outlaw bike and old ladies

photo by Harley-Davidson Indian World

Whoa, this photo triggered an instant flash back. Some years ago, bikerman and I stopped at Onion Flats in Bethel VT. A warm summer evening, the foodie house was filled with people young and old. Our vintage Harley was the only bike in the crowed lot. Roiling the hard-pipes thunder before shutting the shovelhead down, everyone turned their heads to the rumble. In front of the bike, a little boy, clasping his grandma's hand,  stood wide-eyed at the shiney bike and leathered-up riders. When he removed his helmut, bikerman asked the small child, "if he'd like to sit on the motorcycle..." To which the child shrieked, shaking his head NO! and ran behind his Grandma. She on the other hand, was smiling large and took a step toward the bike. . . I think she must have wanted a ride on that old skool, outlaw bike..... gotta watch out for them old ladies, they're bold.

bikerman on his old skool '84 lo ride

the day I forgot my camera, riding naked

my little Pentax in action

Disoriented and a little lost, I missed the lens and looking for good subject matter to memorialise our motorcycle escape of the day. As the pillion, it's what I do. Pillion's expected duties:  look good on the bike, buy lunch, take pictures.....and most recently, don't start any fights.

 When it was proven in a 2008 BRC motorcycle class,  I couldn't and shouldn't drive a 2-wheeled cycle on my own, I searched for and rode with many kind motorcycle enthusiasts who offered a second seat and shared the ride. Making a record of the outing was a subtle way to insert myself into the motorcycling community. It has evolved into a psuedo-elite assignment that validates my thirst for this culture of  challenge, resilience and  the other adventures. But  then a day came when I didn't have my trusty, tiny Pentax adventure camera; left behind in my son's back pack, it would not be back in my hands nor on a ride for a week.

Nonplussed at first, my empty pocket was  merely a brief distraction; until he started the engine and the bike rumbled to life. The first few feet of rolling out the door yard felt oddly unfamiliar to me. Then refreshingly intimate as  my attention was more focused on my bikerman chauffeur, now held with both of my hands, the lo ride motor-sickle steady and sure beneath us, my heightened senses of riding 'naked' (at least visually naked) filled my internal moment of re-adjustment. One layer , my small camera, removed and I was flying through the vast surround of green, and wind, breathing wholly  the familiar smells of engine heat, biker leathers and sweat-stink helmets. I, boots hooked on the chrome pegs, grooving with my driver's every lean and list of his vintage bike as we threaded potholed lanes, rounded sweeping corners, and brushed arching trees pushing into our lane, without the distraction of composing a picture, was filled with a rush of gratitude.

 Riding on a motorcycle bathes your senses in the all of it. Keeping my little camera in my hand or up to my eye was as dense a filter as a suit of armor. While it taught me to view the scene from the perspective of a framed and finite image, which in time,  honed my mind's eye for that capture, it often left me deeply disappointed that the vast enormity of the sky or the expanse of mountain or meadow scapes, the depth of color and weight of the air,  was left out of the captured picture. My photos are meant to stimulate imagination of voyeurs or to evoke a latent, complex memory within our ride; both of which seem to elicit the dimension  of time and space that we travelled  through.

 Riding naked, visually naked, was a rebirth into the censorial infinity of motorcycle riding. Travellers through time and space, awakened to every fragile element of living...that's why we ride and why I some times won't take pictures.
                                                    ~ luv, peace and love ~ el

special thanks to the biker chauffeurs who shared the ride, sparking a romance for motorcycling and with deepest gratitude for my bikerman who rolls the sentimental journeys with the one he calls, Pillion Resa (my biker name) 

