This story goes back as far as the early 70s, long before I met Melodie but not before I first met a bicycle. For many troubled youths bicycling became an escape from a rough family life. They would travel into worlds unknown for as long as they could before returning home to a turbulent life. This was not the case for me.
I loved being on a bike for the simple joy of having the air blow in my face. I love to hear the sounds and smell the smells. I don’t know, maybe I’m part cocker spaniel or something. Anyway, I have had a bike (or 2 or 3) ever since I was old enough to ride “a two wheeler”. I dreamed of one day taking my bike on the open road. I had little, ok no, idea of what that entailed; but I was going to do it someday.
That day finally arrived in 1971, the summer between my years at James Monroe Jr. High and Burroughs High School. I don’t really recall where the genesis for this trip was but at some point my friend, Gary Woods, and I decided we would take a bike trip. I was 14 years old and Gary was 13 years old. Neither of us had a bike worthy of going but that didn’t deter us. Mine, was actually my sister Nancy’s bike, an old 10-speed Schwinn that she had paid $10 for at a yard sale.
We didn’t have modern day “panniers” which are bags that are attached to the frame near each wheel, so we improvised with what we knew. Being avid backpackers we simply devised a plan to secure my backpack to the bike rack on the rear. Dad found some angle metal that allowed us to cut and fashion the perfect solution. Once completed, I could take my backpack, set it on the base of the frame, just above the rear wheel, and strap it to the uprights. Gary’s bike came over for the same retrofit job. Once loaded this 25-30 pound pack made the bike extremely heavy and unstable, the entire weight of it all resting on what were probably $.15 bolts (only 3) attached to the bike frame.
Our plan, albeit loosely defined, was to get dropped of at Lone Pine where we would camp and fish for a few days and then we would ride our bikes back to Ridgecrest, a distance of 80 miles. The route would be Hwy 395, which even now is not a route I would call safe. Then it was mostly a 2-lane road with an occasional 3rd center lane for passing. The “bike lane” then and now could not have been more than 4 feet wide at its most generous point.
My dad drove us to Lone Pine on the appointed day and dropped us off at Tuttle Creek Campground, just about ¾ of a mile from the town center. There was a stream for fresh water and bathrooms nearby. The proximity of the town would facilitate both food and entertainment. We each had about $20 for the 4-day trip, but since we expected to catch and eat most of our dinners that seemed very doable.
We explored town and many of the side streets on our bikes. One day we rode our bikes about 4 miles up Whitney Portal Road to where we found excellent fishing. We both caught our maximum, coasted back to our camp, unloaded and head back up to do it again. Our youthfulness knew no limits of energy. One day we rode north to Independence, a distance of 32 miles round trip, just to eat a burger and milk shake. I don’t remember if the burger joint was our destination or simply what we did to once we arrived at the smaller town and county seat.
For four days and three nights we had an absolute blast. There were no beds to make, certainly no lawns to mow but best of all we were our own captains. We rode when we wanted, ate when we wanted, slept when we wanted and arose when we were good and ready. However there came a time when we were expected to be home so we prepared ourselves for the ride south.
We woke early that day and packed up our equipment and loaded them on the bikes. This was really going to be our first effort to ride any considerable distance with the racks fully loaded. After a few miles I knew this was going to be tougher than expected. Although we each had one water bottle fitted snuggly in a new bottle cage recently purchased from Western Auto on China Lake Blvd, we had absolutely no training; we had no tools or extra equipment for repairs and to top it off we didn’t have a two pennies to rub together.
I think my most vivid memory is of the heat and my unquenchable thirst. My water bottle became bone dry after 10 miles or so. At one point we were coasting down a hill and saw some greenery along side the road. There were a few cars pulled over there so we figured it must be a rest area of sorts and would certainly yield us more water for our bottles. We stopped. Not only was there no water to be had, we also lost all of our downhill momentum in the failed effort.
We continued on and after 20 miles we were nearing Cartago. There wasn’t much there, and certainly less today, except an auto repair shop and a few homes. About a mile from town I spotted and retrieved from the side of the road an 8-inch Crescent Wrench that someone had the misfortune of losing. I put it in my pocket for safekeeping.
Just as we were approaching Cartago part of the framework my dad and I had fashioned broke. This loose piece wanted to work its way into my spokes and made riding impossible. Now, you probably think that I’m going to tell you the wrench I found allowed me to fix the problem and triumphantly finish the ride. Not so. Who do you think I was, a 14-year old MacGyver?
The breakdown was a big problem. It quickly became evident that this was a showstopper. Gary and I never talked about it but I believe both of us were somewhat relieved that we had an excuse to abandon the trip. In our youthful excitement we had clearly bitten off more than we could chew or swallow. Today I wonder if our parents knew this and were willing to simply let us learn a life lesson. If not, then I have to ask, “Mom and Dad, what were you thinking?” Were you crazy? We were just 13 and 14.
Well, we limped our way into town and pulled into the auto repair shop. The mechanic took time to look at our problem and agreed there was no way to repair it without the likelihood that it would fail again just 5 miles down the road. We were going to have to call home to get rescued.
We had no money……but I did have that wrench. With little hesitation I accepted the offer from the mechanic to trade that wrench for 4 quarters. It was enough to make the call home and buy each of us a pop to quench our thirst while we waited for the ride to show.
