The Great Basin

The Great Basin
Wheeler Peak

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

An Old Man's BMW

A lot has happened since my last posting, after coming home from the BMW Rally in New Mexico.
About a week after my return, on my way home from the Beehive Beemers club breakfast, after coming over Trapper's loop, my bike all of a sudden started running poorly and would not idle. I thought that maybe it was because I was possibly low on fuel, the light had come on and also I knew that the spark plugs were old. I stopped at a Chevron Station on highway 89 and it was really hard to get the bike to start again. Needless to say, I spent the next couple of weeks trying to figure out why the bike was running so poorly, replaced the spark plugs, bought a bunch of diagnosis equipment, cleaned my K&N air filter and even bought new cap coils, after reading on line that it could be part of the problem. Finally on a ride home in mid October, about two miles from home, the engine made a big pop and there was a solid oil sheen coming out of the exhaust. I decided to ride the bike as far as I could and was able to get to my front gate, before, having to stop to open the gate, I was unable to keep it running or to get it started again and had to push my bike the half mile or so to the garage where I park it. For the first time with any motorcycle, it appeared that I had a major engine problem.

Over the next little bit, I determined that it was one cylinder causing the problem and my the time I tore the engine apart, I determined that the bike had sucked an intake valve on the right side and done major damage to that piston. I decided I would take the bike apart and once I got to the technical part , I would have someone else actually put new valves in a new head and do the piston work etc. This was going to be my winter project and I was not in any hurry to get it done, just wanted to get it done right.

In late December I caught cold and nothing I did, seemed to get me over the cold. I finally went to the Doctor's in early January, and he put me on some antibiotics to kill whatever I had, but after the first round of those, it made no difference. I didn't feel well, was tired all the time and was loosing weight.
We tried another round of antibiotics, some even stronger ones, and that made no difference. Needless to say, the last thing I wanted to do was to spend hours in a cold shop, taking a motorcycle apart.
My Doctor got me an appointment in several weeks to see a lung expert, but I questioned whether I could last that long and finally went to an emergency medical clinic and the observant Doctor there within 5 minutes figured out it was a heart issue and not a lung issue.

In the next several weeks after that I had every heart test you can thing of and even had angioplasty again and was sad to find out that the stents I had in 2005 had become all clogged up and I have some fairly major heart issues to deal with from now on.

Even before all the tests were in , I knew I did not have the energy to deal with a broken motorcycle and started to look at my options, and I even questioned whether it was time to put my helmet away for good. I found a place that would give me X for the bike as it sat, and at the same time I put an ad on the Internet BMW riders forum and ended up selling the bike as is to a man in Kansas, who has the know how and time to rebuild it.

I am feeling much better now, thanks to modern medicine and ace inhibitors and beta blockers etc. and decided in late April that I did feel well enough to think about another bike. Even before then I had been lusting after a new BMW S1000rr and I ended up ordering one and picking it up on the 20th of May. It is the sportiest BMW I have ever owned and the fastest by far. With almost two hundred horsepower, 450 lbs and clutch less shifting both up and down it is incredible to ride.

So far I have only ventured on rides in the surrounding canyons, but if I continue to feel well, I may plan a getaway to either Southern Utah or somewhere North. Its nice to have a new cutting edge bike to ride. I am also going to take a refresher riding course from the Motorcycle Safety foundation. In my fuelly account for the new bike, where I store my gas stops, and keep track of my mileage, I have named this new bike Lord Acton, because absolute power corrupts.

Thursday, September 18, 2014

From Cell service at the Little Bighorn to the Festival at Santa Fe.

For many reasons it has been four to five years since I last went to a BMW Motorcycle rally somewhere in the continental United States. I decided earlier this summer that I would try and make at lease two rallies in 2014 and I did. This is a far cry from a decade or so ago when I would routinely go to four to six rallies each summer, starting with the 49'ER in California and usually ending up with either the New Mexico rally the weekend after Labor day or the Autumn Beemer bash somewhere in California the second or third week of September. In 2004, I went from the New Mexico Rally at Sipapu one weekend to the Beemer Bash in Mariposa California the next week. I doubt I will ever do back to back weekend rallies again. I remember I got home from Sipapu on a Sunday evening. Went to work the next couple of days and left Thursday morning for the ride across the Great Basin to Mariposa and returned the following Sunday night. It ended up being somewhere between 2,500 and 2,800 hundred miles in those two weeks. That is of course, a far cry from what I am thinking about doing next spring sometime, which is to try and ride the Iron Butt Association's 10-48 where I would ride through 48 states in 10 days. That would be well over 8,000+ miles.

The two rallies I ultimately decided to attend this year were the Bear Tooth Rally near Red Lodge Montana and the Sipapu Bavarian Mountain Weekend near Taos. It would mark about my fourth time attending the Bear Tooth and my 10th or 11th time attending the Sipapu rally.

The Bear Tooth Rally started August 14th. I asked my sister Valerie and her husband Larry if they wanted to go with me, and while Valerie bowed out, Larry said he would like to go. It would be his first motorcycle rally. We left Thursday morning and proceeded to spend most of the morning on the Interstate riding North until we turned off of it for the ride to Island Park where we had lunch. After that it was a short ride to West Yellowstone where we both bought our geezer passes for National Parks, an incredible deal at $10 a forever pass to get you into any National Park. Just as we pulled through the gates of the Park, the promenade from “Pictures at an Exhibition” started playing on my I pod. What a beginning for the ride through the park to its exit at Cook City Montana. From there is was a short ride to the beginning of the Bear Tooth Pass. Larry found the pass a little over whelming with its decreasing radius turns and I slowed down several times for him to catch up to me. The site of the rally is an Old Boys Camp that is currently used during the summer for outings for Special Needs Children. Rather than camp we had elected to pay an additional $10 a night to have a bunk in one of the many cabins that dot the hillside.

