First season with the Nighthawk, recap

I put the Nighthawk into storage for the winter today.  Sad day.  It was an epic season of riding though!  With about 4,800 miles put on the bike since May, I had some fun.  Here's a recap and some highlights:

Road eaten: approx. 4,800 miles

States traveled through: PA, NJ, NY

Top Speed: 111mph

Hottest temp ridden: 93degrees + sunny

Coldest temp ridden: 33degrees + 75mph = (feels like) 13degrees

Lanes changed with no-hands: 1

Destinations hit:  Longwood Gardens, Dan’s bday party in Hudson, NY, Tara’s music festival in NJ, Delessandro’s cheesesteaks, Fairmount Park, Rutgers, Rocco’s BBQs, south Philly.

Bests:  The end of the ride to Dan’s party.  Kelly Drive & MLK drive.  Coming back into the city on a warm summer night.  Feeling like Batman flying back to the city, the only one on the road in the middle of the night.  Free parking in my secret spot!(It’s not as epic as a BatCave, but I like it).

Worsts:  The night before I first picked the bike up from the shop was one of the most scared I've ever been!  People texting while driving, especially in traffic.  Traffic in general, squeezing the clutch.  Having the bike towed to the shop just to find out that the only problem was that I ran out of gas.  

"Tricks and Treats", First Person Arts story-slam, 10/25/16

Coward

I didn’t jump.  Back and forth, I walked up to the ledge of the cliff, building up my courage, talking to myself, reminding myself I’d done this jump before a few years ago and that it’s not like the water hurt; that it was just a simple mental block.  “Just one more step” I’d say after my legs and feet locked.  For about 2 hours I stood on top of that cliff while other people jumped off into the water below.  They’d climb back up the rocks over to the side and then they’d be behind me again, trying to give me words of encouragement.  “It doesn’t hurt”.  “Just don’t think about it”.  “You’ve already done it before, so you shouldn’t be scared of it now, it’s the same thing”.  And I would be inspired for the next few seconds, or maybe even few minutes; right up until my feet got to the ledge again.  I tried standing on the ledge and leaning.  I tried power walking up to it.  I tried looking out over the water rather than directly below me.  I tried distracting myself.  I tried both shaming myself and positively motivating myself.  I tried reasoning, rationing, bargaining, and pleading with myself.  I even prayed, standing up there on that rock quarry cliff.  But no matter what, I couldn’t- no- I didn’t jump.  Even when the guard came by and politely told us that we were on private property and needed to leave, I still couldn’t defiantly jump.  Tears came to my eyes as I put my t-shirt back on in defeat.  I quickly put my sunglasses on as well.

Embarrassed.  Ashamed.  I felt like a phony.  I felt like an old man, playing it safe.  Out there on the rock, I’d screamed inside my head, “It’s better to regret something you did than something you didn’t.  Don’t live like this- safely!  Don’t settle, don’t give in, don’t lay up!”  And now, walking back down the path, my friends way on ahead allowing me to be in my own thoughts, I realized that in not stepping off the cliff, I had in fact stepped towards old age.  “Don’t worry homie, you’ve already done it before so that box is checked” I was told.  But life isn’t like that, is it?  You don’t just clean your room once, or eat your vegetables once, or test yourself once.  You need to do those things every day.  Just because I had made that jump before doesn’t allow me to happily walk away from that test today.  It means somethings changed.  It means my self-preservation instinct has become stronger, I guess.  And to me, that is the equivalent of dying.  Or at least,  embodying a life not worth living.  It’s disgraceful, the 98 year-old man that can’t hear a damn thing, has snot dripping down his nose, can’t take himself to the bathroom, and would surely perish in a matter of hours if left to his own devices.  Yet we keep him alive for some reason.  Why?  At that point, why not let him walk off into the woods, or paddle down the river in a canoe.  Let nature take it’s course naturally, for he’s done living.  I was reminded of a Hemingway short story about a couple that travels to Africa to go on a lion hunt.  In the face of danger, the husband proves to be a coward, and embarrassed for both of them, the wife shoots him.  Hemingway despises the man that can’t boldly look fear in it’s face and take a step forward.  