I really wish I had pictures from this trip, as it was such a blast. Was it a failure? In some respects yes, and in other respects it was a launching pad to bigger and better things. I have continued to cycle since those days and have had much more success at planning and executing successful trips. Please see http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/ttfc for an example. Thanks for joining me on this adventure.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
It’s a Burger To Go
Each year the BFD would host an awards dinner. We would take all of the engines out of the main bay at Station 1, sweep, mop, set up tables and chairs and throw ourselves a party. This was the one and only time when alcohol was available at the firehouse, as wine was served that night. You might think it’s stupid for the one and only fire department in town to start drinking together but it wasn’t really that way. There was always about 15 or 20 men who didn’t drink at any time and this was no exception. Addtionally there were always designated firemen who were not allowed to leave the city limits. We called this “on standby” and this assignment rotated every 2 weeks. These 5 men had to stay at the firehouse even if the rest of us left the city limits. The logic being that we needed to be able to respond with a full engine company to the city limits at any given time. If you were designated as “on standby” during this dinner you also couldn’t drink. So, out of 55 firemen there were nearly half there that didn’t drink wine that night. Now that I have managed to digress a bit, I’ll continue.
This special awards dinner was the culminating night of the year for everyone. Awards and promotions were given and we wanted to honor each other and do so in front of our families that supported us throughout the year. I remember that every year as the event approached, Phil Moxley, the fire chief would always remind us to bring our families and guests in this manner, “Bring your wife or your girlfriend, but please don’t bring both. We don’t need that kind of mess that night”.
Here is another digression that I must take. At this dinner there were nearly 100 -120 people. Some had attended the dinner for years, others were new to the department or had just recently married or begun dating a fireman, but it was a huge crowd. Every year, Stan Lloyd, the Assistant Fire Chief would get up and without notes introduce everyone in attendance. He would simply go down the tables and say “This is Steve Perkins and his wife Melodie, next to them is Ray Walker and his date, Susan. Across from them is longtime friend of the fire department and widow of…..”, until everyone in that room was introduced. Occasionally he’d have to pause to remember a name of someone he had just met that night, but he’d do an amazing job. At the end there would be an applause. It was awesome.
Anyway, because the dinner was hosted by the members, we created a committee of about 5 guys to plan and present the awards, etc. For many years I was on that committee and enjoyed taking the time to plan and prepare. This required about 5 or 6 meetings in the months just proceeding the dinner. One Tuesday night I had barely made it home from work in time for the meeting so I simply picked up a couple of burgers and arrived just as the meeting started.
We began our discussion and I started chowing down my first burger. It was so good, because I was so hungry. I was only a few bites into it when our pagers went off, “Attention Bishop Volunteers, Attention Bishop Volunteers, please respond to an auto accident, with possible extrication at North Sierra Highway and Tu Su Lane.” Before the announcement was finished we were all scrambling for the trucks. I ended up dressed and in the driver’s seat of Engine 5, our utility vehicle. I fired it up and realized since we were at the station it was still going to 2-3 minutes for enough men to staff that rig before I could roll. I hopped out, leaving Frank Carr in the passenger side and ran back and got my 2 burgers.
Shortly we had our crew and headed north on Main Street, full lights, siren and air horn, which by the way is so fun you wouldn’t believe it.
After a few blocks Frank looked over at me and said, “What are you doing?” It was at that point I realized I was driving code 3 with one hand and eating my burger with the other. I just looked him and said, “it’s a burger to go”, reached in the pocket of my jacket, pulled out my second and offered it up. “Do you want one?”
At this point we started laughing so hard at our ridiculous situation that it made it very tough to continue, but we managed to settle down by the time we had to pick up the radio and transmit, “Engine 5 to Bishop Base, We are on scene and in service”.
This special awards dinner was the culminating night of the year for everyone. Awards and promotions were given and we wanted to honor each other and do so in front of our families that supported us throughout the year. I remember that every year as the event approached, Phil Moxley, the fire chief would always remind us to bring our families and guests in this manner, “Bring your wife or your girlfriend, but please don’t bring both. We don’t need that kind of mess that night”.
Here is another digression that I must take. At this dinner there were nearly 100 -120 people. Some had attended the dinner for years, others were new to the department or had just recently married or begun dating a fireman, but it was a huge crowd. Every year, Stan Lloyd, the Assistant Fire Chief would get up and without notes introduce everyone in attendance. He would simply go down the tables and say “This is Steve Perkins and his wife Melodie, next to them is Ray Walker and his date, Susan. Across from them is longtime friend of the fire department and widow of…..”, until everyone in that room was introduced. Occasionally he’d have to pause to remember a name of someone he had just met that night, but he’d do an amazing job. At the end there would be an applause. It was awesome.
Anyway, because the dinner was hosted by the members, we created a committee of about 5 guys to plan and present the awards, etc. For many years I was on that committee and enjoyed taking the time to plan and prepare. This required about 5 or 6 meetings in the months just proceeding the dinner. One Tuesday night I had barely made it home from work in time for the meeting so I simply picked up a couple of burgers and arrived just as the meeting started.
We began our discussion and I started chowing down my first burger. It was so good, because I was so hungry. I was only a few bites into it when our pagers went off, “Attention Bishop Volunteers, Attention Bishop Volunteers, please respond to an auto accident, with possible extrication at North Sierra Highway and Tu Su Lane.” Before the announcement was finished we were all scrambling for the trucks. I ended up dressed and in the driver’s seat of Engine 5, our utility vehicle. I fired it up and realized since we were at the station it was still going to 2-3 minutes for enough men to staff that rig before I could roll. I hopped out, leaving Frank Carr in the passenger side and ran back and got my 2 burgers.