The next morning we rode via another road to Cody Wyoming and spend a couple of hours, far to brief a time at the Buffalo Bill Center for the American West. We only ended up getting to go through two of the wings of the museum and I plan on going back and doing two more. Our original plan was to ride back towards Red Lodge, but to turn off and take the Chief Joseph Highway to where it meets the beginning of the Bear Tooth so that Larry could ride it again, and we agreed we would stop so he could take some pictures. There are some incredible views from the Bear-tooth . When we were about 20 or some miles from this junction , it started to look pretty black and bleak on the pass , and we decided to turn back. We hit a brisk rain on this return ride and by the time we got back to the original junction , I was low on gas and had to actually ride in to Cody again to fill up.

I have always wanted to visit the Little Bighorn Battlefield and it is only about 120 to 130 miles from Red Lodge. We mentioned our intention of going there on Saturday to the other person in the bunk and he asked if he could ride with us. His name is Paul and he has houses in both Colorado Springs and in North Carolina and he spends his winters in his cutter rigged sail boat in the Caribbean. We left the next morning and had a nice ride to the Battlefield. It is very much like what I have read about and viewed in books, but somehow the fact that there is cell service at the battlefield and its only a couple of miles off an interstate exit, I found difficult to wrap my head around. We elected, on advice from an old fried of mine to take the Indian Bus tour of the battlefield. I felt the story that the guide told was very balanced, much more than if I had been telling it, I have always thought the Custer was a complete blow-hard and egoist. Because his Indian guides told him the truth, rather than what he wanted to hear, he and several hundred other men were slaughtered in a brief period of time by a large group of braves. The cemetery like all military cemeteries was peaceful, but most of the soldiers have long since been removed and reburied somewhere else with Custer's being at West Point.

On the return trip to Salt Lake , rather than going back through the park, we again rode to Cody and then from there to Mettesse, Thermopolis, Lander and then through historic South Pass and Atlantic City , which served as a crossroads from roughly 1828 to the coming of the rail road in 1869. It is the most gradual slope from east to west on the continental divide, and you almost had to cross it and it was only after that, that you realized you were now heading down a gentle slope. After Kemmer we ended up picking up the Interstate just before Evanston, but when we got to Echo, rather than heading towards I-80; construction meant one lane from Wanship to the junction with highway 40 to Heber City, we headed down Weber Canyon, turned off at Henefer and came over East Canyon into the Valley of the Great Salt Lake. It was a fitting way to end this trek filled with beautiful and historic places. I enjoyed thoroughly riding in some different environments and was looking forward to the ride to New Mexico .

My sister Valerie has been to the New Mexico BMW Bavarian Mountain weekend three times before and we have talked about going again, and while she did not accompany us to the Bear tooth, she did go with us to New Mexico. We actually left Wednesday afternoon and rode to Monticello, rather than doing the whole 625+ mile ride in one day, at least on the way down. Our typical Sunday morning ride runs roughly between 125 to 175 miles by the time we return home. We ended up having dinner in Moab and arrived in Monticello, on fumes and just at Sunset. The next morning, after a good breakfast at the Peace Tree Cafe, we proceeded to the Utah/Colorado boarder and wended our way towards Dove Creek and Cortez. Just before Cortez we took a short cut I have taken before, that lets you avoid the traffic on the main street of Cortez, there was some road construction on this route, and I am not sure that we save any time. Actually on this trip, we ran into a fair amount of construction but the delays did not amount to a great deal of time. After gassing up in Pagosa Springs, we turned South towards Chama. I mentioned to Valerie at the gas stop about Dulce and the Mud people and she had her daughter do a web search concerning that. Once you turn of the main road from Chama to Santa Fe, the road gets interesting, although much of Northern New Mexico has absolutely beautiful vistas and beautiful skies, and I noticed on this twisty and climbing road that the pass was over 10,000 feet. There was some gravel but all in all the air was crisp, there was very little traffic and after a little over 9 hours and 45 minutes of riding time from Salt Lake, we arrived in Taos and checked in to the motel we had reservations for. I have mentioned before, that as a child, we visited Taos and Santa Fe several times, my parents had friends that owned an ran an art gallery in Taos and life long friends that worked Los Alamos, I remember as a young kid, visiting Los Alamos when it was still a closed city and we had to go through Security and that my parents had to apply for the visit a month or so in advance. Even then, it was not as bad, as the security we sometimes now are subject to when we fly.

After checking in and relaxing for a while, we rode , with Val on the back of Larry's R1200RT up to the Sipapu Snow and Summer resort where the New Mexico BMW club has held this rally for 30 Years. I first when to the rally in 1994, which means I was at the 10th anniversary. The week before they had a fire at the main lodge building and part of it was blocked off and they put up a large outdoor tent for some of the rally activities. There was not much going on at the rally that did not really start until Friday and after riding back to Taos, we had a nice dinner at a restaurant close to where we were staying. Our plan was to go down to Santa Fe on Friday Morning. That weekend was when they have the annual Festival in Santa Fe, and every-time that Val has gone to Sipapu, we have gone down to Santa Fe and spent some time walking around, looking in shops and having a nice and fairly expensive lunch before heading back up towards Taos and Sipapu. We did all of those things, and Valerie and Larry decided to just head back to Taos, I elected to turn off from the main highway and to take a secondary road back to the Rally. I registered and got my pin and spent a few minutes talking with Paul, who we had shared a cabin with at the Bear tooth. He had actually volunteered to help at the rally in exchange for a free room Friday and Saturday night.