smarter than a horse, the zen of autism

   He is my horse-loving-child. With his blue eyes and rosy face, he smiles large when he's around our horses. There is one horse that is especially tolerant of his random sounds and awkward body language; Cam's Best Two, or just Cam to our family. He seemingly enjoys his solo time on the lawn, without our small herd bossing his every move,  for the grass. His only competition for peaceful grazing is Graham exerting his unique style of horsemanship upon him as clips the tender spring greens across the lawn, soaking up the boy's persistent attention.
   When the boy wants to "play" with the horse, he'll bring me the lead rope and say "h--ppp" [help] cueing me to hook the line to Cam's halter so he can be coerced  into Graham's world. This is a world that hosts common ground for both boy and horse. Graham's classic autism is a lot like a horse in the way they both navigate life around them. They are both creatures of fight or flight. Both are bound to their rules governed by sensory processing that defines their sense of safety, sense of trust where no speech is required to communicate. Horses learn by doing, its how they survive and so does my autist son.
   Stepping into the sunny glow of the spring day, stepping through hundreds of blooming dandelions, I step to the red bay horse  who is so mellow he doesn't  waiver as I clip the hasp to the loose chin-ring of his halter. Graham is delighted, jumping in place as he utters his trademark "deddle-deddle-deddle..." "Calm body and quiet voice Graham, gotta be calm around horses...", I soothe to them both.
   I hand him  the rope and tell him to go ahead, "take Cam for a walk." and I retreat to a chair nearby where I watch the pair begin their negotiation for a walk about.

let's go for a walk

wishing for a walk-about

Graham tries to blow him forward

he tries a nudge with his elbow

next a nudge with the knotted rope

a bit of modelling with a finger walk

more negotiation

a final elbow nudge

Graham in all his desire is competing with the sweet succulent  grasses and dandelions all bright with the promise that spring unfolds; Cam wants to eat, not walk and so the conversation begins.

   Graham tries to cue the horse of his desired jaunt,  beginning with wishful thinking and the power of intention. No sale, the horse is not impressed with the secret missives of the boy. He offers a puff of air to the horse's barrel, as if to move him the way he can move a bubble drifting in the air. Not a single hoof moves, in any direction. More giggles and big smiles and Graham moves a step back to the horse's flank and offers a very gentle elbow into the warm freshly scrubbed hide. The dappled red bay, a blood bay to the color enthusiasts of the horse world, does not yield a single step. The young horseman glides back toward the front of the horse and tries a nudge with the butt-end of the knotted lead rope; still no movement in the horse's stance.
  But the boy doesn't give up, nor show discord with his horse. No impatient threats nor harsh words are commanded. Instead he resumes the negotiation with gesticulating hands that appear to convey walking-fingers as a demonstration to motivate the horse. No luck, the lush grass is to provocative for the horse. Even though a generous 20 minutes have lapsed, Graham is not discouraged. So he repeats some nudging cues and finally Cam lifts his head to nip a fly and the boy steps forward cueing one step by the horse.
   This continues for much of an hour but no one is in a rush, the birdsong in the trees above the yard is melodic and cheerful to pass the time with. Graham is seemingly happy to be with his horse, holding the very end of the candy-cane twist of the soft cotton lead. I gaze at the bucolic scene and marvel at the restive nature of this time casually spent. A boy and his horse negotiating a walk-about on very gentle terms. It's very good medicine in our world spinning at a  run-away pace and I drink it up wholly. I love when I am allowed into Graham's world where there is no haste.
   Quietly, I lift out of the chair, and over to the back of the horse and give a light tap on his croop sending him into a lazy walk. Graham is delighted and steps up to the front of his horse and they walk a few steps toward the back yard. Only 10 steps perhaps but that was enough to inspire the horse to follow the boy and take a short walk-about. In this place, Graham is the leader, the horse follows him and he is in charge. Someone is playing with him, following his ideas. A moment in time where its all figured out and Graham has a friend. In this world where our family lives autism, this is something so very precious to witness. I thank God that horses live long lives, and I snap some more videos of the young horseman with his steed.
https://youtu.be/Dgk0E3Qo1ok

 at the end of the day perseverance wins making for  a very happy boy.
 luv, peace, love ~ ell

 “It’s not that I’m so smart, it’s just that I stay with problems longer.”~ Albert Einstein

there is zen in autism when its paired with a horse

...move your feet, the power is in the process... flash forward 2015

    I have not rescued a horse since 2013, I have not actively trained a horse since 2010. I was feeling rusty in my skill set of teaching horses and their people when I had the chance to help an accomplished horse-friend with her new horse today.  A young, ginger mare of handy size and correct confirmation with a bright eye, nick-named lil' red.
   We did some saddle fitting with two distinctly different saddle styles, one a dressage type and the other a jumping type. I  showed how an English saddle should not look on the little sweet mare with thick withers and then how the other fit well; ginger in its color it matched the mare's copper coat with style and comfort.
   Like all young horses, she had a very short attention span and we needed to work quickly and deftly in the multi-purpose dooryard.

