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“In the Kamigata area they have a sort of tiered lunchbox they use for a single day when flower viewing. Upon returning, they throw them away, trampling them underfoot. The end is important in all things.”

- The Hagakure: The Way of The Samurai

I think what they were referencing here was the ordered beauty in the both the beginning and end of all things. These petals are part of the end of one cycle in the life of this tree. Yet in “dying” as they do the paint a most vibrant portrait of life.

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I am seriously considering parking my bike under this tree to let nature paint a portrait.

As riding weekends go this one was very much full of wonder. I went up Germantown Road to Skyline Blvd. in and out of the forest it went…peeking out to wide vistas on either side of the ridge. Like riding along the spine of a giant dragon. Then I’d dive down the east side of the mountain on roads like McNamee, Newberry and Rocky Point Road. Each one a unique set of curves and variables. All without much traffic to speak of…two wheeled or otherwise. The beauty of the forest, the roads stunning and skies sunny with just enough haze to make it all visually interesting. If this is what riding in the PNW is going to be like I’m a devoted fan already.

Honestly the whole experience was a meditation. I feel relieved. Now to get a few of my riding friend’s up here for more of the same.

Yes, I haven’t posted for quite a while. Guess I just didn’t have too much to say. Besides I’ve been studying hard for the CCNA exam. Today I was on my way home when I decided to stop by Caffe Vita up on Alberta St. Just off the street there is this beautiful 1940-41(?) Dodge Coupe. I believe they made this model mainly for traveling business men…no kidding. Anyway as it was a perfect “filter 3″ day I decided I could make any image pretty much chronologically neutral (made that one up on the fly). I’ve seen this vehicle in this spot before but there was always something newer parked right next to it. Enjoy!!

0158 hrs. and after walking back from McPeet’s Tavern I’m cold…so a cuppa’ is in order. A happy, safe and prosperous 2012 to you all.

Ana Vidovic plays Altiplanos composed by Pierre Bensusan

Under a cold graying Pacific Northwest sky the memories of long shadows at a day’s closing, red rays of sunshine on yellowing leaves and gentle breezes warm me still. If I could have bottled those afternoons. Alas they were bottled. When I open a bottle of Pinot Noir (preferably from the Domaine Drouhin winery) I hear these notes and feel that summer sun. I used to put in earbuds and listen to pieces like this as I rode the plains and mountains of Colorado in summer. After those ferocious monsoons blew away you’d get these deep orange to red sunsets. Far from I-70 or I-76 there was no traffic, no noise just the calls of sharp-tailed grouse, the buzz of insects and the air moving across the tall grass.

When I was a kid in NYC I thought magic was some guy on stage pulling something crazy from a hat. Dare I say I had not a clue what true magic was until afternoons such as that. I am profoundly thankful to have lived long enough to see these things and to hear the “magic” of Ana Vidovic’s fingers bring it all back to me. She’s appearing here in Portland, OR in February.

It’s been a wonderful week here in Denver. Thanksgiving spent at the Bardo coffee shop and with friends up on Capitol Hill. My buddy Chris told me to quit my bitching and make my own damn espresso shots!

Then spent some time turning dirt with my friend Mountain. Actually carrying bricks and shoveling dirt felt pretty good for the ankle and leg.

After living here 19+ years it’s in my blood. Beautiful sunsets, white capped mountains and 14% humidity are the features of the city I call my second home in North America. But then there are my friends….bikers, builders, finance, food service, city councilmen and everyone in between. I’ve been fortunate to build a life here off of being a journalist and biker.

A shout out to Oreo, one of the world’s most loving cats.

But that famous Denver altitude has been robbing me of oxygen so periodically I sleep in the middle of meals.

Garlic infused honeyGarlic infused honey...simple. Now a few weeks to see the cloves sink and she's ready.

Today I took a few minutes to make up a batch of garlic infused honey for the winter. There are those who say its helpful for avoiding colds and flu. I’ve found it helpful in the past but add a little jalapeño or ghost pepper and use it as a glaze on grilled chicken and it will rock your knot. Also took the time to “glass” my milk and put up my good olive oil in re purposed whiskey bottles. I grew up in a kitchen. Life is good.

