Motorcycle Lessons

I know there are times when I suggest that someone admit, “I arranged my life to be this way,” that people bristle a bit. I know as well as anyone how much of this life we do NOT arrange.

Katie and I spent a lot of years finding our separate ways before we came together as a partnership and then as husband and wife. I’d been working for YEARS on my dream of becoming a best-selling author, which would include passive income. In fact, I was (and still am) all-in on that dream. It’s a calling, and I long ago gave up trying to deny it.

However, just when we felt we were on the cusp of success, with Katie immersed in the Willow Charter School and me teaching and writing, cancer hit like a ton of bricks. I did not plan on that, much less ARRANGE it. But that’s the thing. I DID arrange my life up to that point in a way that allowed me to battle cancer. I had a job that wasn’t physically demanding, that I enjoyed, and I had tons of sick leave accrued and donated. I was in great physical and mental condition. And the battle took every ounce of our financial, mental, and physical strength and endurance, and then the long slog back to some form of financial, mental and physical health has taken three years and I’m only now feeling halfway human again. Turns out bone marrow is one of those organic systems that is not redundant. We have two lungs and two kidneys, but only one heart and one bone marrow system to make blood, platelets, and an immune system.

So, when I say, “I have arranged my life to be this way,” and when Katie and I combined say, “We have arranged our lives to be this way,” we only mean that we have made decisions, good or bad, that affect the things we can control.

Here’s an example.

Last week, I found myself with about four days that I could clear of work, and I needed some time off from both teaching and writing, so I loaded up the Harley and headed south with the vague notion that I would circle down through Las Cruces, New Mexico, from Santa Fe, and over to southern Arizona where I would catch Highway 191 northward through the Gila National Forest and then home again, maybe on Route 66. That’s about a thousand miles total.  Some people do that in a day (for some insane reason) but as a cancer survivor, I gave myself five.

I left on Thursday afternoon, after class, and rode south and then up to Ruidoso, watching a weather front moving in that promised high winds across the southwest. My main concern was wildfires, and I shared the Comfort Inn that night with a band of firefighters who left early. Friday morning was calm and cool, but sunny. Still, the forecast called for gusts up to 50 mph, and on the morning news, I heard the weatherman say 80 mph in some places.  I was in Alamogordo by ten and from there to Las Cruces, the winds started picking up. Still, the Road King is 800 pounds and held the road nicely, but the cross winds buffeted me and I felt a bit beat up by the time I stopped for coffee in the U district. I thought about staying the night in Las Cruces, but I really wanted to stay in Silver City, and I had this unsupported notion that it would be less windy there.

Here is where I arranged my life to be the way it was. Hunker down in Las Cruces and wait out the Friday winds, or slog westward across the open desert. I chose to slog on. The winds on I-10 along the Mexican border were brutal. I was going to stop and rest in Deming after an hour, but the town was browned-out from the blowing dust. I headed north, leaning the bike into the wind, battered by the gusting crosswinds, still bound and determined to make it to Silver City, which in my mind would be an oasis of calm.

It was not.

Not only was it a blowing dust bowl, but all the rooms at all the hotels were booked (even though most people weren’t able to get through the storm). The Deming football coach canceled the busload of football players scheduled for a tournament in Silver City. I was worried that even if I found a place, the wind might knock the bike over during the night. The nice lady at the front desk of the Holiday Inn Express gave me the number for Bear Creek Cabins, and they had one small cabin available about six miles outside of town, up on the continental divide, surrounded by tall pines. I drove up and out of the blowing dust into the unincorporated village of Piños Altos. The gravel drive up to my cabin was a bit gnarly and I was exhausted when I finally parked, but alive.

I settled in and said, “Okay.”

The cabins were remote and amazing and quiet except for the rushing sound of wind high in the pines. I walked about a mile to a “tavern” that turned out to be some of the most amazing dining I’ve ever experienced. Reservations only, and booked a week out. I ordered a salmon Caesar from the bar. It was exceptional. Slept like a rock that night.