When I first started going to these BMW rallies it was about 25 years ago and I was in my late 30's. The people I rode with where for the most part in their late fifties. I have observed at both the Bear tooth Rally and Sipapu, that all you now see at these rallies are people from their 60's to 70's and I am not seeing younger people. This does not bode well for the continuation of these yearly events or for that matter for the motorcycle industry as a whole. I would like to think that I may purchase at least one more new BMW before I hang up my helmet and gear for good. Rally s that once had x number of people come every year are getting smaller and smaller, because people are either ceasing to ride, or dying off. Not camping or staying at a rally is a lot different than I am used to and after careful thought we decided instead of doing some day trips on Saturday around the area, we would start home the next day and if Valerie was up to it, we would ride all the way home on Saturday, if not, we would probably again stay in Monticello.

Valerie got her sea legs back and we ended up riding the 600+ miles back to Salt Lake. We rode back the same way we came, but somehow we lost her husband Larry, who made a wrong turn in Cortez and ended up almost to Shiprock before he stopped. We ended up getting back to Salt Lake a couple of hours before his return. As a joke, I bought him a map of the Western United States and a compass.

While I will still ride my bike both during the week and on our Sunday rides for at least a month or more, this is probably it for any distance rides. Next year I hope to do a few more rallies and to once again spend at least a couple of weeks during the summer in a tent.



Friday, November 22, 2013

“The Summer of his Years ”

I had planned to publish a paper I wrote on Kennedy in College, called “My Tarnished Camelot”, but I
have not been able to find it. I know I have seen it in the last five years. So instead, some thoughts

from November, 22, 1963 and the weekend that followed:


  To my Mother who was born in 1918 the pivotal event in her early life was not Pearl Harbor, by then she had graduated from college and been married almost 9 months, but instead was the year 1936 when she was 18 and of course the event was the abdication of the British throne by George the 8th (The Duke of Windsor,) over Wallace Simpson his future wife. To my mother it was the most romantic thing possible, and she told me she cried at the time, it was a visceral event for her. ( From my reading of history, it is a good thing for all of us that this shallow and vain man and was not the King of England and had any kind of British Bully pulpit prior to and during World War II.) She was 18 and in College at the University of Utah.
 To me a confirmed member of the baby boomer generation, the pivotal event in my life, is of course November 22, 1963 and the assassination of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy. That fall I had just started my first year of what we then called Junior High School and they now refer to as Middle School, at  Bryant Junior High School. I had just finished what was called first lunch and was just settling down in my Spanish Class, when I heard a loud uproar from other parts of the building. A few minutes later, although it seemed to be an eternity, an eternity with out knowing what was happening, remember there were no smart phones, no texts, email or twitter, and no one had entered the room from outside and said anything. I did notice that the teacher Miss Ohme seemed sad and removed, after awhile an announcement came on the classroom speaker and told us that the President had been killed and that school was ending. Normally we had a bus that took us back up the hill to the avenues, but no arrangement had been made to have the bus there, much earlier that day, so I started to walk up I street.
   I soon ran into my cousin through marriage Jon Roylance. His mother had recently married my Uncle Ranch Kimball, whose second wife Helen had died in 1962. Helen was my mother's only and older sister. We were not entirely quiet on the walk up the hill, but we did not spend very much time discussing the events of that day. At the corner of I street and 13th Avenue I said good bye to Jon and walked over to H street and on the corner my families home.
My mother was in tears and like most American's we spent the rest of Friday , Saturday , Sunday and the funeral Monday watching the television coverage. I will add at this point in time, that my family for whatever reason was an NBC family. My Aunt Pat Fontaine, one of my father's sisters, in the early sixties had been part of the cast  on the Today Show. . I watched almost religiously the nighty Huntley Brinkley report and although my father and I would watch Walter Cronkite on the 20th Century Series, we were not for the most part a CBS following family, other than for dramatic programs.
  There are so many poignant memories I have from that weekend, but they probably would not differ that much from most people, John John's salute, Caroline putting her hand under the flag to touch the coffin directly, A magnificent eulogy from Senator Mike Mansfield, “she took the ring from her finger and placed it in his hand”, Black Jack the riderless horse, The black watch bagpiper's, the demeanor of Charles De Gaulle, the outfit of Haile Selassie, the funeral cortege , people walking during various parts of the procession and the haunted figure  of Robert Kennedy. . And the throng's of people beyond a number I could understand, standing in line to walk by the coffin in the rotunda of the Capitol. With my father, Bob, I watched the first televised murder on Sunday of Lee Harvey Oswald by Jack Ruby and I can remember as if it was last week, Tom Pettit's comments, “He's been shot!, He's been Shot! , Lee Oswald has been shot!”
  Like many American's we purchased the “Torch Is Passed”, book on the Kennedy's, I remember when they came out reading Jim Bishop's book on Kennedy and I have read many times and still have the original family copy of William Manchester's ,”Death of a President.” Over the ensuing decades I have read every major biography of John F. Kennedy, a lot, but not all of the conspiracy theory books, and Norman Mailer's Pulitzer wining Oswald Tale and Vincent Lugosi’s “Reclaiming History.” Just recently I have watched the PBS special's devoted to JFK and Nova's investigation. And yes, I have watched Oliver Stone's JFK several times, although it make me mad each time I have seen it.

 I have never fully understood why a majority of American's still doubt that Lee Harvey Oswald was

a lone gunman and that Oswald acted alone. I suspect that it stems from the fact that how could some

one so regal in the good sense of the word, as John F. Kennedy was , be taken out by such a

non-entity. The scales just do not seem to balance in any way shape or form. Of course the fact that

Oswald was never able to explain his actions, has added to the question marks.

