I’ve left this thread for too long, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it.  Most of the amazing things I have seen in my life (besides the births of my children) I saw from the seat of a motorcycle.  A meteor crashing into a field just a 1/4 or so mile away, cops in a shootout with robbers, amazing sunrises and sunsets.  Giraffes that come from nowhere and bluebonnets that take your breath away.  Half-naked women on bikes that love boys on bikes.

But later in our trip – almost 3/4 into the duration of our trip (but only about 50% in total miles of our trip), we found ourselves in Eugene, Oregon.  The ride from Portland was amazing (and yes, I know I left out a substantial part of the ride between Part 6 and Part 7.  Think Star Wars - I’ll come back and write a "pre-quel"  about that part later.

It was at this point in our trip that we really all started getting nervous about how long we were going to be gone.  At least 4 days more than what we had planned. This was a HUGE deal since we were mostly active duty military and a lot of us were working in medicine – where shift coverage for surgeons and techs was done far in advance.  We knew we were getting into more and more trouble the longer we delayed.  We were not just on day to day slip – we were on a day to "30 days in jail" slip.

So we found ourselves in Eugene, OR.  A bit south of it, actually.  And we were tired, and looking to sleep.  We pulled into what was once a gas station – right next to an active farm.  While we were talking about what to do a pickup pulled up next to us.  It was the owner of the farm.

We exchanged a few pleasantries and he told us, "bad weather south of here.  Even worse north.  Watchagonnado?"

Having not stopped anywhere with a TV or even power over the last three days we had no idea that the weather was turning.

"Gottabigbarn", the man said.  "Justuptheroad".  Really – he had ZERO spacing between his words.  But we understood he was inviting us to sleep under cover – and had warned us of the storm.  We agreed, and all of the bikes followed him up the dirt rut that passed as a road.  I’m sure it was easier to get my bike down that road than it was for him to maneuver the truck.

When we reached the farm the man got out of the truck and rolled open two huge barn doors.  The barn was immense – maybe 100 feet deep by 40 feet wide. At the far end we could see and hear cattle.  The near end was empty stalls.

"Usetakeephorses", the farmer said.  He explained that they were too expensive, so he gave them up.  He directed each of us to park our bike in an empty stall.  We did.

It was odd thinking about all of the horsepower that was now in those stalls. Thousands of horsepower where less than a dozen horses could stand.

While the farmer was very kind, he didn’t invite us to dinner, or send his beautiful daughters (don’t think he had any) out to comfort us. He just gave us his barn for the night and left. 

There were plenty of lanterns in the barn.  And their was a pit for a blacksmith at the far end with a chimney.  We could have a good fire even if we were in a barn full of hay and animals.

We unloaded our bikes and chipped in all the "grub" we had. It was an odd assortment of sausage, and jerky, candy and vegetables.  We shared it all, and enjoyed the variation.  We were warm, and it was raining now.  Not a hard rain, but a cold one.  We were glad to not be on the road.

We had a few beers and a bottle of something between us and we sat and talked story, as were were most apt to do.  The hours passed as we all enjoyed the warmth of the fire, and the time off of the road.

We finally woke mid-day the next day. It was a beautiful day – no sign of the rain from the night before.  The farmer’s wife was bringing in clothes from the line and insisted she make us breakfast, even though it was well past 1 PM.  The farmer was not around.  We ate at the family table.  Eggs and gravy, biscuits, bacon. Everything you could ask for.  While the house was nice it was modest.  Nothing of glaring value, but everything looked cherished.  Nothing was dirty, or tarnished.

We finally hit the road again about 3 PM that day.  We had only ridden for an hour when we found ourselves at a crossroads our maps did not show.  The paved road to our right was on our map, but it headed southeast.  The unmarked dirt road led southwest.  We were very late already and we all wanted to head southwest.

We took the dirt road and were not on it but 15 minutes or so when we came across a very large herd of cattle.  These cattle didn’t just cover the road.  They damn near covered the horizon.  This was a VERY large herd.  As we eased our bikes into them we noticed they didn’t move far.  They were skirting our bikes but not exactly leaving.  That is unusual for cattle.  Normally they just get out of the way, and want to get far out of the way.

As we drove deeper into the herd we ran into a mass of cows that seemed to be unwilling to move much.  They were milling about in a specific area, and even when they moved, they kept a tight circle on a specific point.  We finally pushed through and saw why.  A young cow was giving birth, and things must not have been going well.  The older cows seemed to sense this, and they were forming a protective barrier.  But they didn’t complain as we approached the young cow.