my space~her space

As I spent a few moments establishing her space, my space...she kept reaching for grass and got frustrated with my blocking her efforts. She clenched her jaw and I smiled as she showed me a flash of my beloved mare Fable, sassy yet loyal. This is going to be a lovely mount.

the jumping saddle fits very well

 Footing was recovering from spring's mud-thaw season and that's trippy for me. But the handy mare, just post-being-a-filly, did her best. We determined the Ovation jumping saddle was an ideal fit for the horse and next wanted my tallish, willowy friend to have a sit and see for her comfort in the saddle; it must fit her as well as her horse.. Deanna asked if she should mount from a block as her mare was not too tall, she could swing up from the turf. I suggested a block is always better for your saddle's tree, especially English saddles as they don't have a lot of tree to support the horse's back and you don't want to twist it from repeated mounts from the ground.
  We proceeded to the round pen and brought along the 3 step mounting block. "...has lil' red had any practice standing easily beside it?" "Not really..." We decided to start with a lesson in standing at the block properly. She had a rope halter clipped with a "natural horsemanship" lead rope. I've little experience with a heavy and long line on a horse and struggled with the coil in my left hand. Deanna stepped in and began moving the inexperienced horse around, but struggled to fit the horse by the block; to stand her broadside with the top step, standing on a relaxed lead. I advised that its worth it to teach a horse to lead up and stand quietly beside a block and practice both sides; its a good lesson in trust and self discipline for any horse.
  In my head, I’m thinking she's a young horse with limited experience and a swift moving attention span,  so I’d like to see her quiet and breathing easy. I wanted to share so many things about the first mount. how it needs to be relaxed, almost boring for the horse. We don't want to induce a bad experience here. I see more injuries for riders at the mount/dismount time of a ride. people rush, let the horse jig, or crow hop or freeze. All end badly and the horse is reinforced, unintentionally, that rider up or down is a bad thing.
  Lil' Red struggled with the new info; I struggled with the heat as I stumbled around. She followed my aimless moves; good little soul she is. I just wanted her to move her feet, to walk with me, any manner of direction; just she in her space so I could have mine. We went very slow, pausing often so I could rebalance myself. But she stayed with me. We got to the block and she stood on a slack line. Success for step 1a,b,c,d,e.

using my cane as a target

  We were all melting in the shadeless spring sun; My friend pulled the saddle and let it flop off the rookie horse just to add some resiliency training and let her chose her distance from us. Lingering at the block while she nibbled some grass, we swapped stories  laughing and clapped hands startling the grazing mare. She crow hopped big; off all four feet in sudden fright. That was the best part of the lesson, she got scared, recovered and realized she could survive random, weird moments. I made that point out loud, "...don't be afraid of making mistakes because, as long as no one gets hurt, we all learn that we can survive..." it makes us all more confident, more savvy. These incidental learning moments are the most golden of lessons;  it's very hard to choreograph, never mind anticipate, them(teaching the mare a reset button will come later).
  Satisfied with our simple accomplishment, it took all my concentration to walk back to the dooryard; I know my physical limits and had maxed them out in this short time. I'm no longer light on my feet or deft with the wand and lead-rope in my hands...no surprise to me. But, I was delighted to know that I recognized every sign in her body language, every movement in her confirmation, every message in her affect. Given cooler temps and lighter aids, I could offer her plenty to learn. If my friend is willing, I could teach her how to teach her lil' red horse.
  Walking away with that deeply warm familiar feeling of knowing what to do and how to do it, I smiled to myself realizing I may have lost my walk, but I have not lost my touch; thank you lil' red for teaching me that.

    luv, peace, love ~ ell
this one is for the horses who teach without judging with every breath they take.

photos courtesy of Deanna Stoppler lady centaur and farrier extrodinaire