  If I have learned and come to understand anything from these countless book and biographies I have read, it is was what a compartmentalized person JFK was, how fragile for most of his life, his health was, how his friends tried to arrange things so that he was virtually never alone, I guess all those countless hours in the infirmary at Choate and the time he spent at the Mayo Clinic, took their toll, and that although Lee Harvey Oswald suffered from dyslexia, he was not stupid, in any sense of the word.I also can't forget Lee Harvey Oswald's mother Marguerite . And still feel sorry for his brother Robert who's life was for ever changed and who had done nothing wrong.
   I think about November 22nd. Each year, and with this being the 50th there has of course been much public discussion. I am not sure that this country has ever really gotten over the assassination of President Kennedy and although it was the first of a number of senseless murders, I always seem to link JFK, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King and RFK and finishing up with Kent State as being a line of horrible transgressions on our collective psyche . I remember saying to myself that I would be in my sixties when the 50th anniversary came around and it seemed a life time in the future. It has been a life time and in mostly good ways this country has changed a lot.
 Today's title comes from a song just after the Assassination, the recording I first heard was on the NBC program with David Frost, “That Was the Week That Was,” which was broadcast on November 23rd, 1963. and was sung by someone name Millicent Martin. The song was actually written by Connie Francis. I can still remember the whole song from memory. “Forget I can't, I still recall his eyes.”

Monday, November 11, 2013

With next week marking the 50th. Anniversary on the 22nd. Of the Assassination of John F. Kennedy. The watershed event of most baby boomers I thought I would share a sonnet I wrote in High School.

I plan next week to also share a paper I wrote about Kennedy from Prescott  College.


THE CARDINAL

The Cardinal in Red a complex man.

Drones across the grave his nasal tears.

Speaking the words distilled two thousand years.

Does as he always does the best he can.

Do you remember how it all began.

Our understanding flags there's no such plan.

And thus we've had commissions talks and books.

And tried to make an elegance of grief.

We've tried interpretations on for size,

But cried inside recalling boyish looks.

Though young, though old, its shaken our belief.

Forget we can't, I still recall his eyes.

Friday, April 19, 2013

"Long Days Journey into Light"

I have to admit that I have used this same title for an article I wrote several decades ago, about a Motorcycle ride to California for the Stinger, the monthly newsletter of the Beehive Beemers, BMW Motorcycle Club of Utah. I used to write articles fairly frequently and served as the editor of the newsletter for several stints.. The title of course is a re-phrasing of the Eugene O'Neill masterpiece, “Long Day's Journey Into Night, a play that I have seen several times, have on disc with Katherine Hepburn , Sir Ralph Richardson, a young Jason Robards and Dean Stockwell, and and have read several times. In an interview once O'Neill was quoted as saying “ Happiness, I will write about happiness if I ever see it.” I have always been partially drawn to that brooding Irish and Northern climate countenance, but equally drawn towards much of T. S. Eliot's poetry such as this line from Portrait of a Lady, :” I feel immeasurably at peace, and find the world to be wonderful and youthful, after all.” Now back to the journey

This is the earliest in the year that I have ever ridden from Salt Lake City through the Great Basin, my great good keep, to California. In mid-March I flew down to Fresno for a week to assist my sister Kathy in preparing a HABEAS  petition on behalf of a death row inmate. We talked about me coming back to help her finish it up, but the difference in flying between buying the ticket two weeks in advance, rather than a month was a couple of hundred dollars and I told her I would ride my BMW instead

Originally, I was planning on leaving the morning of April 6th. But in looking at the weather, and in seeing that it would be Conference weekend for the LDS Church, and probable rain, I decided, on the spur of the moment to leave the afternoon of Thursday the 4th of April and my plan was to ride to Tonopah where I would spend the night. In the morning I rode Frontrunner to my office at Thanksgiving Point, did office type things for awhile and I caught the 12:16 train back to Salt Lake Central. On arriving home, I quickly loaded the bike, Saddlebags were practically packed for my anticipated Saturday departure and by about 1:45 in the afternoon I was heading West on I-80 and my turnoff at Wendover for highway 93A to Ely. It was a very windy day, don't know what it was on the Beaufort scale, but it was maybe a notch or two below the issuing of a high-wind warning between Salt Lake City and Wendover. So with new tires, new riding boots and fresh spark-plugs and the remains of the day before the candle that lights the sky would disappear on the horizon, I started the wend towards California. On a motorcycle trip, I am always like a small boy, gregarious and eager to experience everything going around me at the same time. Milking the day for all its worth.

I have written many times, about how much I love this type of desert riding, I always feel tucked in and look forward to the isolation, being surrounded by world class performer's on my i pod and the chance to let my mind go where it wants to go. I have long conversations in my head, with someone I have known as long as I can remember, which is back to when I was about two and a half years old. Most of my sisters have memories going back to about the same age, so it must be a genetic thing. The last time I rode almost this almost same route to California was in May of 2011, and I had opted to wear my lighter, but more stylish riding suit and did not take my heated jacket or gloves. This year I took both and wore my winter, heavier and not very flattering, but warm suit. I looked like a cross between the Michelin man and the Pillsbury dough boy. At Wendover, after gassing up, I turned the thermostat, for my jacket and gloves to almost the lowest setting and looked toward White Horse Pass and the unfolding of my afternoon jaunt. The first time I remember being on this road was when I was five or six and I went with my father to McGill Nevada. The mine was still open then, and my father's company had done some sort of electrical job there and he needed to go out for a brief meeting. My then good friend John Mooney went with us and we went out and back in a long day. I always think about that as I ride through McGill, it was much more robust 55 years ago than it is today.

At Ely, after gassing up again, I turned on to the Grand Army of the Republic Highway, what a nice sounding name, so much better than Bangerter Highway. This is of course, Highway 6 and I would be on it, till its junction with California Highway 395 at Bishop California.
As always I think about Jediah Smith and the other early explorer's of the American West and the Mountain Peaks in the distance, that may to this point in time, not have been climbed by anyone. The Great Basin at its most extreme. I thought as I rode along, the hum of the bike giving me an OMMM sound and whatever music was playing about the majesty of the Great American Desert. The little outposts along the way, where people have tried and usually failed to etch out a living and live a life. I pulled into Tonopah a little after 6:00 pm Pacific Daylight Savings time and got the last room at the Tonopah Motel where I have stayed a couple of times.

