17 Miles. . . me and the BRC part I

I've been riding two-up for three summers now. Last fall, I got the notion that I should get my motorcycle endorsement and be able to ride my own bike when and where I wanted to. Join a club, start a group with some local riders. It's such a keen culture. So having missed all the '08 Basic Rider Courses, I targeted the first course I could fit into in spring '09. I counted the days, read books and awesome moto-riding blogs (Better Motorcycling is the best for accurate skills development the address: http://bettermotorcycling.wordpress.com/). I was primed. That was probably my first error; there would be many more in this 3 part story. It's always a set up for divergent outcomes when one sets their hopes so high, outcomes begin to feel dream-like (that should be read: fantasy). The BRC is a 20 hour, intensive course presented by highly experienced instructors in the artful skill of riding a motorcycle, successfully (with the rubber side down, walking away from every ride). The goal is to teach the student everything one needs to know to pass the DMV driver test for motorcycles in VT. Back in April, I went to a 4 hour classroom training to get my permit. I passed the written exam with only one error. I was convinced I could take the BRC and pass the test. On Friday, June 19, I walked into the classroom at 6:15 pm ( last and late because I couldn't understand the directions they sent me). I was asked to introduce myself, why I was taking the class, and what was my experience, what kind of bike did I have. I quickly gave my name and town, my interest in pursuing driving after riding with several men "who would like to see me on my own bike, I think they're just tired of hauling me around..." Folks chuckled as was my hope, but when I stated that I did not have my own bike, and I have never driven a motorcycle, the room went silent. My instructor actually hung his head and managed to say something like "that will make things interesting..." I came into the class thinking it would be suitable for a "never-ever" like me. After all, it is the BRC, not the Advanced Rider's course... With that expectation and the self confidence that I am a good athlete, a quick learner and my brain rot seemed very stable this spring, I settled into my chair and opened my book. Filling out my name card, I noticed our table of 3 women and one man had chosen the name: the UpRights as our "study gang" At the first break, we shared stories about rides. They all had bikes, all had some experience riding. In fact, I soon learned that the other nine students all had bikes, all had "seat time". That was the first clue that I was in over my head. During the break, I phoned my biker-chauffeur-honey and choked out the words: "I feel stupid... There is a lot of technical stuff, I don't know any of it..." But I didn't feel like quitting; I committed to the class to learn: "can I ride or can I not." That was my objective. I thought I didn't care about the endorsement, that I really just wanted to learn in the safety of BRC, with excellent coaches and somebody else's bike... At 9pm, we had gotten through the first 4o questions. There were 126 in the 50 page manual. I knew all the definitions, all the jargon, all the pre-ride TCLOCS checklists, the start up and shut down protocols, the ever essential riding strategy: SEE (Search Evaluate Execute...). I had read the MSF (motorcycle safety foundation) training manual twice, highlighted all the important stuff. I found their training videos on line. I was well versed and sounded like I could do it, the instructor was feeling more confident in me. I disclosed my brain injury to him. He stated that he would make sure I understood the exercises, that we got rest breaks. I was concerned about my stamina and my gaiting/balance when I get tired. At the end of the class, I went to my hotel room hoping to sleep well and wake ready for the range...the second error in my seemingly well planned weekend. It was a warm night, no fresh air, a noisy heat pump out side, I didn't bring my coveted pillows and my sweet man couldn't join me. I went to sleep promising myself to make it to the range early, get a feel for the bikes, breathe in ~ breathe out and take the first steps to live a dream... Just be aware in this story, if there is one thing to know about me, it is how stubborn I am; remember, "love~kills~slowly". . . more to come
peace ~ ell

animal medicine

It was an ordinary day in ordinary time at an ordinary place. The sun was so bright it glistened across the ridge line, piercing the mellow clouds that drifted along. The first day of summer vacation for my kids as my younger daughter danced through the day, filling time with horses, ice cream and her beloved bike. Oh to have the freedom to pedal the days away. On such a jaunt, she came across one of life's rare memories. As she cycled westerly, she spotted something precious in the rain well aside our summer pasture. In her unhurried journey, she spotted a baby deer, nestled in the shelter of the roadside ditch. Bursting through the door, she struggled to share the frantic news; "over in the thingy, next to our road, a little deer....it's still alive, but it can't move...." earnest concern in her eyes. "How far? - let's go see.." A short walk from our door yard toward the afternoon sun revealed a beautiful work of God. A days old baby boy deer, head up, ears alert and eyes bright. His back appeared to be broken. His momma was long gone, saving herself and leaving her precious, perfect babe behind. So many thoughts collide in a time like this. All of my EMS training, animal welfare, who do I call, how to resolve this with peace and dignity for all. I explained to my daughter, "his back is broken,,, there is no saving him. If he can't be a deer and live a deer's life of joy, then we must end his suffering..." She has grown up on this farm; she has seen birth and death through all of her life. She didn't argue, she stood guard while a passing bicycler called 911. They'd send a game warden to get him. Meanwhile, I was recalling the recent passage I found about Deer as an animal guide in Native American animal medicine when my biker buddy had crossed paths with a deer a little while back. As I sat near this little fellow, admiring God's perfection in his creation, my thoughts drifted to that passage. Deer ~ gentleness ,,, the shaman value. When a deer comes into your path it is an "embrace from afar"... if the deer is leaving your path, it is the message that gentleness is the way to solve a present conflict. "Deer teaches us to use the power of gentleness to touch the hearts and minds of wounded beings who are trying to keep us from our sacred paths... Like the dappling of the fawn's coat, both the light and the dark may be loved to create gentleness and safety for those who are seeking peace. If Deer comes to you, you are being asked to find the gentleness of spirit that heals all wounds... apply gentleness to your present situation and become warm and caring...this is your tool for solving a present dilemma. When Deer is in the contrary (away from your path), it is a message to lean into your fears, love your fears as fear cannot exist in the same place that love and gentleness abide ." Strong and ancient wisdom in animal medicine. After 20 minutes, a state trooper came to dispatch the suffering babe. I saw, briefly, a flinch in his eye before he humanely ended the misery. This little fellow, baby boy deer, came to my farm by accident. Literally so; but the brief time I sat with him, hearing him bleat for his momma, taught me the power of gentle in love and life. His desire to survive, to be understood and know a safe place. The animal medicine came to me at the end of a day that was fraught with mother-daughter conflict, and struggles over duty and commitment. He was here so briefly, brave when I touched his broken back, beautiful when he looked back at me. Here for a moment in my lifetime; an excellent teacher in that moment. Fly high and away baby deer. I believe I understand, I'll try to honor your message and your memory...
thank you for this peek experience. ~ peace ~ ell