Shortly we had our crew and headed north on Main Street, full lights, siren and air horn, which by the way is so fun you wouldn’t believe it.
After a few blocks Frank looked over at me and said, “What are you doing?” It was at that point I realized I was driving code 3 with one hand and eating my burger with the other. I just looked him and said, “it’s a burger to go”, reached in the pocket of my jacket, pulled out my second and offered it up. “Do you want one?”
At this point we started laughing so hard at our ridiculous situation that it made it very tough to continue, but we managed to settle down by the time we had to pick up the radio and transmit, “Engine 5 to Bishop Base, We are on scene and in service”.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
A sheepish Standby Call
I should have known this was going to be different. It was very unusual for my fire pager to go off and request a crew without being specific what the need was. This was one of those unusual calls.
It began about 2:00 in the morning. I don’t recall what year, but it was a wintery night. My pager went off like this, “Attention Bishop Volunteers, Attention Bishop Volunteers, We need a standby crew to report to Station 1 for assignment”. My assumption was that we were receiving snow and needed to chain up trucks “just in case”.
I got dressed into my turnouts and drove to the firehouse with a bit less urgency than normal. My thoughts raced as questions entered my mind. If we needed to chain trucks, wouldn’t we do so at all 3 stations? And, how come I don’t see any snow at all?
I arrived at station 1 within minutes of the call. I stood and waited with the others until Chief Phil Moxley explained our assignment. North of town there was a wide sweeping turn near the “town” of Laws. It was a turn that could be taken at 50 mph, but not on an icy night. This particular night a tractor and trailer rig hauling a load of sheep was heading south and had not successfully negotiated this turn. It was on its side with the sheep trapped in the trailer. We needed to get the sheep out before a Class 1 wrecker could even attempt to right it.
We arrived on scene to find the scene exactly as described. There were about 200 sheep in this trailer that lay on its side. We had access to the side door but because the way the trailer was, that door was about 8 feet in the air. There was no way we could lift that many sheep to safety.
We made the decision to cut a section out of the back of the trailer, using a metal cutting saw blade and the Jaws of Life. It was harder work than imagined and we only opened a hole large enough to send small men in and sheep out. There was no way these sheep would exit on their own. Many sheep had not survived the accident and others were trapped beneath them. Those that were free were so scared from the accident and then from the equipment we used that they weren’t going anywhere near the hole we had just created.
We sent 3 men in; John Williamson, Dick Weller and Donny Kunze. All 3 were about 5’6” or so and weighed about 150 lbs. The sheep were scared beyond imagination. Most had urinated on themselves or each other. Add that smell to the natural sweet smell of 200 sheep, coupled with a cold crisp windless night and you had a situation that was nearly unbearable. It was great to be 6’1” at that time because the work inside the trailer was horrific.
My job along with the other 15 or so guys was to herd the sheep as they exited. Once the 3 men inside got a “victim” outside, the sheep would run the first direction it saw, which in most cases was back towards the highway. We had to grab and stop them, settle them down and give them a shove back towards the rest of the herd that was slowly growing about 75 yards from US Hwy 6.
After about 4 or 5 hours, we eventually extricated all of the living sheep but there were more than 80 that did not survive. Even though they were “just sheep” it remains a tragedy that could have been avoided by a more cautious driver.
Oh…my turnouts were not allowed in the house for weeks. They continued to smell like sheep urine and the only way to resolve this was to continuously scrub them and let them sit in the sun day after day after day, until the smell was gone.
It began about 2:00 in the morning. I don’t recall what year, but it was a wintery night. My pager went off like this, “Attention Bishop Volunteers, Attention Bishop Volunteers, We need a standby crew to report to Station 1 for assignment”. My assumption was that we were receiving snow and needed to chain up trucks “just in case”.
I got dressed into my turnouts and drove to the firehouse with a bit less urgency than normal. My thoughts raced as questions entered my mind. If we needed to chain trucks, wouldn’t we do so at all 3 stations? And, how come I don’t see any snow at all?
I arrived at station 1 within minutes of the call. I stood and waited with the others until Chief Phil Moxley explained our assignment. North of town there was a wide sweeping turn near the “town” of Laws. It was a turn that could be taken at 50 mph, but not on an icy night. This particular night a tractor and trailer rig hauling a load of sheep was heading south and had not successfully negotiated this turn. It was on its side with the sheep trapped in the trailer. We needed to get the sheep out before a Class 1 wrecker could even attempt to right it.
We arrived on scene to find the scene exactly as described. There were about 200 sheep in this trailer that lay on its side. We had access to the side door but because the way the trailer was, that door was about 8 feet in the air. There was no way we could lift that many sheep to safety.
We made the decision to cut a section out of the back of the trailer, using a metal cutting saw blade and the Jaws of Life. It was harder work than imagined and we only opened a hole large enough to send small men in and sheep out. There was no way these sheep would exit on their own. Many sheep had not survived the accident and others were trapped beneath them. Those that were free were so scared from the accident and then from the equipment we used that they weren’t going anywhere near the hole we had just created.
We sent 3 men in; John Williamson, Dick Weller and Donny Kunze. All 3 were about 5’6” or so and weighed about 150 lbs. The sheep were scared beyond imagination. Most had urinated on themselves or each other. Add that smell to the natural sweet smell of 200 sheep, coupled with a cold crisp windless night and you had a situation that was nearly unbearable. It was great to be 6’1” at that time because the work inside the trailer was horrific.
