfpcdQqpOgs51kP74-x-TjhgD0ymT8S24pCOwq4lCUfZqt_BwUfGgWW-Gx5rvjiUL_CCt8HzV44tRsH_3AqmaKqB275fo0A_hU9Zfx0N9hA14/s200/h-p_thumb.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468570209537293826" /></a><br /><small>If you don't have a PDF viewer, you can download Adobe's free Reader <a href="http://www.adobe.com/go/EN_US-H-GET-READER" target="_blank">here</a>.</small>Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-455593788547120692010-04-18T17:00:00.000-07:002010-04-19T13:10:36.539-07:00My scooter has a name: Michi!I came to choose this name via an elegant <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Synchronicity" target="_blank">synchronicity</a>. I received two back-to-back emails from friends and each brought its own importance to the naming dilemma. Together, their meaning was undeniable. To understand this meaning requires, of course, some background and explanation, so please bear with me.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn9wgmWyY7yv1rAkJGRPZVpKnTldIu0SZxNYP7UJ5YXnTlwVxWtaF-gD-ZNOBhMrmImOLOgqsQ6h1hTwamYwpETzW4CoSyx0Z_UCJUCxRNzfFySXk4S0k0B6sxacKN3hLae6r0Dx-6Q50/s1600/jerry+st+clair+shores+1971.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn9wgmWyY7yv1rAkJGRPZVpKnTldIu0SZxNYP7UJ5YXnTlwVxWtaF-gD-ZNOBhMrmImOLOgqsQ6h1hTwamYwpETzW4CoSyx0Z_UCJUCxRNzfFySXk4S0k0B6sxacKN3hLae6r0Dx-6Q50/s400/jerry+st+clair+shores+1971.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461916700863678914" /></a><h6>Jerry, Saint Clair Shores, Michigan, 1971<br>(photographer unknown).</h6>The first email came from Jerry, one of the closest friends of my father-in-law, <a href="http://offthemap.eu/blogs/jack.html" onMouseOver="window.status='I loved Jack; he was an incredible human being and a great inventor with numerous patents to his name.'" onClick="window.open('http://offthemap.eu/blogs/jack.html', 'chrisnewwindow1', 'width=200, height=200, left=48, top=80, menubar=0, toolbar=0, scrollbars=1, location=0, directories=0, resizable=1, status=0');return false">Jack</a>. Jerry did road rallyes with Jack and his wife, <a href="http://offthemap.eu/blogs/pat.html" onMouseOver="window.status='Pat, Michael's Mom, and I were very close.'" onClick="window.open('http://offthemap.eu/blogs/pat.html', 'chrisnewwindow1', 'width=400, height=200, left=48, top=80, menubar=0, toolbar=0, scrollbars=1, location=0, directories=0, resizable=1, status=0');return false">Pat</a>, back in the late 1960s along with a few other friends. Even long after they stopped rallying, Jack and Pat remained very close with the Rallye Crew, and got together several times a year. I adored Michael's parents. I became friends with them independently of my friendship with <a href="http://offthemap.eu/blogs/michael.html" onMouseOver="window.status='We were friends for seven years prior to becoming a couple.'" onClick="window.open('http://offthemap.eu/blogs/michael.html', 'chrisnewwindow1', 'width=200, height=100,10 left=48, top=80, menubar=0, toolbar=0, scrollbars=1, location=0, directories=0, resizable=1, status=0');return false">Michael</a>, and later became friends with their rallye crowd buddies too—a remarkable bunch, all of them. Sadly, soon after Michael and I were married, Jack and Pat died within ten months of each other.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcPRpxhhIKKeQ1GfN02QHTUp7xaWtqTM5SnrFt28e8SiYAL0iVdagdyVz0BgshkkPmzg-mq50xdQFpTj1MeXs8m4HXYbxr9ibpfSO3_EJQYOXW5X8CZwIvxZ3dXQj-rxbmL84NYZNfQk/s1600/rallyeproof.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 362px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcPRpxhhIKKeQ1GfN02QHTUp7xaWtqTM5SnrFt28e8SiYAL0iVdagdyVz0BgshkkPmzg-mq50xdQFpTj1MeXs8m4HXYbxr9ibpfSO3_EJQYOXW5X8CZwIvxZ3dXQj-rxbmL84NYZNfQk/s400/rallyeproof.jpg" border="0" alt="Rallye proof"id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461925452498670578" /></a><h6 align="center">Jack (second from left) and Pat (to Jack's left),<br>circa 1966, photographer unknown</h6>Back to Jerry's email: in response to my <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4DKn6eCacA" target="_blank">Call for a Name</a>, he sent me a thoughtful and touching note about his first rallye car, named Elmer (a <a href="http://offthemap.eu/blogs/elmer.html" onClick="window.open('http://offthemap.eu/blogs/elmer.html', 'chrisnewwindow1', 'width=350, height=350, left=40, top=40, menubar=0, toolbar=0, scrollbars=1, location=0, directories=0, resizable=1, status=0');return false">1959 VW Deluxe Sedan</a>). Jerry wrote, <br /><br /><i>"Well Elmer taught me a whole bunch about driving cars and through introducing me to Rallying showed me a whole new world out there to explore. We had many great adventures together and he was a reliable and trusted friend who best of all led me to Pat & Jack."