When I got close enough I saw the young cow had already lost a lot of blood.  A lot more than I had ever seen.  The cow seemed unable to move, but it hadn’t given birth yet either.  As we got close to the cow the elder cows got nervous and started mooing and snorting – even kicking up some dirt here and there.  We were surrounded by thousands of cattle – and some didn’t seem to be happy we were there.

But they didn’t bother us either, as we finally got to the cow, and touched it, and found it was still alive.  But all of the motion shown in the body of this cow was coming from the unborn calf kicking and trying to get out.  The mother was spent.  The baby was fighting for life.

Having never delivered a cow, but having seen hundreds of human births I knew one thing for certain.  The calf had to come out of the cow, and there was only one exit.  Caesarian wasn’t an option, even if we had the tools.  Nobody knew where to cut a cow to get a baby out of it.

As we were reached in and tried to grab the calf the cows got very agitated.  Their mooing got the greater herd riled and some at the edges of the herd started running in circles putting up a fairly large plume of dust. 

Literally elbow-deep into a cow, pulling for all I am worth, and having people pull me while I pull a calf we hear a gunshot. It didn’t seem close, so it didn’t bother us.  Much.

As we continue to make progress delivering this calf we hear a truck getting closer and closer.  The truck gets very close and scares the elder cows a great deal.  They are often running away from us and seemingly darting in at us.  Finally the calf comes out and the truck pulls up, all at the same time.  Driving the truck is the "poor" farmer from the night before.  Over an hour after riding from his barn we are still on his property.  And the sea of cattle are his.  It seems this farmer wasn’t so poor after all.

He was also a retired Marine Corps Colonel.  I still talk to him now and then.  I always get Christmas cards.  He’s donated most of his family’s farm to conservatory.  He plans on donating the rest.

The mother cow didn’t live, but the calf did.

And we were delayed even more.  And seriously at risk of being AWOL.  The next 6 days would be brutal.  We would cover about 600 miles a day for six days straight.  On a bike, when you have no money and often have to stop for a day for a new tire, or to earn some money for gas, 600 miles a day average for 6 days was pretty amazing.

There is a good reason I buy my motorcycle insurance from a company that understands motorcycles, and their riders.

Here is the conversation I had today with a Nationwide Auto-insurer:

Me: "Hello".

Them: "Sir, if we could get two minutes of your time.."

Me, "For what?", I interrupted.

Them, "Sir we would like to show you how we can improve your motorcycle coverage and possibly lower your costs".

My motorcycle insurance is VERY low.  I am over 45, my bike is always locked in my garage, and I have no tickets or accidents in over 25 years.  I only put a couple thousand glorious miles on it each year.  My insurance is so cheap in fact that it isn’t even worth my time discussing it.  So I decide to have some fun.

Me: "Well, my current coverage also covers my dog, in case he gets injured.  Do you cover injury to pets?"

Them: "Sir, I am pretty sure we do, and long as they are wearing a helmet and seat belts".

Seat belts?  On a motorcycle? Seat belts for my dog on my motorcycle?

I was going to continue giving them a hard time, but I found myself laughing so hard I couldn’t do anything except hang-up.

I am still chuckling.

And I am still with Progressive for my motorcycle insurance.

I set out rather early for a brisk ride on my motorcycle. It was about 63 degrees when I rolled out of the garage and it was wonderful riding weather. I could wear my leather jacket and riding boots without being uncomfortable.

As is my normal practice, I headed North – to the Texas Hill Country. I wasn’t alone – there were hundreds, if not thousands, of other bikers on the roads already. I had planned to meet up with a group of about 75 riders that were doing a run of about 150 miles – instead I decided to go my own way for a while.

Eventually I met up with so many bikes that I ended up riding with a group of (primarily) Harley’s for about 45 minutes I got tired of their noise – I turned off onto a one lane paved road. I had no clue where it went, but it was quiet. It turned out to be a very long, twisty ride through some pretty good sized hills. Soon I realized I was driving right through a ranch, as I crossed over cattle-guard after cattle guard. Cattle guards are holes cut into the roadway covered with a steel barred section. The cattle won’t walk over these – so they are effective as fences for cattle, but cars (and motorcycles)can easily pass over them.