My job along with the other 15 or so guys was to herd the sheep as they exited. Once the 3 men inside got a “victim” outside, the sheep would run the first direction it saw, which in most cases was back towards the highway. We had to grab and stop them, settle them down and give them a shove back towards the rest of the herd that was slowly growing about 75 yards from US Hwy 6.
After about 4 or 5 hours, we eventually extricated all of the living sheep but there were more than 80 that did not survive. Even though they were “just sheep” it remains a tragedy that could have been avoided by a more cautious driver.
Oh…my turnouts were not allowed in the house for weeks. They continued to smell like sheep urine and the only way to resolve this was to continuously scrub them and let them sit in the sun day after day after day, until the smell was gone.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Happy Birthday Melodie - 2009
Wow…it wasn’t easy converting my thoughts about Alessandra to words. This task however may prove to be impossible. Alas, challenging as it may be, I must try. There is no way that I can write a tribute to my wife in a page or two, but I will try my best to convey through images some of our experiences.
I first met Melodie in the fall of 1973. She was a 14 year old, giggly, outgoing freshman in high school. I, on the other hand, was a sophisticated junior. We were introduced by Melodie’s sister Candy, whom we lost to an untimely death in April 2005. It was my opinion that she was about the cutest girl to ever step foot on that campus. I didn’t let on to that but simply kept that opinion stored away.
Melodie & her mother Charlotte - 1976
I first met Melodie in the fall of 1973. She was a 14 year old, giggly, outgoing freshman in high school. I, on the other hand, was a sophisticated junior. We were introduced by Melodie’s sister Candy, whom we lost to an untimely death in April 2005. It was my opinion that she was about the cutest girl to ever step foot on that campus. I didn’t let on to that but simply kept that opinion stored away.
Melodie & her mother Charlotte - 1976
My best friend, Gary Tharp, and I would go to the campus early enough to sit down in the main portion of “The Quad”. Like most of our days we had no real purpose, other than to entertain ourselves at anyone else’s expense.
Melodie and her seminary carpool would arrive on campus shortly there after and walk past us. Occasionally she would stop to say hi, or wave as she passed, always with that awesome smile that has brought me so much joy over the years. One day after she gave me an encouraging look, I turned to my friend and said, “I’m gonna marry that girl someday.”
Our friendship continued for the next few years, most of that time spent somewhere between good acquaintances and friends. Let me just say that even though we had a few common interests, we ran in different circles.
After my High School graduation, I left town and went to Bakersfield to work and attend college. I returned to Ridgecrest (R/C) in the early fall of 1976 and spent much of my leisure time with my very good friend Dave Colpitts.
Melodie in front of my pickup - 1977
One evening Dave and I were walking through K-Mart when this same giggly, outgoing, now 17 year old senior literally jumped out from behind a clothing rack to stop me. She had seen me approaching and wanted to be sure to say “hi”. Well in the midst of our conversation she asked how long I had been back in R/C. When I replied, “since September”, she quickly retorted with these exact words. “You’ve been back for 4 months and you haven’t called me yet?” I stumbled out a befuddled reply, “er, I guess I’ll have to”. She confidently said, “Yes, it’s in the phonebook, on Coral”. She then turned on her toes and walked away.
Even with that obvious provocation, it took me 3 weeks to muster the courage to call her. Well I did and we had our first date on January 25, 1977 when we went to see the movie “Noah’s Ark” which was showing at the Ridge Theater.
We were inseparable for many weeks until I moved north to Bishop California where I had started a job as a firefighter with the California Dept. of Forestry. Unfortunately time and distance caused us to break it off after months of a “long distance” relationship. A work injury and 2 subsequent surgeries brought me back to R/C for recuperation later that year.
Melodie at my parents house - 1977 (no wonder I was twitterpated, sheeze)
I got in touch with her and she came by for a visit with her friend Kathy Kruse. It must have been extremely awkward for Kathy, because I felt there was this instant spark and rekindle between us and it seem like Kathy wasn’t even there as we visited.
Well, we’ve been together ever since. We were engaged in 1978 and married in 1979. Our union has brought me immense joy and satisfaction. Melodie has always been a blast to be with, always with a positive attitude. Never has there been a worry about what her mood would be like. She is fun, laughable, loveable, and beautiful beyond looks, caring, giving, and selfless.
Melodie in San Diego - 1978
We celebrated 30 years (28 beautiful years, not bad out of 30) just last April. I wonder how and why she invested so much in me. I’ll never understand her commitment to me but will always appreciate it. She is my rock, my buddy and pal, my partner in crime, my cycling mate, and the one who keeps me motivated. She has provided me with 3 daughters that bring such joy and blessings into my life.
Melodie & first fish - 1979 Bishop California
So, Melodie , Happy Birthday**. I love you….looking forward to many more of these great years with you.
(** Editorial note: This was posted one day late ‘cause yesterday was just crazy busy.)
Melodie and her seminary carpool would arrive on campus shortly there after and walk past us. Occasionally she would stop to say hi, or wave as she passed, always with that awesome smile that has brought me so much joy over the years. One day after she gave me an encouraging look, I turned to my friend and said, “I’m gonna marry that girl someday.”
Our friendship continued for the next few years, most of that time spent somewhere between good acquaintances and friends. Let me just say that even though we had a few common interests, we ran in different circles.