</i><br /><br />There were so many ideas in there that touched me. First was that, in my recovery from <a href="http://offthemapeurope.blogspot.com/2010/04/jitters-be-gone-32110.html" target=_blank">PTSD</a>, I've been working to trust the scooter—the scooter can do more than I have been willing to do with her. She is this unique bike with three wheels—I need to trust in her. Additionally, I realized we two are getting ready to go out to have this great adventure together. And even better yet, like Jerry, I will be meeting all kinds of great people. Everything about the spirit of why Jerry was doing the rallyes, and his relationship with his car, was a perfect match for me—the right attitude for me to have as I launch my journey. But I didn't feel that the name "Elmer" was the right fit for my scooter.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig53ro65yVvnffaRnI0bForsVpambNiJBTq87ucJ6RTMPKfBhXgpSkc1dZWsmUMfAIgghA4bf50Nz7yYNiaFtASrpN02g6ahTHd2-2uH8aRBmjoEAhpFxROaOE9we56dShkRVt0w2ib6Y/s1600/evonpic.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 207px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig53ro65yVvnffaRnI0bForsVpambNiJBTq87ucJ6RTMPKfBhXgpSkc1dZWsmUMfAIgghA4bf50Nz7yYNiaFtASrpN02g6ahTHd2-2uH8aRBmjoEAhpFxROaOE9we56dShkRVt0w2ib6Y/s320/evonpic.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461636957946790322" /></a><h6 align="center">Yvonne<br>Photo by Heidi Keiffer</h6><br />The very next email came from my aunt and friend Yvonne . She sent quite a long list of suggestions and the first on the list was "Michi." Well, when I started my private psychotherapy practice in Chicago in 1999, Michi was the name of my first supervisor/guide. My private practice was the last project I was amid prior to finding myself in <a href="http://offthemapeurope.blogspot.com/2010/04/backstory-2210.html" target="_blank">the ICU</a>. When Michi would review my work with clients, she would always show me how I knew more than I realized. She helped me to get out of my own way and trust myself—that is it! The teacher, the trusted friend again, the guide in the new world—so here she is: Michi! <br /><br />I was just saying to someone recently that my life has come full circle in some ways. It took me the <a href="http://offthemap.eu/blogs/years.html" onMouseOver="window.status='Well, they said ten to twenty, so I'm on the early end.'" onClick="window.open('http://offthemap.eu/blogs/years.html', 'chrisnewwindow1', 'width=200, height=100, left=48, top=80, menubar=0, toolbar=0, scrollbars=1, location=0, directories=0, resizable=1, status=0');return false">ten years</a> the doctors predicted to become strong enough to have some semblance of a life that I would describe as worth living. Now I believe I am ready to test the limits of my progress by struggling through a trip—actually, a series of trips—on my own. Many of my family and friends are stressed about me taking off without a companion because they know my limitations, the limitations placed on me by the surgeon, and the dangers and consequences inherent in my going beyond those limitations. But, I believe I've grown beyond the bullish determination that helped me to survive the ICU, to something more subtle. Now I know how to push myself to the edge, and I am brave enough to say, I have to stop. That is one of the true tests of this trip.<br /><br />These various journeys are going to have their challenges, certainly. My energy levels are inconsistent, as are my recovery times. It is going to be rough, unloading my bike at each stop, what with not being able to carry much more than ten pounds. I also drink tremendous volumes of water due to my medications, but I can't carry gallons of water on my scooter. Managing this particular challenge will be different at each location. These are just a few of the difficulties that I will face on the road. I'm ready to adapt to the situation and manage as best I can when it all falls apart.