Day three the winds died down to a normal 10-20mph. I had a coffee in the U district (because the best coffee places are always next to the colleges) and rode a leisurely day over to Morenci in Arizona (crossing the continental divide yet again). Morenci is a copper mining town and the municipality seems to have a lot of money and  just built a huge community center with both indoor and outdoor pools. It was eighty degrees and sunny, so I floated for a while, letting the cool water support my tired body.

Checking the weather northward, I was perplexed. Highway 191 is a twisty forest road recommended by other bikers, but up in Alpine the forecast was for 25 degrees. I thought about it for a long time. Didn’t have the gear for anything below 50, and I could just imagine hitting a patch of ice at 50mph on a corner. After all that adventure to get to 191, I opted to go back the way I came.  Besides, I’d be seeing a lot of that landscape for the first time, since it was covered in dust on my way over.

So, dust storms. I didn’t arrange that. Alpine temps in late April. Not unexpected, but I didn’t arrange that, either. The fantastic pool in Morenci, which is a dot on the map. Unexpected and not arranged. Just a pleasant surprise. The protected mountain cabin in Pinos Altos above Silver City. I got the last cabin and loved it. None of that did I arrange. However, I did choose to brave the brutal winds sweeping across the deserts, carrying dust and dirt, while more sane people hunkered down. I chose not to brave the cold and instead went back the way I came.

My point is that we do have choices, and those choices continually shape our lives.

One thing I changed several years ago when I found myself not really liking or enjoying my life was my decision-making process. I don’t even know how to describe what it was before. Now, I could encapsulate it like this: live IN the moment, but not FOR the moment. And I understand now that I arrange much of my life. I am paralyzed by fear (obviously), but I can extrapolate the natural consequences of my actions and make decisions accordingly. Note that I did not actually plan the details of my excursion. Much of that trip was left to the Universe, and not only did I survive, but I had a grand adventure, and I learned, once again, that I am resilient and smart and creative and strong, and I kept telling myself, when things were tough, “You can do this.”

I got home and had a moment of panic. On a whim, I checked my oil and it wasn’t even touching the dipstick. I could have sworn I checked it before I left, but I didn’t. In fact, I hadn’t changed it for two years. During the pandemic and working two jobs, time just got away from me and so did many details of life. I had checked Katie’s bike and topped off fluidsbut never got to mine. But everything  is fine. I topped it off and it’s scheduled for a change next week along with the 20,000 mile service. I had it inthe shop several times last year getting some upgrades (shocks and handlebars) but no one offered an oil change or reminded me that I needed one. That’s on me, though. Once again, that’s not the capricious Universe landing some unexpected challenge (like cancer) on my doorstep. The lesson there is that sometimes we get so busy we forget to take care of the little things today that create our tomorrow.

Most often, when Katie and I say, “We have arranged our lives to be this way,” we are musing on some really cool thing that is going on. We live at the base of a world-class ski slope and motorcycle, camping, rafting, and outdoor season runs April through October.

Sometimes we repeat our mantra to remind ourselves that we made choices and now we are living with consequences that we could foresee but chose to ignore, and we’ll just do better next time. And sometimes we just admit that life has a way of dealing us a crappy hand, and then we just have to manage it.

After my bone marrow was wiped clean in late September 2018 and I got all new stem cells, I was weak as a newborn. I set a goal to be skiing by January of the next year. My medical team was pessimistic to say the least. I started walking every other day, first to the mailbox, then for a mile, and then I’d be wiped out for a few days, and then I’d start over. I took over our son’s Wii, standing on the balance board, doing yoga moves and playing a skiing simulation. I was declared in remission in mid-December and hit the slopes on the 23rd.

Over the past three years we have worked our way back into a “normal” life and I have struggled to regain some of my former endurance and strength. Last year I rode to Moab and back, proving to myself that I could do it. This week, I rode another 1,000+ round trip. But it’s the little things I do every day, when I can, that allow me to do the big things.  I know when one of my books hits the best-seller list ,it won’t be because of luck or who I know. It will be because for the past twenty years, I have studied my craft, written when I could, rested when I had to, and I never gave up I will say, when I cash that big check and take a vacation with Katie to some amazing place, “I have arranged my life to be this.”

No matter what the Universe throws at me.