After my High School graduation, I left town and went to Bakersfield to work and attend college. I returned to Ridgecrest (R/C) in the early fall of 1976 and spent much of my leisure time with my very good friend Dave Colpitts.
Melodie in front of my pickup - 1977
One evening Dave and I were walking through K-Mart when this same giggly, outgoing, now 17 year old senior literally jumped out from behind a clothing rack to stop me. She had seen me approaching and wanted to be sure to say “hi”. Well in the midst of our conversation she asked how long I had been back in R/C. When I replied, “since September”, she quickly retorted with these exact words. “You’ve been back for 4 months and you haven’t called me yet?” I stumbled out a befuddled reply, “er, I guess I’ll have to”. She confidently said, “Yes, it’s in the phonebook, on Coral”. She then turned on her toes and walked away.
Even with that obvious provocation, it took me 3 weeks to muster the courage to call her. Well I did and we had our first date on January 25, 1977 when we went to see the movie “Noah’s Ark” which was showing at the Ridge Theater.
We were inseparable for many weeks until I moved north to Bishop California where I had started a job as a firefighter with the California Dept. of Forestry. Unfortunately time and distance caused us to break it off after months of a “long distance” relationship. A work injury and 2 subsequent surgeries brought me back to R/C for recuperation later that year.
Melodie at my parents house - 1977 (no wonder I was twitterpated, sheeze)
I got in touch with her and she came by for a visit with her friend Kathy Kruse. It must have been extremely awkward for Kathy, because I felt there was this instant spark and rekindle between us and it seem like Kathy wasn’t even there as we visited.
Well, we’ve been together ever since. We were engaged in 1978 and married in 1979. Our union has brought me immense joy and satisfaction. Melodie has always been a blast to be with, always with a positive attitude. Never has there been a worry about what her mood would be like. She is fun, laughable, loveable, and beautiful beyond looks, caring, giving, and selfless.
Melodie in San Diego - 1978
We celebrated 30 years (28 beautiful years, not bad out of 30) just last April. I wonder how and why she invested so much in me. I’ll never understand her commitment to me but will always appreciate it. She is my rock, my buddy and pal, my partner in crime, my cycling mate, and the one who keeps me motivated. She has provided me with 3 daughters that bring such joy and blessings into my life.
Melodie & first fish - 1979 Bishop California
So, Melodie , Happy Birthday**. I love you….looking forward to many more of these great years with you.
(** Editorial note: This was posted one day late ‘cause yesterday was just crazy busy.)
Monday, June 1, 2009
"I'm a Walker"
For some reason I am feeling a bit nostalgic this morning. It’s not because I turned 50 a few years ago; it’s not because Melodie is about to turn 50; it’s not because we recently celebrated our 30th wedding anniversary; it’s not because my mom just became a great-grandma on the 28th of May (welcome Ryder Walden); I think it’s because my youngest, the baby of the family, our little boogerbutt is turning 18 on Wednesday.
Wow…I remember very vividly the day she was born. It was in Bishop, California and she was my third daughter. For some reason I was in much better shape mentally to be a positive part of this birth and it was a great experience for me. After all of Melodie’s hard work the nurses whisked her off to be gently washed and wrapped so that I could hold her. They handed her to me a few minutes later and I didn’t let her go for nearly 4 hours. I’m not even sure I looked up at Melodie much. I studied that face and without really trying I had it memorized. It’s not that I was worried about it, but I thought to myself if someone mistakenly swaps babies, I’ll know it right away. I could have picked her out of 100 little girls, with one eye open and both hands tied behind my back.
At the time I had Sundays and Mondays off. Melodie said to me, “I don’t think that we can afford to send her to Mama Gail’s on Monday too, you’ll need to watch her by yourself.” Now even before Melodie had said that I just always assumed that I would be super dad on Mondays.
Monday did become my favorite day. While she slept I tidied the house, when she was awake I held her. As she got older, I would hold her in my arms and we spent hours dancing together to country music. (No wonder she considers herself a country girl). When she was a toddler we baked bread and made homemade bagels together as we waited for her older sisters to get home from school. Once they were in the house, I was forgotten as she moved on to play with them. She never knew she was younger than the others, always thinking she should be doing what they did.
When she was about 4 she wanted to learn to ride a 2 wheeler, as trikes were for kids. We put her on a tiny little black bike and started her out on the grass. This way is she fell down she would at least land on soft grass rather than pavement or concrete. Within days she was ready to graduate to harder surface so she could increase speed and momentum.
I took her next door to the parking lot of the Kindergarten at Elm St. School. She managed to ride very well right away, but it was amazing because with all that room to park 100-150 cars, she couldn't help but ride in circles around me and kept running into my legs. My shins were bruised for days.
It wasn’t long before she headed to Kindergarten class. He teacher was Mrs. White, who drove a Black VW bug and also Mrs. Black, who drove a white car. Our house was about 60 yards from the front door of the kindergarten class so she was expected to walk home. If you didn’t ride a bus, the teachers would put a yarn necklace around your neck with a laminated card that read, “I’m a Walker. I still have that card, it’s hanging with my bike tools in the garage.
She has been a walker, and often a runner, ever since, never slowing down to accomplish something she wanted to do. Like her two older sisters, Charlotte and Cara, she has made being a dad very easy, and extremely rewarding. With all my girls they succeed despite my limited efforts. I have had people tell me how good my girls are and what nice ladies they have become and I simply tell them that I just stayed out of the way.