<br /><br />Indeed, dealing with challenges is, in many ways, the point of these trips. I know that my hidden disability is not an exact measure for every other person with a disability, from broken hips, to autism, to deafness. Each person needs a different kind of support. My hope is that by documenting my process for figuring out how to get around in the world without an entourage of friends and family to take care of me, I can convey what many people face every day at home.<br /><br />In truth, I'm not really going alone. I'm going with this scooter, my new dear friend and teacher. I will listen to her and learn from her just as Jerry did with Elmer. And just as Elmer guided him to Jack and Pat, maybe I will be so fortunate as to meet some lifelong friends along the way.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj74yFF3y_7AqHEJZ5Oc05XSrnraGA8uTj2210bwEptK0K02GSZ0kFdSPzUvD1c9sTSayfMvdpAK2Dog8JsAvPGKYffUV3FgLa6LxrXTLxSptK1hSlelbzZST6Jz13EL-B7PUdFCEYpcTA/s1600/leonardouttake+640.jpg" target="_blank"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 317px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj74yFF3y_7AqHEJZ5Oc05XSrnraGA8uTj2210bwEptK0K02GSZ0kFdSPzUvD1c9sTSayfMvdpAK2Dog8JsAvPGKYffUV3FgLa6LxrXTLxSptK1hSlelbzZST6Jz13EL-B7PUdFCEYpcTA/s400/leonardouttake+640.jpg" border="0"alt="Jack+Pat=awesome"id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461914488883158962" /></a><h6 align="center">Jack and Pat in their rallye days,<br>shown here in a still taken for a Leonard Oil print ad<br>(photographer unknown).</h6>Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-62836265287002515432010-04-05T14:30:00.000-07:002010-08-07T20:53:13.788-07:00Wow, Exciting! Control Tower: France<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEittn52FkpsOFqb5el8zCCRHJk4ZfjsrlqoakQLU4uod_9emaVSRmFF_NxY0-89WZEcn3J4orqYpbua15sVtaEE_iXaTok5zd3siUIkocmgXxfdIeWrB1vigobaUB5KI_cu95W6Xg8yuxw/s1600/alpinepass.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEittn52FkpsOFqb5el8zCCRHJk4ZfjsrlqoakQLU4uod_9emaVSRmFF_NxY0-89WZEcn3J4orqYpbua15sVtaEE_iXaTok5zd3siUIkocmgXxfdIeWrB1vigobaUB5KI_cu95W6Xg8yuxw/s400/alpinepass.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456774766963221954"/></a><p align="center">Image from <a href="http://alpinebiker.com">Alpinebiker.com</a></p><br />I just had my first voice-to-voice conversation with <a href="http://alpinebiker.com/">Paul Starmer</a>. Paul has a company that organizes trips across the Alps. I contacted him because his great attitude impressed me. I loved how he talked about making sure that the rides he arranges were within each person's ability so s/he would have a great time. He will assist me in creating a route across France that meets my challenge and safety levels. But, to my delight, he will also take me through the beauty of France's landscapes with stops to discover all the precious art, history and music that is tucked away outside of Paris. I had so many feelings as we were talking, my mind was racing. Let me share with you some of my notes:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisVlnBVk5Psgus6IzFWarybWmCeil1NBj3rxPFbNuPpaainsFXsQw43HrOZyzE2r1LfakPuBraK_qH4bmGSAIEvJM64lYyEoIVqn9WeuCG5-5GzULjghEUFnu-apPGceSHFpDJPaA60qM/s1600/img_2282.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisVlnBVk5Psgus6IzFWarybWmCeil1NBj3rxPFbNuPpaainsFXsQw43HrOZyzE2r1LfakPuBraK_qH4bmGSAIEvJM64lYyEoIVqn9WeuCG5-5GzULjghEUFnu-apPGceSHFpDJPaA60qM/s320/img_2282.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457033616519253922" /></a><h5 align="center">Image from <a href="http://alpinebiker.com">Alpinebiker.com</a></h5>I wound up learning French terms for different kinds of roads, like <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Route_nationale_%28France%29">Route Nationale</a></i>, which are like our one lane highways that are 55mph.<br /><br />The Alps temp is 1 degree at the top and 18 at the bottom (he didn't mean Fahrenheit, so I have to look that one up; but I know that's cold). I know there are <a href="http://cozywinters.com/shop/wg-whjl.html">heated jackets</a> and pants, but the cold is my Achilles Heel. If I get really cold, I'm stripped of all my energy in a very severe way. I could end up in bed for 2–3 days. I need to figure out what temperatures I can handle before departure in order to determine the final route.<br /><br />To begin to figure out if I can do any of the Alps, I have to go to an open area and practice my 90-degree turns. Go 20 meters and do it again and then again and again. Essentially, I need to learn how to ride this scooter first. My turns are still too wide. I'm a long way from 90-degree turns.