When I got up the next morning at O-dark thirty, there was ice on my bike and sheepskin cover for my seat. After gassing up at the Chevron in Tonopah, and eating a muffin and drinking some grapefruit juice, I have always preferred traveling, feeling a little hungry, I headed West out of Tonopah towards Boundary Peak and the California border just before Benton and then on to Bishop, Big Pine, Lone Pine and eventually the junction with 178 through Lake Isabella, which has some fairly sharp corners, listed 25mph turns, that I take at 35 or 40 and eventually towards its junction with Highway 99.

Highway 99, I have decided is an unloved major artery in the San Joaquin Valley of California. There are places that have new pavement, but much of it is I am sure the same road that I rode my BMW R90S on in the late 1970's on my way to Fresno. Instead of listing railway stops as Eliot did in a poem I go over from way-points on my GPS , Delano, Pixley, Tipton and Tulare, but can't come up with a good or decent rhyme.

Once I had parked my bike at my sister's house, I did not pay any attention to it at all, except to move it into her garage, that she does not use, because in my haste in leaving SLC I neglected to pack my motorcycle cover.

The next eight days were 12 to 14 hours a day seven days a week on the Habeas Appeal. Imagine if you can, working on the most complex jigsaw puzzle you could imagine, and not having the benefit of looking at the cover to see what it will look like. That is pretty much what it was. Thanks goodness for a search-able trial file and hard copies as well, looking for this and that. You tell a story relating to the subject of the appeal and almost every other sentence you have to reference either a defense chronology done by an expert, witness interviews, which need to be redacted; what an ominous word, it conjurers up visions of secret records kept by seldom mentioned governmental departments, and the trial transcript itself. It ended up being about 1500 pages of exhibits and the HABEAS Appeal is another 400 or so pages. This all needed to be bound with red covers and margins of X and 9 copies prepared. All the other major courts in California to my knowledge, accept electronic submissions on cases, but the Supreme Court Of California does not, although they did want a CD of the exhibits.

I left early Monday morning on the 15th of the month for my ride back. A friend called me and said that I should consider delaying my departure because of storms both in Salt Lake City and Nevada. I quickly pulled up the Weather Channel on my phone and Tonopah was still warm, but windy and I headed towards there. I told myself, that if I got to Tonopah before 3:30 in the afternoon, I would continue on the additional 170 miles back to Ely. At Boundary peak the pass is called Montgomery Pass and it reminded me of my friend Randy Montgomery who died in a freak motorcycle accident in Wolf Creak about 14 or so years ago. He had been involved in planning for the Olympics, and more importantly he had young children he did not get to see grow up. Such a pity.

Needless to say, I got to Tonopah a little after 3:00 pm,but before 3:30 and started back towards Ely knowing that I would probably run into rain before I got there. Eliot again, “Time and the bell have buried the day the black cloud carries the sun away.”
Just before I got to Ely is started to rain and just as I got to a motel in Ely it started snowing. Not a good omen, for Tuesday morning.

My bike was completely covered in snow, and I had to chip ice around the ignition so that my key would go in and do the same with the gas cap, so that I could fuel the bike. I decided to wear my glasses, rather than contacts and had planned on eating a hearty breakfast, to building up fodder to keep me warm, at a cafe in Ely, but the one I usually go to, is out of business. Again a muffin and juice at the Shell Station. I turned the heat up, for it was cold in the mid twenties and after talking with some people in the service station decided that I would still head back on 93and 93A to Wendover, rather than the longer route to Delta. It was snowing lightly when I left Ely, but it was not really sticking to the roads. Just North of McGill the snow picked up and my face shield was fogging and icing up. That means that I had to crack it enough to be able to see, but then my glasses got covered with snow and actually froze. There were several places where I could only go about 25 to 30 mph and I thought once or twice about turning back, but was worried about going down in the ice, if I tried to turn around. The bike made a couple of fish tale motions and I found I was better off riding in a lower gear towards the top of the rpm band, than trying to up-shift and keep the rpm low. I promised Pig Bodine, that’s my bike's name. Its the name of a character from a Thomas Pynchon novel, that if it got me through, I would instead of my annual coating of Zymol wax, I would do it twice this year. That seemed to do the trick and a ride that usually takes a little less than two hours, ended up taking almost three. White Horse pass that I had been dreading the whole ride from Ely was completely clear and Wendover was windy, but not too cold. At the Wendover Chevron station, I rewarded myself for having withstood the ordeal with a snickers. My boyish demand for a daily dose of excitement, temporarily satisfied I contemplated the rest of the ride home.

To make up for the slow time between Ely and Wendover, I rode the 120 miles home from Wendover to Salt Lake City at 85-to 90, figuring after my harrowing morning, a speeding ticket would be a small price to pay, but I was fine, the radar detector chirped a couple of times and it was windy, but I was toasty warm.
Pig looked unloved, uncared for and somewhat abused, and after unpacking, my somewhat wet gear, I gave him a bath.



Tuesday, October 16, 2012

MEN OF REASON AND THE KNOT ON THE ROPE OF WAR

I want to thank my sister Valerie and her husband Larry for helping me write this. Not in the sense that any of the words are theirs, but for providing me with our weekly Sunday motorcycle rides. I always feel very creative on motorcycle rides and over these past few weeks, the part of my mind that is not preoccupied with shifting, counter steering and watching traffic and scenery, is able to go back through my mind and remember from books read decades ago.