In 2005, Ali and I rode hundreds of miles together on our tandem bike while we circumvented Washington State as we raised awareness for Celiac Disease. What a champ she was and continues to be.
So Alessandra graduates and heads to college soon. We will have an empty nest before fall sets in. A part of me is looking forward to this time but most of me is really sad. I love my girls. I miss having them around as much as they used to be. On the other hand I am so proud of who they are all becoming and it’s exciting to watch them grow.
So, to Alessandra, Ali, Alioops, Alibaba, AliBob, Bob & Robert; I wish you the best years to come. Thanks for the chance to be your dad.
Remember, You ARE a Walker.
Wow…I remember very vividly the day she was born. It was in Bishop, California and she was my third daughter. For some reason I was in much better shape mentally to be a positive part of this birth and it was a great experience for me. After all of Melodie’s hard work the nurses whisked her off to be gently washed and wrapped so that I could hold her. They handed her to me a few minutes later and I didn’t let her go for nearly 4 hours. I’m not even sure I looked up at Melodie much. I studied that face and without really trying I had it memorized. It’s not that I was worried about it, but I thought to myself if someone mistakenly swaps babies, I’ll know it right away. I could have picked her out of 100 little girls, with one eye open and both hands tied behind my back.
At the time I had Sundays and Mondays off. Melodie said to me, “I don’t think that we can afford to send her to Mama Gail’s on Monday too, you’ll need to watch her by yourself.” Now even before Melodie had said that I just always assumed that I would be super dad on Mondays.
Monday did become my favorite day. While she slept I tidied the house, when she was awake I held her. As she got older, I would hold her in my arms and we spent hours dancing together to country music. (No wonder she considers herself a country girl). When she was a toddler we baked bread and made homemade bagels together as we waited for her older sisters to get home from school. Once they were in the house, I was forgotten as she moved on to play with them. She never knew she was younger than the others, always thinking she should be doing what they did.
When she was about 4 she wanted to learn to ride a 2 wheeler, as trikes were for kids. We put her on a tiny little black bike and started her out on the grass. This way is she fell down she would at least land on soft grass rather than pavement or concrete. Within days she was ready to graduate to harder surface so she could increase speed and momentum.
I took her next door to the parking lot of the Kindergarten at Elm St. School. She managed to ride very well right away, but it was amazing because with all that room to park 100-150 cars, she couldn't help but ride in circles around me and kept running into my legs. My shins were bruised for days.
It wasn’t long before she headed to Kindergarten class. He teacher was Mrs. White, who drove a Black VW bug and also Mrs. Black, who drove a white car. Our house was about 60 yards from the front door of the kindergarten class so she was expected to walk home. If you didn’t ride a bus, the teachers would put a yarn necklace around your neck with a laminated card that read, “I’m a Walker. I still have that card, it’s hanging with my bike tools in the garage.
She has been a walker, and often a runner, ever since, never slowing down to accomplish something she wanted to do. Like her two older sisters, Charlotte and Cara, she has made being a dad very easy, and extremely rewarding. With all my girls they succeed despite my limited efforts. I have had people tell me how good my girls are and what nice ladies they have become and I simply tell them that I just stayed out of the way.
In 2005, Ali and I rode hundreds of miles together on our tandem bike while we circumvented Washington State as we raised awareness for Celiac Disease. What a champ she was and continues to be.
So Alessandra graduates and heads to college soon. We will have an empty nest before fall sets in. A part of me is looking forward to this time but most of me is really sad. I love my girls. I miss having them around as much as they used to be. On the other hand I am so proud of who they are all becoming and it’s exciting to watch them grow.
So, to Alessandra, Ali, Alioops, Alibaba, AliBob, Bob & Robert; I wish you the best years to come. Thanks for the chance to be your dad.
Remember, You ARE a Walker.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
"Dodge Darts" Anyone?
So the other day I was listening to my favorite radio talk show host, Dori Monson. He read a news story where an “adult” was injured slightly while playing “Lighter Fluid Tag”. His clothes had caught fire and it seems he was burned a bit.
Duh… Apparently the game is played by squirting some lighter fluid on your own clothes. The fluid is lit by someone else while you try to put the fire out. You are “IT” until you put it out and can then light someone else on fire and the whole process starts over.
Well this led to a radio discussion of how stupid these guys were but it didn’t take long for the conversation to change to all the stupid things the rest of us had done, including some surprisingly near death experiences. Turns out these morons weren’t that different at all.
So at dinner that night Ali asks me to tell the story of “Dodge Darts”. Apparently mom had put her up to it. Well I told it and of course then realized it needs to be put on my blog of stories.
So here goes nothing…..
This story begins in the 60s when I was about 7 or 8 years old. My family was headed over to Bill and Marilyn Porter’s house for dinner one night. David and I were dressed and ready to go while the rest of the family was pulling it together. It was cool fall evening so we were wearing sweaters with stylish baggy sleeves.
We headed outside and before we know it we found a dart with a sharp metal tip. We tossed it around for a bit and then we had the bright idea to begin a game of “Dodge Darts”. We had never played before and rules were not established. That didn’t matter as each of us soon realized the dart is thrown at you and it was your job to avoid it.