Ahead of me I saw a large number of Texas Longhorns being moved across the road, from one field to another. There were probably 50-75 of them, and they were magnificent. I crept forward – keeping the bike quiet so as not to disturb them. Soon I found myself surrounded by cattle – each of them easily weighing more than my bike and I combined. The walked slowly past, seemingly uninterested that I was there. The vaqueros working the cattle came over to talk. Two were on horse, one was in a giant Ford F350 King Ranch Edition pickup. I was joking that I was afraid one of these cattle would hit my bike with their horns – they assured me that they would not – they told me the Longhorns had an extremely finite control over their horns. I hoped they were right – some of these horns were over 6 feet long on each side of the Longhorn. That makes for a very wide load.

They offered me a bottle of cold water, which was much appreciated. I hadn’t started my bike in months, and had neglected to put it on the trickle charger – so I was afraid if I shut it off it wouldn’t start – but I put in in neutral and let it idle as I sat in the shade of a giant mesquite tree and enjoyed a cool drink of water and a smoke. The Vaqueros were very nice guys – they asked where I was going (I had no destination) and offered me some suggestions for a ride – one of them cutting right through the 18,000 acre ranch I was on. They assured me that el hefe (the boss) would not mind me riding on the property.

I left them and took what seemed the safest of their suggestions – a fully paved road that wound for miles through the ranch, just past the main house, and finally out the northwest side of the property. It took nearly an hour to get through the entire property – it was a wonderful unspoiled piece of land. I passed through several small communities of vaqueros and their families. The children all came out to look at what was probably an unusual site for them. The women pretty much stayed on the porches and waved. The men were apparently all out working. While they told me the name of the ranch, it was a Spanish name, and it escapes me now. But I appreciate the fact they let me enjoy their spread. It was a very slow and peaceful ride.

I was not even surprised when I turned a corner and saw four adult giraffes in a field – there are many ranches in this area with exotic wildlife on them. But seeing them in an open field was somewhat magical.

Finally I found myself back on a two lane road, and eventually back on IH-10, about 25 miles Northwest of Boerne, TX. From there it was a 45 minute ride back home, all on the Interstate. Traffic was light and people were amazingly polite about letting me pass when I needed to (although I was cruising right at the speed limit). I pulled back into my driveway just before 11am – the temperature was still below 80 degrees, so it had been a very comfortable ride.

I remove all of the ammo from the clip I keep in my 9mm. and replace the clip with another one that hasn’t been stressed recently.  I need springs that aren’t tired.  The previous clip is put into a new rotation.  But I always have two loaded clips (that’s 30 shots) if I need them.

I wash my A/C filters.  They are washable and reusable, I have two sets.

And I wash my blue jeans.

Sometimes my shirts, depending on what else is going on.  Usually I do shirts, underwear (which I usually wear) and socks (which I rarely wear) on Wed.

I check another little three shot derringer to make sure it is loaded, and ready. It’s almost a hundred years old and still just works.  You have to love quality engineering.

I am not paranoid – but I am prepared.  I am not afraid, but I am cautious.  I do not expect trouble, but I recognize it may find me.  Weapons do not make me feel powerful – but they don’t scare me.  It’s just something I am used to.  Guns have been a part of my life for almost my entire life.  I’ve been shot at, and shot back.  I’ve been shot, and shot people.  The first time I was shot I was only about twelve.  My brothers are reading this now for the first time – but they’ll know who Mike Gromer is, and they’ll realize he was crazy enough to shoot me.

He shot me from about ten feet away with his .22 caliber rifle he had just gotten as a gift.  We were on his grandparents farm (Backbreak Acres!).  We were sitting on the back glassed-in porch and he was just messing around, thinking it wasn’t loaded. It was. He nicked my left knee-cap.  I told my parents I fell ice-skating or something.  It really did look like just a bad gash – I doubt our family doctor would have known it was a gunshot even if I went to a doctor.

In any case, I also check on our birds – two canaries – and make sure they are happy.  They aren’t my responsibility, but I do like having them chirping around.  So I make sure they are not forgotten, and sometimes I let them fly around for a while.  They seem terrified to be out of their cage though, so I think I enjoy their “freedom” more than they do.

I start all my stuff.  Lawnmowers and motorcycle in the winter (and the summer, for that matter).  I let them run a bit -just like I let the birds run. 

Everything wants to feel useful, even machines.  Ignore them for too long and they’ll give up on you. 

Just like people.