Both parts of the title of today's blog are quotes from Nikita Khrushchev, the first part from his memoirs and the second from a line he used in one of his letters to President Kennedy, about if either of them pulled too tight on the rope of war, the knot would be almost impossible to untie. If either of them had been men of less reason and gravitas, I think that it would have proved to have been the nuclear Armageddon we all were fearing during the cold war. Tom Lehrer's “Will all burn together when we burn, there's no need to stand and wait your turn,” would have proved true. Also, supposedly during this time period, Bob Dylan wrote his song, “ A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall.”

The first election that I had any interest in was the 1960 Presidential race. I was ten years old. I remember watching the debates and discussing the merits of both candidates with my friend then and now Tom Gorey, who has always been very politically astute and knowledgeable, He taught me about the electoral college and the Know Nothing Party and the Whigs and the Federalist. I remember a kid down the street who told me that if Kennedy won the Presidency the Pope would run the Country. Would anyone today make the same comment if Mitt Romney should win the White house this November., that the country would be run by Thomas Monson. I had also read both “Seven Days in May,” and “Fail Safe.

I remember the discussion of Matsu and Quemoy and the Missile Gap, that later we would learn, yes there was a missile gap, but it was so much in our favor, that it was almost pathetic. This among other things, had a direct bearing on the relations between Russia and the United States from Kennedy's Inauguration to this Death. Eisenhower had always been very circumspect in discussing this topic, was peeved with Kennedy, for using it, for from briefings JFK knew that we had many times the number of missiles,etc than the Russians had. Never tell the emperor he is naked, there is no way he will take it well. The Bay of Pigs made Kennedy look weak and Khrushchev was convinced that we would mount another invasion of Cuba and that this second attempt would probably be successful. We did plan “Operation Mongoose,” that Bobby Kennedy was very involved in the various plans that were considered . Kennedy had not done well at his Summit in Vienna with Khrushchev, his personal charm was lost on Khrushchev and Khrushchev grumbled that he couldn't relate to Kennedy who was younger that his own son.

I remember as if it was yesterday the excitement surrounding the inauguration ;The torch is passed to a new generation of American, in college I would write a paper, that I may do a blog about next year on the 50th anniversary of Kennedy's Death, in which I quoted someone, I forget with out looking now, that wonderfully worded and delivered speech was “jingoistic, a Monroe Doctrine for the World. “ My uncle Ranch Kimball was involved with the democratic party in Utah and had been invited to the inauguration. Then I didn't know that thousands of people are always invited, and I borrowed from my Aunt ,and took to school to exhibit with pride, the invitation.

In September of 1962, as the mid terms elections were on the horizon, I remember the charges made by the Senator from New York, Kenneth Ketting, who Robert Kennedy would defeat in the 1964 election, surrounding the military building up on Cuba and also another republican senator Homer Capehart who made similar charges. He would be defeated in the midterm elections. In response to this Kennedy made a speech in September of 1962, that during the crisis he regretted making, about what would be the consequences of the Russians putting any offensive weapons on Cuban Soil. Never before, unlike the United States, had Russian put nuclear weapons outside its own boarders.

In the earlier part of October, my family had taken what would turn out to be our final road trip to Taos and our friends who lived in Taos came back part way with us and we took them to Monument Valley and the Goose necks of the San Juan and I remember saying goodbye to them at the bottom of the Mokie dugway. I try to visit this same area every few years, and I always have a genuine Proustian moment at this same junction. I remember thinking about this weekend during the crisis itself, the last collected normalcy, while worrying about what may happen and realizing probably for the first time, that there were things in the world, that my parent's couldn't protect me from.

Athough the Public announcement and JFK speech regarding the Cuban Missile Crisis did not take place until the 22nd of October, JFK first saw the grainy pictures on the morning of October 16th 1962 by McGeorge Bundy, and his first response was that he guessed we would have to bomb them. And that Kenneth Ketting would be elected President in 1964. To deal with this crisis a sub committee, called Excom was established, from both member's of the National Security Council and others and after the crisis had ended. Kennedy or a representative for him contacted the jeweler Cartier about doing a simple little block with the month of October and those thirteen days in bold highlights. Cartier, suggested it be done in silver and supposedly did it for nothing. There were 33 of these made and besides the Excom people both Kennedy's secretary Evelyn Lincoln and Jackie received one.

Very early in the proceeding two things became very evident to the President, it was fast devolving in to Hawks and Doves, Bobby Kennedy at one point turned to someone and said, “Now I know how Tojo felt,” and that his presence in all the meetings, inhibited the exchange of views. Also, from everything I have read about JFK, many books and articles, I don't think he had a long attention span. He always had to have things going on, as many highly compartmentalized people do, and I think his mind would have maybe started to wander if he had had to sit through all those meetings. Kennedy after and because of the fiasco of the Bay of Pigs, had a healthy skepticism of military intelligence and I also think that because of his many health problems and brushes with death, he had enough empathy to put himself not only in Khrushchev place, but to imagine how this appeared to the rest of the world. It was ludicrous to think that two people could decide the fate of mankind. Kennedy was told that even if we eliminated 80 to 90 percent of the missiles in Cuba, upwards of 700 thousand Americans would loose their life if the remaining missiles on Cuba were unleashed during an attack on the United States. That is more people than died in the American Civil War. Western Europe had lived for years with the close proximity of missiles aimed at them, and in the event of war, it really would not matter whether the missile was fired from Russia, or from 90 miles away. It really didn't change the strategic balance at all. It would take the best of both of these leader's and their adviser's, to prevent the knot on the rope of war from becoming too tight to undo. Kennedy was a student of history, had read his Herodotus and Thucydides and had read and had all his aides, as well as several generals and the joint chiefs of staff read Barbara Tuchman's “The Guns of August,” dealing with the mistakes in decision making, etc. that lead up to the First World War.