<br /><br />Fuel costs, at present, $8.21USD per gallon for regular unleaded. My bratty little scooter needs Premium. The tank holds 3 gals. I'm not yet sure how far it goes on a tank.<br /><br />We talked about where I would stay. I don't think it is a good idea to stay at a place where there is no one there to help at all, so we are planning on most of the overnights to be at an Association of <a href="http://www.logishotels.com/en/">Logis DeFrance</a>, which sounds like they are usually family-owned affordable lodging.<br /><br />I will be using a combination of my motorcycle-friendly <a href="http://www.thegpsstore.com/Garmin-Zumo-665-Widescreen-Motorcycle-Navigator-P2319.aspx">Zumo Nav</a> and paper maps. Paul is going to send me the maps that I will need for the regions that I will be visiting.<br /><br />Two days ago, when Michael and I were driving up and down a hilly road near our home, I said to him, "I wish <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wayne_Teasdale">Teasdale</a> was still alive." Wayne Teasdale was a Christian monk I met in the '90s. At that time, I was opening my fine art gallery (more on this another time), and he told me that I was making a mistake. He said I should be making my own artwork, telling my own story in a creative way. He forced me to watch a very boring video of a Japanese artist as he tried to make his point. I just wasn't able to hear him at that time.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig8mi2sOXYByE3xum4lmX4c0FR0br7lbulQhQolKbrc_RACkF4mykSTZC2MiMD0vLken2Nsy3BsmijCEgl5tEVo1ELbrkc8kyn45EP44Oe1HojXrgZq9iQORIs0L8batfObBNvdmoX83Q/s1600/Wayne-gs2.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 313px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig8mi2sOXYByE3xum4lmX4c0FR0br7lbulQhQolKbrc_RACkF4mykSTZC2MiMD0vLken2Nsy3BsmijCEgl5tEVo1ELbrkc8kyn45EP44Oe1HojXrgZq9iQORIs0L8batfObBNvdmoX83Q/s400/Wayne-gs2.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457002820168406098" /></a>Then, this past year when I created <a href="http://wevow.net">We Vow</a>, I thought I had stopped Teasdale from "haunting me," so to speak. But I didn't. We Vow was a mission. It was something I had to do and I have no regrets. I still feel passionately about the We Vow project, but this—what I am doing now—is what Teasdale was talking about.<br /><br />This is it. This is what I am supposed to be doing. It feels awkward to say, because I realize it sounds like I'm going on some kind of extended holiday, and of course many people wish their circumstances would allow a similar adventure. But there is undeniably something about this particular adventure that is exactly what I'm supposed to be doing right now in my life. If you will forgive me for how hokey this sounds, I feel like the stars have aligned. I think some of it is fulfilling childhood wishes, but it feels like something more, something that hasn't yet been revealed to me. It is yet only a vague knowing, but this is what Teasdale meant. And I met Teasdale before the whole ICU mess even happened! Anyway, I wish now, more than ten years later, I could tell him that I <b>was</b> listening, and that the time has come.<br /><h6>(Image of Wayne Teasdale from <a href="http://home.comcast.net/~brotherwayne/index.htm">Wayne Teasdale's Interspirituality</a>)</h6>Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-29668515549962005842010-04-03T20:09:00.000-07:002010-04-03T20:13:49.003-07:00Great News<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsahTexBJJV6RHXhY_tAcplqvugBe1O8vkyYHU_j4xYwShco7CovwcZFiayjJLvwWdOe3xPcOgjVaBTNIKSabbmSEf1eJejffeIPkr6HrggSi58D4_FI0I08UiS2OrwOllK7THZi1Jgo/s1600/mp3justpassed.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihsahTexBJJV6RHXhY_tAcplqvugBe1O8vkyYHU_j4xYwShco7CovwcZFiayjJLvwWdOe3xPcOgjVaBTNIKSabbmSEf1eJejffeIPkr6HrggSi58D4_FI0I08UiS2OrwOllK7THZi1Jgo/s320/mp3justpassed.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456114832539439490" /></a><br />Now I admit the test was fairly short, only 14 miles, but I believe the Prolonged Exposure Treatment has cured me of my flashbacks while riding the scooter. I made this wonderful discovery after riding for five miles while concentrating on getting used to this new scooter before I remembered THAT I HAVE FLASHBACKS. I was so excited! It only took two treatments. I was on my way to see Gregg Allee, who is working on the luggage racks and special luggage compartments and I quite honestly was relaxed and attentive the entire way there and home. I want to try this out of course, on a long run at higher speeds (I was only going 55), but this all comes as such a great relief.