a manic miracle monday

Mondays are often a rough start after the leisure and liberty of the weekend. This Monday was guaranteed to be a corker. The moon was nearly full, the weather had been schizophrenic over the weekend and I over slept by an hour. If not for the jingle on my cel with the gregarious "rize and shine!" from my big hearted friend, I'd have been climbing out of a deeper hole to start the day. I had field trip duty for my twin boyz and if Graham is to enjoy the event, a parent must be along. So the morning prune and prep ritual for me with a fast and furious feeding for the horses and I was bolting to the school to assume my place among the parent chaperon club...with 15 minutes to spare. Awesome, not pretty but awesome. With my grinning escort in hand, we trooped out to the bus and took our reserved seat at the front. Graham likes to see where we are going. I like to chat with the driver, a long time neighbor and friend. Probably, they shouldn't let me sit there. When approaching the fork in the road on our day's journey, I persuaded him to take the "road less traveled".... back roads meandering the countryside of five towns, bisecting farms and villages unfamiliar to our teachers, fellow parents and the driver. It took us a bit out of the way, 2o minutes longer and revealed the nature of the captive grown ups along for the ride. It's always a study of humanity to observe people who have no choice about their circumstance nor the direction they are being taken. For me, it was a chance for a scenic adventure through Vermont's famed wonderland. Like Alice in a world of green velveteen, I was enchanted by the Vermont vernacular. Small towns unscathed by strip malls and box stores. While I was happily navigating the country-way to town, fellow adults were filling with angst, venting their disquieted thoughts and busily counting their perception of wasted minutes in this frivolous route of travel and not in lines at the destination. Blame me, I'm a type Z personality, barely on the scale of measure for predictability. In my world, its all about the journey, not so much the destination. The rest of the 46 passengers seemed to be type A. After a few barbed jokes, quips and quirks, we arrived only 15 minutes behind schedule to the beautiful Shelburne Farms in Shelburne Vermont. A spectacular farm of the Victorian Era which is now open to the public for survival sake. It is magnificent in architecture, both man and God's. We all got on the tractor driven wagon with barely an inch of bench space to spare. Graham loved the windy ride. Spanning the easterly shores of Lake Champlain, this farm offered wind and lots of it. This is Graham's favorite element. He played with chickens and even a draft horse with an ample blond mane and then it was time to remount the bus. Upon arriving at the fork in the return journey, the driver was directed with a chorus of "LEFT!" leaving me a meek "no comment" for the return venture home. It was faster, but heavy traffic and too many unkind drivers to suit me. Time being of the essence, we had to make hast to the end of school day for children's return to their homes. My quiet remark to the driver, "at least they saw some real farms on the way in, real herds of cows and real mud and manure..."Dismounting the yellow field trip bus, Graham was directed into school only to remount another bus home; this time with out me. He was devastated, not his expectation and inconsolable in his disappointment he spiraled into an aggressive meltdown. I've seen this all too frequently this school year. As a non-verbal child, he cannot speak his thoughts. He can only act on his purest impulses. As I watched four staff people surround him, I watched my precious boy in crisis. Tears, screams, self injuries. I entered the school meeting awaiting me and asked, "now will you come and see this! He is in crisis, it happens almost daily, he needs help, we need a plan... don't say that you haven't seen it because you see it now...." Not one of the premium priced "professionals" left their comfortable chairs to even observe my child in crisis. Any respect I had for them, evaporated in that moment. A child in crisis, a parent pleading for help, and a room full of unresponsive experts. God sees everything, by His grace, they will be gone by next school year. After trudging through that hour long meeting of their self lauding and blaming of the victim, I headed home to hug my boy and face my neglected chores of the day. Just to make the Monday more manic, my round bale hay supplier phoned to say he had no way to deliver as he was stuck in Canada. No hay, eleven hungry, bickering horses and the end of a stressful afternoon. Breathe in ~ Breath out... I'll make some calls, grab some small square bales for the night... Wishing for the day to simply end, the farm phone rang; my neighbor "had some hay to hot to put in his mow...could I take it..." yes! Some hay was 100 bales of premium first cut, delivered and stacked in front of my barn. Hungry horses calling for their portion and five adults to stack the hefty bales. My Monday started lovely, ran a bit off course with me and ended beautifully. God is good; He has surrounded me with loving, caring and giving people. It makes the rough days doable; it reminds me to visit the same kindness unto those in need of such... "only the poor understand the luxury of giving..." ~ George Elliot. I will do as I can to help... God showed me the difference between those who see by His glory and those who see by their own... "to live every day in the service of Jesus Christ..." that is my mission... it was a manic, miracle Monday, perfect in every way.
luv and peace ~ ell