Now for a break, what I actually remember, I remember his speech on the 22nd, which came out of the blue, even though by then I tried to watch the Huntley Brinkley report, which then was 15 minutes long, with my father every late afternoon. I remember the tenseness during the rest of the week, and I was actually at a friend's house, Kim Fuller, who had a very nice and elegant mother, for Adali Stevenson’s UN presentation and his hell freezing over and the world court of public opinion pronouncements and I remember feeling that she was deeply scared and worried, although she tried to pretend that nothing was going on. And yet, I still needed to be home by 5:30pm, we still ate as a family and my father still cut out that evening's television schedule from the Salt Lake Tribune with his pocketknife.

The President and his adviser's looked at either destroying the missiles or a quarantine and Ted Sorenson, the words-man of the New Frontier, actually worked on two draft's the one which was presented for the quarantine, which supposedly sounded less harsh than blockade, and one announcing that the president had approved taking out the missiles and the invasion by 150,000 plus of US servicemen of the island nation of Cuba. There was discussion about needing a government to run Cuba after our invasion and someone suggested Bobby as Mayor of Havana. That second draft is now on public display and it is chilling to read.

One of the best books I have read on the Cuban Missile Crisis is called, “One Minute to Midnight”, by Michael Dobbs, who by doing his own research of photos taken at the time, but not ever really looked at, but available for research at the National Archives, he actually found where the nuclear warheads, were stored and that the number of soviet Military personnel on the island of Cuba was much greater than we knew, 42,000+ and that in addition to the LRBM and MRBM, there were tactical nuclear weapons called Frogs and even some nuclear tipped shells for tanks and that Guantanamo,was a prime military target for the Cuban's and the Soviet soldiers. Even thought this was not known at the time, all the wives and most of the American support people at Guantanamo had been air lifted out earlier in the week. After the crisis had passed, Castro lobbied to retain ownership of the nuclear tipped shells that we didn't know about, but the Russians wisely took all the weapons out, although it probably took another month after the public resolution of this crisis.

The penultimate days of the crisis were late Friday October 26th and all of October 27th , referred to by those involved on the American side as 'Black Saturday,' it was then, late Friday, that the President received the first of two letters from Khrushchev. The first was a reasonable one and after they had started to think about responding to that one.  (This letter was fairly close to the final agreement, that we would agree to not invade Cuba, which had been one of the Russian reasons for putting the missiles there in the first place, and that privately we would agree at some point to remove the obsolete Jupiter Missiles from Turkey.) A much harsher and more belligerent second letter was read over Radio Moscow. They assumed that the first letter was written by Khrushchev alone, and the second letter was done by the politburo as a group. In those days, there was no direct line between our governments, that grew out of the Cuban Crisis, and to send a telegraph to Moscow, the Washington Soviet embassy had to call Western Union who would send over an elderly African American  on a bicycle, who would pick up the message and peddle back to Western union. How to deal with these two letter's took up much of the debate during those two days. Also, on Saturday a U2 was shot down, the pilot had been the same one that took the first photos. A Rudolph Anderson Jr. and he ended up being the only American who directly lost his life as a result of the crisis. A Russian sub was forced to surface as a result of some depth charges being sent their way and the Captain of the Sub wanted to fire his nuclear torpedo, but a Russian Admiral, (Vasili Arkhipov) on board prevented him from doing this. He is certainly an unsung hero of this epic. Another man of reason. During this time the United States went to level  Defcon 2, just one removed from actual all out nuclear war. If  this torpedo had been fired, it would have been very hard to contain the escalation of events. Several people finally suggested that the President respond to the first private letter and to ignore the second public letter. Also on the 27th Bobby Kennedy met secretly with Andrei Gromyko to go over all of this. Another person of reason in this ordeal. There had also been prior meetings between a KGB agent and a newspaper man John Scali. The Military felt, that the shooting down of the U2 was sufficient grounds to attack the Russians, that the blockade had done nothing, except for public relations purposes. Kennedy was smart enough to view this as an accident, the U2 downing, and not a premeditated act on the part of the Russians to escalate the situation.

President Kennedy was uncomfortable with those that were gloating that we had beat the Russians and when this was over, he said to Bobby, that it would be a great night to go to the theater. Bobby said he would go with him. Kennedy felt that this, the Cuban Missile Crisis, would be what he would be remembered for, but I like to think that the Peace Corp, the Test Ban Treaty and putting men on the Moon are the most lasting tribute, that and the groundwork, that LBJ would complete of the Civil Rights act of 1964.


I have thought about how would all of this play out today, when it is impossible to keep a secret and with the pressure of Twitter and Facebook. Does the President still have the bag man in close proximity for the launch codes for a nuclear attack, or is there a smart phone app for that. Does the red phone still exist, or does the President have leaders on speed dial on his blackberry and are they Facebook friends.

My biggest surprise in looking back at all of this, is that 50 years later, Fidel, although not the day to day head of Cuba is still around. He weathered all of our misplaced efforts to displace him, to assinate him, or to make his beard fall out and the embargo of Cuba, while being detrimental to the people of Cuba, has not changed their form of government. On that same “Black Saturday” Fidel wrote a letter to Khrushchev suggesting that the Russian do a preemptive attack on the United States, even though it would have for sure caused the destruction of Cuba and its people. Thank goodness men or reason prevailed.

John Fitzgerald Kennedy certainly learned from this experience as his speech in June of 1963 his so called Peace Speech, his commencement address at American University. “In the final analysis, our most common link is that we all inhabit this small planet. We all breathe the same air. We all cherish our children's future. And we are all mortal.”

When I was in high school I wrote in a play that won a Scholastic Magazine National Award, the following is a couple of lines from it and it sum's up my feelings as well today as it did then.