<br /><br />I also got a call from Michigan's Safest Riders and they are setting up a private lesson for me in the coming week, so I should get this cornering issue settled.<br /><br />The word from Mike Huspen is he believes his crew will have my rack for the back of the Tahoe ready in two weeks, then I'm really off. I will be able to independently rack up the scooter and take off for a ride elsewhere -- wooo hoooo!<br /><br />Judy Deam is reconstructing my lighter-weight motorcycle jacket. Trying to get clothes to fit is always an ordeal. I buy them to fit around the surgical part of my abdomen, but then they need to be taken in everywhere else. Taking apart a jacket with protective padding at the shoulders and the elbows and making it all smaller is no easy task, but she is getting used to these kinds of challenges from me.<br /><br />Sunday is supposed to be SUNNY and WARM. The scooter and and I will be off for well, a scoot!Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-59170875565018997172010-04-03T18:19:00.000-07:002010-04-03T18:22:51.004-07:00Jitters Be Gone! (3/21/10)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx0GMcbIrhYeXfj2W_iNKgZnkUYiHgXdd7cEENUbUg7yGtIBqyObpdZHcTgRxQSnRRDa3UR3OofiRbTXdd8t1taiVdctPznt2XjQ60znLExHGO8fuU2FBJ_XTOQ7VQbMayM4OuXmuWG2c/s1600-h/20100319-8A7G7650.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 500px; height: 333px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx0GMcbIrhYeXfj2W_iNKgZnkUYiHgXdd7cEENUbUg7yGtIBqyObpdZHcTgRxQSnRRDa3UR3OofiRbTXdd8t1taiVdctPznt2XjQ60znLExHGO8fuU2FBJ_XTOQ7VQbMayM4OuXmuWG2c/s400/20100319-8A7G7650.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451089267214972354" /></a><br />I have to get rid of the jitters. I don't have them really badly, and I don't have them all the time, but I have to get rid of them when there is no reason for them to be there. <br /><br />As I've said, I've realized how very "mental" it is riding the scooter. Having flashbacks of my previous scooter wipe-out (and the accident I was in as a motorcycle passenger) while I'm cruising down the road is <i>not</I> contributing to keeping me—or anyone else—safe and sound.<br /><br />To that end, I've decided to go through a treatment that I've had before, called, cleverly enough, <a href="http://www.ptsd.va.gov/public/pages/prolonged-exposure-therapy.asp" target="_blank">Prolonged Exposure</a>. It is a kind of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cognitive_behavioral_therapy" target="_blank">cognitive behavioral therapy</a> developed at the <a href="http://www.med.upenn.edu/ctsa/workshops_pet.html" target="_blank">University of Pennsyvania</a> for sufferers of <a href="http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/post-traumatic-stress-disorder-ptsd/index.shtml" target="_blank">post-traumatic stress disorder</a>. The technique is designed to help people process traumatic events and reduce trauma-induced psychological disturbances in their normal lives, so when they are faced with new experiences which they would have previously associated with their trauma, they won't be triggered by those new experiences. <br /><br />I received the treatment before to try to diminish the after-effects of having been in the ICU and the medically induced coma experience (which I talk about <a href="http://vespavoyages.blogspot.com/2010/02/backstory.html">here</a>), as well as for trauma from sexual abuse that happened when I was 19. To say that the treatment is <b>extremely unpleasant</b> would be an understatement. Nevertheless, I called the psychiatrist that helped me before, and we scheduled three appointments to work on my past upsets. After the treatment, I don't expect to be picturing myself wiping out while cruising.<br /><br />Next, it is my plan to go back up to Kalamazoo where I took my motorcycle safety class from <a href="http://www.safestriders.com/instructors.html" target="_blank">Pastor Freak</a> at <a href="http://www.safestriders.com/" target="_blank">Michigan's Safest Riders</a> and see if I can't get some pointers on cornering with this funny little three-wheeled dealio.<br /> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOaSPbbHQ2dblw8kya1Q9CsNyrMJwht5pL6vLYukw891xPcG715uJD5w_JVjzUvXcl4Bmr0Q46Z2rMz0vm8lvkLGs22PiRRStS-76V23Wm-R3ZvVIgyGjnFY44pOvzxYHsnDXCwdQ3_Q8/s1600-h/lrg_freak2v2.