Because David was 10 years old, was much more skilled, and carried an ornery streak, he was much better at this than I was. Before we both knew it he had landed a solid strike in my inner forearm of my left arm. He looked at me, I looked at him and neither of us had the nerve to pull it out. At this exact moment my parents came out the back door with the announcement. “in the car, let’s go”. I acted quickly. Knowing my dad would be furious at our stupidity I did what any smart kid had would do. I pulled my rolled up sweater sleeve back down to my wrist and hid the dart under it. “That’ll fix it”, I thought. “We’ll just deal with this later”.
Well the drive to the Porters was at least 15 minutes to get from our house and onto the base. We had a good dinner but I really wasn’t in the mood for much food. The dinner had been served and all the kids were in the backyard tossing balls, climbing trees, etc. I, for some reason, felt more like sitting inside with the adults and remaining still. It had probably been about an hour and a half since the initial impact and I was turning green.
My dad came over and said to me, “Son, why are you sitting in here with us old folks, why don’t you go out and play with the others?” By this time I was about in tears from the pain in my arm. I tried but couldn’t utter a word. I simply reached down and pulled the sleeve of my sweater up to my elbow exposing the dart still stuck in my left arm.
Well I don’t remember exactly what happened after that. I am pretty sure my dad pulled it out….hold on…yeah it’s gone. I don’t recall what kind of trouble I got into for that stunt but if history repeats itself I would guess that I went to bed as soon as we got home and David was given seconds on dessert.
Duh… Apparently the game is played by squirting some lighter fluid on your own clothes. The fluid is lit by someone else while you try to put the fire out. You are “IT” until you put it out and can then light someone else on fire and the whole process starts over.
Well this led to a radio discussion of how stupid these guys were but it didn’t take long for the conversation to change to all the stupid things the rest of us had done, including some surprisingly near death experiences. Turns out these morons weren’t that different at all.
So at dinner that night Ali asks me to tell the story of “Dodge Darts”. Apparently mom had put her up to it. Well I told it and of course then realized it needs to be put on my blog of stories.
So here goes nothing…..
This story begins in the 60s when I was about 7 or 8 years old. My family was headed over to Bill and Marilyn Porter’s house for dinner one night. David and I were dressed and ready to go while the rest of the family was pulling it together. It was cool fall evening so we were wearing sweaters with stylish baggy sleeves.
We headed outside and before we know it we found a dart with a sharp metal tip. We tossed it around for a bit and then we had the bright idea to begin a game of “Dodge Darts”. We had never played before and rules were not established. That didn’t matter as each of us soon realized the dart is thrown at you and it was your job to avoid it.
Because David was 10 years old, was much more skilled, and carried an ornery streak, he was much better at this than I was. Before we both knew it he had landed a solid strike in my inner forearm of my left arm. He looked at me, I looked at him and neither of us had the nerve to pull it out. At this exact moment my parents came out the back door with the announcement. “in the car, let’s go”. I acted quickly. Knowing my dad would be furious at our stupidity I did what any smart kid had would do. I pulled my rolled up sweater sleeve back down to my wrist and hid the dart under it. “That’ll fix it”, I thought. “We’ll just deal with this later”.
Well the drive to the Porters was at least 15 minutes to get from our house and onto the base. We had a good dinner but I really wasn’t in the mood for much food. The dinner had been served and all the kids were in the backyard tossing balls, climbing trees, etc. I, for some reason, felt more like sitting inside with the adults and remaining still. It had probably been about an hour and a half since the initial impact and I was turning green.
My dad came over and said to me, “Son, why are you sitting in here with us old folks, why don’t you go out and play with the others?” By this time I was about in tears from the pain in my arm. I tried but couldn’t utter a word. I simply reached down and pulled the sleeve of my sweater up to my elbow exposing the dart still stuck in my left arm.
Well I don’t remember exactly what happened after that. I am pretty sure my dad pulled it out….hold on…yeah it’s gone. I don’t recall what kind of trouble I got into for that stunt but if history repeats itself I would guess that I went to bed as soon as we got home and David was given seconds on dessert.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
"a helluva job”
It is my experience that firemen are really just boys who have grown up enough to play with fire and do it legally. During training sessions we built our own fires, the bigger the better, and practiced putting them out. The day we were given an abandoned house “to burn”, was like winning the lottery. It was what we enjoyed doing.
That being said, there is nothing worse for a fireman, especially a volunteer, than having days or even weeks go by without a fire call. I know that this sounds weird, but it gets depressing. Well this story begins at the end of a 3-week dry spell for fires in Bishop California.
Our pagers went off at about 4:00 in the afternoon. “Attention Bishop Volunteers, Attention Bishop Volunteers, we have a report of a brush fire in Round Valley near Horton Creek Campground, Please respond.” Immediately my heart pounded. Was it excitement, was it joy, or a combination? Who cares!!
I responded to Station 1 and knew that we were to take the large brush trucks. I jumped into Engine 14 and looked to the driver’s seat to see Hugh Henderson. Hugh had joined the fire department a few years after I had, but was very experienced and I had no concerns about responding with him as the Engineer. I preferred to be “just” the firefighter on this rig anyway because the action was better. I would get to stand on the front deck and run the permanently mounted nozzle as Hugh slowly inched the former military AWD vehicle through the fire scene.
As we approached the scene, which was about 10 miles from the firehouse we could see a large column of black smoke. We got so excited that we looked at each other and then shared an enthusiastic high five amidst our whooping and hollering. We knew that there was going to be lots of action and we would tackle a good portion of it.