“The Men make bombs, but they buy paintings, they throw sulfur into the atmosphere, but they plant beautiful and even rows of wheat.”


Wednesday, July 25, 2012

The Bunker at Battlerock

I was invited this last weekend to visit an old friend from college who lives in McElmo Canyon, which is a canyon that is a little South and West of Cortez Colorado. Her house is about 12 miles East of the Utah border and McElmo has a river that runs all year long and is home to old Mormon Orchards and farms and has several bed and breakfast's and a couple of vineyards. I haven't visited her in a few years although we talk on the phone about once a month. Since my last visit she sold her old house, which at one time was a stage-coach stop between the Utah Colorado border and Cortez and the stage then went on to Bluff. She sold her old house to the BLM and then had a new house built on the acreage where she keeps her horses. She has a complete unit in the basement complete with kitchen that she rents out to people who are either hiking or taking horses in to Land of the Ancients National Monument which borders her property and she even has a gate that leads directly into it. It would also make a nice over-nite spot for people touring the southwest on motorcycles. Directly across the highway from her house is both a vineyard run by an arrogant, I am told, Welshman, and behind that the Battlerock Mountain.

My favorite way to get from Salt Lake City to McElmo is instead of going through Moab, to turn just before Green River and head West on I-70 and then turn off on highway 24 towards Hanksville. This is what I did last Thursday the 19th of July. I have always thought highway 95 between Hanksville and Blanding is a fantastic motorcycle road, second maybe to Highway 12 for one of my favorite roads in Utah. There was very little traffic after getting to Hanksville a little after 9:00 am and I had originally thought about taking the Mokie Dugway to Mexican Hat and then backtracking back up to Bluff and then heading to Aneth. Instead I continued to and got gas and a strawberry shake in Blanding.
Just before Aneth there is a junction that picks up the road that runs between there and Cortez. From the Cortez side it is road G and is also a scenic byway and part of the Land of the Ancients Byway. My friend Susan is the coördinator for the Land of the Ancients byway. It wasn't long until I saw her new house perched on the side of the hill and did not ride my bike till my return on the 24th.

Why is is that we tend to notice the sky, sunsets and day break with more vivid eyes than we do at home. While I do always try to notice the sun setting over the Great Salt Lake, I have to admit there was a vividness to these in McElmo, that I don't think I recognize on a daily basis. Its like the comment that is always made about the beautiful sunsets in Venice. It we all opened our eyes in our normal lives to the extent we do while in a new place, I think for the most part life would seem so much more magical.

Susan has 3 dogs, two of which she had when I was there last and they seemed to remember me. She also has 2 cats and 4 horses and several acres of irrigated pasture. Susan had a quick trip to Chicago for a surprise birthday party on Saturday so early Saturday morning I drove her in her new Fiat 500 to Durango and dropped her off at the airport. I had agreed to take care of things while she was gone and to pick her up at the airport on Monday Afternoon. For many years I had cows to feed on a daily basis, and we had several horses, and lots of birds and at one time over 40 peacocks. I had forgotten that nice feeling of being tied to the earth that one experiences when one has some time of physical activity that needs to be repeated several times a day. Susan has a watering system that pumps water out of an irrigation canal and the she has risers and about five sets of hand lines that can be moved around the pasture. There are valves to be turned and separate diets for both the dogs and the horses.

I thoroughly enjoyed doing all of this, and in the off time, I read lots of magazines that I don't normally look at, read some books and watch several movies that I had not seen either before or in years. On Saturday and Sunday afternoon there were brief rain showers and by Sunday morning the place was looking green and well cared for. Thank you mother nature.

Susan has a beautiful new house, filled with Navajo rugs and Indian pottery and family heirlooms including an old bed that was brought by buggy from New York to the then new territory of Ohio in the early 1800's.

I picked her up at the Durango airport which is about 20 miles away from Durango and  near Ignacio. It was a torrential rain storm just when I got to the airport and rained off an on until about half way to Mancos. I had driven another one of her cars down to pick her up, because her youngest dog had her obedience class that evening in Dolores and so by the time we made it back to McElmo it was a little after 8:00 pm.

I left early the next morning and did go down to Mexican Hat where I gassed up and then did head up the Mokie dugway and proceeded up highway 95 and again got gas and a strawberry shake in Hanksville. I had thought about heading towards Capitol Reef and Torrey and then thought I would take SR72 towards Emery but instead I headed back towards Green river to head toward highway 6 and Price. Instead at the junction of SR24 and I-70 I headed West on I-70, which really is a beautiful if desolate stretch of road, my favorite kind, and did turn off on SR10 towards Emery and Huntington. Just before I turn off on SR10 there had been a roll over on eastbound 70 and the ambulance was a head of me towards Emery and Ferron, where it seems that moved the people from one ambulance to another and just about the time I was getting gas in Huntington the ambulance with lights a blazing was heading towards Price.

At Huntington I turned off on SR31 that takes you from Huntington to Fairview, the road has washed out because of some flash flooding and the fires in that part of the canyon and although it was open there was a lot of muck at the side of the road and there was the smell of burned wood in the air. There was not much traffic on my whole return trip, until I got to the mouth of Spanish Fork canyon and its junction with I-15 and after running the gauntlet of the Utah County I-15 rebuild I was soon back to the land of Zion on its most special day. My Great Great Grandfather Erastus Snow had actually been one of the first three pioneers to enter the valley on the 22nd of July.

It was a nice 5 days to have relaxed in a beautiful desert environment and I look forward to my next adventure in the American West.

I am ending this installment with a quote from Stephen Vincent Benet

“I have fallen in love with American names, The sharp names that never get fat.
The snakeskin titles of mining claims. The plumed war bonnet of Medicine Hat, Tucson and Deadwood and Lost Mule Flat.”