Milk "glassed" in an old Pendleton whiskey bottle.

Olive oil recanted into an old Blanton's bourbon bottle...one of the most beautiful vessels in the industry.

Motorcycling to those who have never experienced it is meditation. By virtue of the fact that all that stands between you and a wheel chair or body bag is your ability to remove from thought the extraneous and control your emotions. Its your ass on the line so the incentive to do both is strong…or should be. Today I went to “road church”. A little time to pay homage to this beautiful world around me. I brought the gift of silica impregnated rubber and high octane unleaded gasoline to my creator. Apparently he/she/it was pleased as I’m still breathing and walking without assistance. As the sun, mist, clouds and green pastures lay perfectly aligned, sheep safely graze and I ply the nearby road breathing in fresh air and feeling the warmth of the sun. Deep in the mind the physics of the next turn are being calculated yet the body knows only the feel of it all. More people should try this. It all brings you closer to yourself if that is what you really desire. Or you can escape, wear funny clothes, make up your own language and be free of constriction. I like to think I’ve done a little of both. And it matters not what you do so long as you do it unapologetically. The straight world will have you thinking you’re the monster in the cage when its really them. You’ll be judged by those whose idea of joy is making another list. Oh, and don’t try and explain to them the futility of that endeavor. Lists have their place. However a human being is a very sensitive custom made instrument made to produce its own theme song. Riding lets you play that song over and over in your heart as well as your head.

Parked along NW Sauvie Island Road

My 2002 BMW R1100SBX nicknamed Helga on Pine Valley Road in Colorado

As I write this my motorcycle (down to only one sadly) is being brought back to life after at least 2 years off the road. Motorcycling is to me like blood. I can’t live without it. Soon, like Mtume said, “back to life, back to reality.” It all really started sooooooo long ago. August of 1971 I believe…

My first motorcycle ride at the St. Nicholas church bazarre(?) August 1971

Just laying around on the street.

It surprises me still at the essential nature of the places I have lived. It seems always that something small lets you know. Walking down the street in my new hometown something caught my eye. As an ex-photojournalist and current IT geek I’m curious…about everything. Long before I get to it, sitting in front of a second hand shop, I see this nice old 2 flat-top burner stove top that was popular in small apartments in the 1940′s and 50′s (?). Its a curious item that isn’t seen very often. As I get closer I find my attention and gaze drawn to a hatchet sitting atop the stove. Presumably for it was sale. Right there, by the front door of the business. A sharpened hatchet!! As a native New Yorker I still remember how bad an idea bat day was at Yankee stadium. This….this was off the scale. I take a photo and move on as the idea processes and then it dawns on me. Unlike many of the places I’ve lived fear is not a major part of life here. I should know. Exposure to violence and the after effects of it over more than a decade on the streets left me a very fearful person. I owned lots of guns, knives, was distrustful of my fellow human beings and always on guard. A few years ago that all came to a head and I learned I had to trust again. It is NOT easy to put one’s guard down in an extremely fearful world but as a novice Daoist I know that I require myself to trust but must expect the unexpected. I didn’t go into the shop. For all I know there was a little old lady behind the counter with an sawed-off double barreled 10-gauge Ithaca ready to blow a hole you could walk through in the first idiot to enter the shop holding that hatchet and clearly not in a buying mood. Fast forward to wet clean-up in aisle one. Even so I never sensed that fear here. I can sit at a bus stop with and old lady…and old white lady at that. More often than not she’ll strike up a conversation with me. I’m a 6 foot tall 250 pound black male whose been told I can look quite intimidating in the sunglasses I often wear. Despite all the money and energy that was expended in an effort to make her afraid of me, almost invariably she sees right through me. One smile and quip leads to another and there you have it. What humanity was supposed to be.

Naive? Maybe. But if a few months of darkness and rain is the price for living in a place that doesn’t rob me of my humanity and rewards me with surprises and glimpses into what a true civil society might just look like, then bring it on. When the sun disappears and the plastic people retreat to their designer shops in sunnier climes I will still be waiting for the #9 bus, seated next to an old lady chatting about the weather and where to get the best smoked brats in town. That hatchet will still be sitting on that stove.