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOaSPbbHQ2dblw8kya1Q9CsNyrMJwht5pL6vLYukw891xPcG715uJD5w_JVjzUvXcl4Bmr0Q46Z2rMz0vm8lvkLGs22PiRRStS-76V23Wm-R3ZvVIgyGjnFY44pOvzxYHsnDXCwdQ3_Q8/s320/lrg_freak2v2.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451092808241620434" /></a><h5 align="center">Steve E. Bensinger, a.k.a. Freak.<br>Owner, Program Manager, Rider, Coach,<br>Senior Pastor for Come As You Are Church<br>(with friend)</h5><h6 align="center">Image courtesy of Michigan's Safest Riders</h6><br />I know my hesitation, and therefore wide corners, are a problem. I think once I shake the jitters, Pastor Freak should be able to help me figure out how to corner with a great tilt and still be plenty safe, because that is what this 3-wheeler is all about. I will finally be in good shape to explore the limits of this gorgeous, unnamed creature—<i>without</i> panicking for no good reason.Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-11828467455090083642010-04-03T18:18:00.000-07:002010-04-03T18:19:44.586-07:00Girlie Helmet & Crew Takes Shape (3/18/10)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5arjSxZHjmKiz0TI3S65Zzc9pPTL_43YAZw2HnG4_b_srR1Boxi4sYYMJ_XUqFd5aQJxfy89EsKK8A_p4j9g3iqkB_LLkFthmjrKETSQvW52i0NTKYc-xG6TydF1qGdwNyjuWuvzcLQ/s1600-h/IMG_4625.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU5arjSxZHjmKiz0TI3S65Zzc9pPTL_43YAZw2HnG4_b_srR1Boxi4sYYMJ_XUqFd5aQJxfy89EsKK8A_p4j9g3iqkB_LLkFthmjrKETSQvW52i0NTKYc-xG6TydF1qGdwNyjuWuvzcLQ/s320/IMG_4625.JPG" border="0" alt="Ara poses with new helmet, MP3 and Emmett"id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450140829814220386" /></a><h5 align="center">Ara poses with new helmet, MP3 and Emmett</h5><br>Today the Girlie Helmet* arrived!<h6>(*Its official name is the <a href="http://www.shark-helmets.com/product.php?modele=S650%20IKEBANA%20|Blue%20Blue%20Blue&sous_gamme=S650&gamme=Sport/route&code_sous_gamme=S650&code_gamme=ROUTE&reference_modele=HE2170EBBB" target="_blank">Shark S650 Ikebana</a>.)</h6>I think it actually looks pretty cool, but there will be no doubt that a girl is wearing it. <br /><br />I was nervous that the size I had ordered would be too small, as I did not have one available to try on. Fortunately, the owner's manual explained how to choose your size:<ol><li>"The helmet should feel very snug all around your head and fairly tight on the cheek pads. If not, it is too big for you; select a smaller size." Check!</li><li>"You should feel the skin of your head and face being pulled as you move the helmet. If not, the helmet is too big for you; select a smaller size." Check!</li></OL>Reading the manual went on and on in this same fashion. What a relief, because they won't exchange a helmet.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhLPfIHmLvvo8MRCXYklovoNOdDKWKX0wif6ku1vHseG0tuLB11tbrStrj-6fRYHfRRrhynMbFJTl4ZOmpkj7OYbzo3inIJ8sMJDDoDJ91lJFVYeDcjL9TZcg9dXAVVGHcpzTV3KjZQLY/s1600-h/IMG_4643.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhLPfIHmLvvo8MRCXYklovoNOdDKWKX0wif6ku1vHseG0tuLB11tbrStrj-6fRYHfRRrhynMbFJTl4ZOmpkj7OYbzo3inIJ8sMJDDoDJ91lJFVYeDcjL9TZcg9dXAVVGHcpzTV3KjZQLY/s320/IMG_4643.JPG" border="0" alt="yep, those are flowers"id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450141305723500066" /></a><h5 align="center">yep, those are flowers</h5><br>Not only did the helmet finally arrive, but I am beginning to amass quite a support crew for my project. I've already written about how my husband, Michael, supports me <a href="http://vespavoyages.blogspot.com/2010/02/amazing-together.html">here</a>, but the last couple of days have brought some new and familiar faces into the fold:<br /><br />Yesterday, Michael and I met with Mike Huspen, the owner of Fab-N-Weld, in Berrien Springs, Michigan. Mike designed a custom rack for the back of my Chevy Tahoe that would allow me to pack up my scooter and take it somewhere else to ride—<i>without any help from anyone.</i> I'm ecstatic. I've never felt so free. The scooter is very exciting, but if I'm limited to only a one or so hour radius from my house.... Well, let's just say it will be a lot more exciting to be able to pack up and take that hour anywhere <a href="http://www.hybridcars.com/suvs-minivans/chevy-tahoe-hybrid.html" target="_blank">my Tahoe</a> can go, with no fatigue acquired en route. It truly is over-the-top exhilarating. <br /> <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdmYtbECCz7nKT8pe1nSWbHhMKtmZAU0hJENAhj2xwjwmnIrL9WXMDQqRUHPdHwwCB7XqWtoSkQTSJqlGf4vOSxEPJ6RZBp_TOYDR8U_kd1HioZ0r-pIIffA5jtt-Tj7rpKfQMDCtP6AM/s1600-h/2761003006_08a19dbe2f_b.