As we pulled onto the scene we could see that nearly 60 acres were already blackened, smoldering or on fire. The area was completely fenced with a barbed wire and 6x6 post fencing. We came to a stop and Phil Moxley, the fire chief, stepped up onto the side running board. He looked at us and he said, “There is a CDF (California Dept. of Forestry) truck that has gotten themselves in a bit of a pickle. They went too far into the fire scene and the engine on their truck has died. They can’t get it restarted and the crew of 4 is in danger. Go in and get ‘em out.” Knowing there was no time to find a gate to enter, he looked at the fence then back at Hugh and said, "take it out".
Hugh put the 6 wheel drive vehicle in low gear and we proceeded to simply drive over the fence line, knocking down fence post and wire as if it were made of balsam wood.
We went directly to the stranded crew, attached a chain to the front of their vehicle and with little or no effort we were able to pull them about 200 yards into the burn area** and to safety. Here the CDF mechanics would be able to restart the engine without any concerns of safety.
(note: ** When you are on a brush fire and you are in danger of being overrun by a fire that may have turned back, the safest place to be is “in the burn”. It’s hard for a fire to come back through and burn an area that has been burned previously. It might be smoky, but it is safe.)
Once this crew was safe we could put our efforts into fire suppression. By this time Engine 9 had also arrived and between the 2 of us and one small dozer from the US Forest Service, we knocked that fire down in a few hours. Our tactic was to attack each flank with a different rig and try to pinch it at the point. This took careful work as the fire could always flare back up behind you and surprise you. Once we and Engine 9 met at the point we had pretty much surrounded the entire fire with only a few small spot fires within. This allowed the local hand crews, staffed by prisoners, to complete the mop up work.
The engine crew we had saved still had not been able to get their rig running so we really handled the fire all by ourselves, even though it was within the jurisdiction of the CDF. And to top it off we managed to keep it from running up the face of Mt. Tom, which would have been extremely disastrous as the fire entered the Inyo National Forest.
As if the fire fighting that day hadn’t been enough, the crowning moment was when the Chief for the CDF station came on the radio and said for all of humanity to hear, “you Bishop boys did a helluva a job out there today.”
That being said, there is nothing worse for a fireman, especially a volunteer, than having days or even weeks go by without a fire call. I know that this sounds weird, but it gets depressing. Well this story begins at the end of a 3-week dry spell for fires in Bishop California.
Our pagers went off at about 4:00 in the afternoon. “Attention Bishop Volunteers, Attention Bishop Volunteers, we have a report of a brush fire in Round Valley near Horton Creek Campground, Please respond.” Immediately my heart pounded. Was it excitement, was it joy, or a combination? Who cares!!
I responded to Station 1 and knew that we were to take the large brush trucks. I jumped into Engine 14 and looked to the driver’s seat to see Hugh Henderson. Hugh had joined the fire department a few years after I had, but was very experienced and I had no concerns about responding with him as the Engineer. I preferred to be “just” the firefighter on this rig anyway because the action was better. I would get to stand on the front deck and run the permanently mounted nozzle as Hugh slowly inched the former military AWD vehicle through the fire scene.
As we approached the scene, which was about 10 miles from the firehouse we could see a large column of black smoke. We got so excited that we looked at each other and then shared an enthusiastic high five amidst our whooping and hollering. We knew that there was going to be lots of action and we would tackle a good portion of it.
As we pulled onto the scene we could see that nearly 60 acres were already blackened, smoldering or on fire. The area was completely fenced with a barbed wire and 6x6 post fencing. We came to a stop and Phil Moxley, the fire chief, stepped up onto the side running board. He looked at us and he said, “There is a CDF (California Dept. of Forestry) truck that has gotten themselves in a bit of a pickle. They went too far into the fire scene and the engine on their truck has died. They can’t get it restarted and the crew of 4 is in danger. Go in and get ‘em out.” Knowing there was no time to find a gate to enter, he looked at the fence then back at Hugh and said, "take it out".
Hugh put the 6 wheel drive vehicle in low gear and we proceeded to simply drive over the fence line, knocking down fence post and wire as if it were made of balsam wood.
We went directly to the stranded crew, attached a chain to the front of their vehicle and with little or no effort we were able to pull them about 200 yards into the burn area** and to safety. Here the CDF mechanics would be able to restart the engine without any concerns of safety.
(note: ** When you are on a brush fire and you are in danger of being overrun by a fire that may have turned back, the safest place to be is “in the burn”. It’s hard for a fire to come back through and burn an area that has been burned previously. It might be smoky, but it is safe.)
Once this crew was safe we could put our efforts into fire suppression. By this time Engine 9 had also arrived and between the 2 of us and one small dozer from the US Forest Service, we knocked that fire down in a few hours. Our tactic was to attack each flank with a different rig and try to pinch it at the point. This took careful work as the fire could always flare back up behind you and surprise you. Once we and Engine 9 met at the point we had pretty much surrounded the entire fire with only a few small spot fires within. This allowed the local hand crews, staffed by prisoners, to complete the mop up work.
The engine crew we had saved still had not been able to get their rig running so we really handled the fire all by ourselves, even though it was within the jurisdiction of the CDF. And to top it off we managed to keep it from running up the face of Mt. Tom, which would have been extremely disastrous as the fire entered the Inyo National Forest.
As if the fire fighting that day hadn’t been enough, the crowning moment was when the Chief for the CDF station came on the radio and said for all of humanity to hear, “you Bishop boys did a helluva a job out there today.”
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