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdmYtbECCz7nKT8pe1nSWbHhMKtmZAU0hJENAhj2xwjwmnIrL9WXMDQqRUHPdHwwCB7XqWtoSkQTSJqlGf4vOSxEPJ6RZBp_TOYDR8U_kd1HioZ0r-pIIffA5jtt-Tj7rpKfQMDCtP6AM/s320/2761003006_08a19dbe2f_b.jpg" border="0" alt="Huspen standing on steel rails of our home, ca. 2008"id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450141968507288114" /></a><h5 align="center">Huspen standing on steel rails of our home, ca. 2008</h5>Mike is drawing up the plans for a pivoting platform that I would drive the scooter on (with bumpers to stop me from overshooting the end). Then, I would just set the parking brake and walk off of it. There are other features, but that is just a tidbit to give you an idea of what is in the works.<br /><br />Then I met with Greg Allee of <a href="http://thunderalleecycles.com/" target="_blank">Thunder Allee Motorcycles</a> in Bridgman. Greg might be able to assist in getting the various racks on the bike that will be needed to hold the metal <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pannier#Motorcycle_panniers" target="_blank">panniers</a>. I'm interested in the ones made by <a href="http://www.metalmule.com" target="_blank">metalmule.com</a>, if I can find a rack that will hold them along with my emergency tent and sleeping bag.<br /><br />Aaron Sandy is a passionate Piaggio/Vespa expert who lives up near Holland, Michigan. He has agreed to make any necessary mechanical adjustments, including changing the weight and balance for all the touring luggage, and rigging the GPS unit and any mounted cameras. He also promised to give me a basic mechanical course, so I can begin to know this machine I'm driving around.<br /><br />When I drove over to see Mike and Greg yesterday, I have to say I became more comfortable with her, this being now Day 2. I think the two of us are going to get on just fine, and we won't need much longer. My biggest struggle has been parking and moving her around at very slow speeds (starting from a stop and such). Michael and I devised a plan for how I could park her when I got home yesterday, and I'm happy to say, I spun her right around into her assigned parking spot up against the concrete wall -- just as we had hoped I would work up to being able to do. She is pointed toward the road and ready to go.Reconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7391483767475056821.post-70081901657087418492010-04-03T18:14:00.000-07:002010-04-03T18:17:40.557-07:00She's Home! (3/17/10)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZFd0hDqiUPTabD8qhlEVM93IvvmhwdiII6dOJ79-Rn-9CvzCixMD0DcFeGrDDwq0wMWtOxIQZEMLi_gj-1UsgVxSfvJ8JDnPTF-mWFK_iSm2rfCrcbA7hGP6u7VpFrgJYo_Q4B4JNj8Y/s1600-h/IMG_0078.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZFd0hDqiUPTabD8qhlEVM93IvvmhwdiII6dOJ79-Rn-9CvzCixMD0DcFeGrDDwq0wMWtOxIQZEMLi_gj-1UsgVxSfvJ8JDnPTF-mWFK_iSm2rfCrcbA7hGP6u7VpFrgJYo_Q4B4JNj8Y/s320/IMG_0078.JPG" border="0" alt="Ara signs on the dotted line"id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449608306748448306" /></a>I drove 131 miles on my new MP3 250 today bringing her home from Grand Rapids. Trial by fire has always been my most comfortable way to learn. But it certainly had its edgy moments today as I tried to get a feel for the acceleration in the turns and found myself too wide and in someone's way one time and at another time in the sand with my back tire wobbling around as I went careening toward someone's mailbox. I also dropped it from a practical standstill as I was trying to figure out if I was going to go or not go. A kind gentleman raced his car over to the side of the road and picked up the 500-pound monster for me. I made it just past these disasters and carried on. Michael was leading the way in our Tahoe until we could get me on a road that I could use to find my own way home. His closeness certainly felt like a big security blanket, but he wasn't driving the bike and he wasn't keeping it from hitting the ground.<br /><br />When I first took it for a spin around the parking lot of the dealership I realized for the first time that I hadn't ridden since my wipe-out last year. Just as I took off I felt butterflies in my stomach and I asked myself, "What is that about?" and then thought, "Oh, no!" I had some internal freak-outs at various points throughout the trip, but I made up a song (a very bad song) about how the bike is stable and I'm on the bike and it's a moving tripod and I'm one with the environment and I'm safe and on and on. It actually helped me relax and focus despite the fact that the song itself wasn't very cheerful. It droned on like one of the Lutheran marching hymns I sang as a child.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXSA7MnpK5ILh8R3Dt6Isdf_1H8NXP41qlkI7KZamRsz8TqATM5ex3oVWyrOzrzT_MKI5ESvoNxFLvO20kpPTuHtzyUYYDEK7eJARtlW3EvF8fcremv5H_3DpUtTGl9lupgcH8sc9s2HA/s1600-h/IMG_0081.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXSA7MnpK5ILh8R3Dt6Isdf_1H8NXP41qlkI7KZamRsz8TqATM5ex3oVWyrOzrzT_MKI5ESvoNxFLvO20kpPTuHtzyUYYDEK7eJARtlW3EvF8fcremv5H_3DpUtTGl9lupgcH8sc9s2HA/s320/IMG_0081.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449606540951828706" /></a><br />I also observed that while I'm trying to be as safe as I can be the drivers around me are being less than safe as they do a double take when they see the bike with the two wheels in the front, "Did I see? No I... yes I... well, I'll be..." I saw two almost-accidents because of the curiosity of onlookers, and there may have been more I didn't see. Then there are the looks when Michael and I stopped for lunch and when I stopped for gas. Some of the looks were directed toward me. Because I don't have abdominal muscles, I can only lift my legs a few inches off the ground and the rest I have to do by using my hand to lift my leg up and over the middle of the bike. I definitely saw some, "Oh my God, can she drive that thing?" looks, or maybe they were "I want to make sure I am out in front of her" looks or some such. So, needless to say, this first outing was dramatic for all of us!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwGg9EzTWL5eWEE1HudVccxdxmlqp5cGDjblRynkPCuc3ZwNdSGqu_JK5cXntZYpG8JPpQAVW1z-LnmA_l6-R1ypRnJ89Yp1aIQWbmnXzsFyB6Iwh_vNo5LIAslHKYJr0cReueoRIIyWY/s1600-h/IMG_0084.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwGg9EzTWL5eWEE1HudVccxdxmlqp5cGDjblRynkPCuc3ZwNdSGqu_JK5cXntZYpG8JPpQAVW1z-LnmA_l6-R1ypRnJ89Yp1aIQWbmnXzsFyB6Iwh_vNo5LIAslHKYJr0cReueoRIIyWY/s320/IMG_0084.JPG" border="0" alt="view through Tahoe's rear window"id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449607424130931474" /></a>When the tach hit 45 I made Michael pull over and give me a kiss. For those of you new to this blog, I've wanted to be 45 since I was 14. I read a bunch of biographies then and noted that many artists and scientists did some of their coolest work when they were in their mid forties, so I have been looking forward to the occasion. I'm happy to say, that I was blessed with the opportunity to do an artistic work last year that I am very proud of (<a href="http://wevow.net/">wevow.net</a>) and this coming year I'm celebrating having overcome some <a href="http://vespavoyages.blogspot.com/2010/02/backstory.html">health and life challenges</a> to make all that happen, basically I'm celebrating being alive in a joyous way by scootering across France. I'm approaching the big turning point in April. --- So, as I was saying -- The kiss:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzPjL8VyI5XwpB7Y4ayHMcqSXd07wR1t6svrRpSyHFEhZW3aarXjhVXdSUTIk7OVovahjmPAaf1aEP6FM4RTClFZ7C8xtJ9xadk4UQ-ppVeWaEOKsdHKydlBa345hPZF4jkO_RSE7eYcs/s1600-h/IMG_0082.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzPjL8VyI5XwpB7Y4ayHMcqSXd07wR1t6svrRpSyHFEhZW3aarXjhVXdSUTIk7OVovahjmPAaf1aEP6FM4RTClFZ7C8xtJ9xadk4UQ-ppVeWaEOKsdHKydlBa345hPZF4jkO_RSE7eYcs/s320/IMG_0082.JPG" border="0" alt="the kiss"id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449611789319645202" /></a>The research process has already begun. I definitely want a compass mounted on the dash somewhere. Also, the switches for the video cam or audio taping device must be on the handlebars. Trying to take even my left hand off the handlebars when driving at 60 mph to put the mouthpiece of the camel-back in my mouth is not always a good idea. I couldn't believe how much the winds were kicking me around in general. Oh and 12c is too cold for a pair of jeans, a thin sweater, a fleece and my motorcycle jacket - note to self, "Get something for my neck!" Days that are pretty in the morning and afternoon get cold when the sun drops.<br /><br />Plan for Day 2 on the MP3: Continue to work on cornering slower.<br /><br />Photos: Michael AshburneReconstruction: First a Body, Then a Lifehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04743900755053204211noreply@blogger.com0