And I can rationalize: “I drive a motorcycle.  That’s pretty fucking badass!-and I was petrified to start riding it, so it’s not like I always run away from scary things.  Hell, I ran with the bulls!”  Ahh, but all that doesn’t really matter; it’s in the past.  Today is what matters, and today I failed.  I feel like a coward.  I’m not sure I’ve felt this way before.  Sure I’ve embarrassed myself, acted dishonorably, fallen on my face, and been rejected many times.  But all of them have been a misstep of my own; an action that was not the right one for whatever reason.  Today was different.  Today I didn’t act.  I didn’t jump. I shied away.  I cowered in fear.   

'News To Me', First Person Arts story-slam, 7/26/16

'Escape' dream

I’m in a long narrow room, rows of seats metering the length.  We are all sitting in our seats.  Of course we are, because the guards are constantly doing seat checks.  Once, I had tried leaning over to get a better view out the window and a guard noticed, making me plead my case at gunpoint.  What kind of prisoners were we?  It seems like World War II, but this was not a concentration camp.  This is an upstairs utility room in a house in a European village.  

The sun begins to go down.  The guards are changing their posts and I have only moments to gather a bag as their flippancies briefly overlap.  From our belongings, I throw in a few items, but it is my passport which I’m most concerned about bringing.   The changing guards are having a conversation in the doorway.  I hurry to find my passport.  The new guard is coming on.  My hand finds 2 passports!  One must be mine, but the other??  The new guard begins to walk down the aisle.  One of the passports must be my mothers, but I don’t have time to check which one is which!  If I take them both, I will be forever damning her to this prison, stealing her only possibility of achieving sanctuary in a neighboring country.  The guard is only 100 paces from me now.  I hold my breath and take one of the passports on faith, throw it into my small pack, and duck behind the corner before the guard notices my empty seat.  

I have managed to escape through a side window and lower myself onto the street unnoticed.  The village is quiet.  A small family scurries across the street, not intending on dealing with the gestapo despite the family’s innocence.  I turn away from the main street, back behind the building from which I came, and down the hill into the woods below.    I can hear guards calling to each other above on the ridge, but despite their foreign language, I detect that no alarm has been raised yet.  Still, my heart is beating out of my chest.  I am aware of the tracks I’m leaving in the snow as I go lower into the ravine.  Shadows come over the ridge.  There are dogs patrolling the woods as well.  Two of them, unintentionally getting closer to me!  I lie down in the snow near a large tree.  I can hear the guards above, the dogs are getting closer.  My heart pounding, but I remind myself that no one knows anything is amiss.

The first dog finds me.  I am still like a corpse.  The second dog finds me, both of them sniffing me on high alert.  Through the corners of my eye, I can see that both dogs are finally in front of me.  Left hand!  Shoots out and grabs first dog around the top of his snout, my thumb covering both of his nostrils.  Right hand!  The second dog had only a fraction of a second to react, but I’m able to grab his muzzle, mostly cheek and whiskers at first, then pulling, yelping, regripping around his full muzzle in but a moment.  Both dogs in my trap, the first one beginning to lose oxygen, his muffled thrashes quickly losing their vigor.  I am able to lean over, get a position up on my knees, and lower a knee on top of the first dogs neck.  The second dog is thrashing, throwing my right arm around, but my grip is unwavering.  I place more weight over my knee on the dogs neck and, with a snap, pull the dogs muzzle straight up, breaking it’s neck.  It’s muscle strain evaporates underneath me.  I am able to let go with my left hand.  The second dog thrashes.  I lean over to the right, up on my knees, and now, like an experienced veteran, snap the second dogs neck.  The sound is audible and I fight the urge to vomit.  Did the guards on the ridge hear any of that??  I am still.  Not a breath.  WAIT.  Nothing.  WAIT.  Nothing.  I slowly exhale, my chest and throat closed save for a pinhole.  WAIT.  Not a sound in the woods.  No alarm.  I look down at the two bodies below me.  I love dogs, I do.  I am filled with remorse, but don’t stop to touch their soft fur.  

Trekking through the woods as darkness lowers, I’ve found the back of a train station!  Running now as I can see the train is in station and boarding!  Oh fuck, I might miss it!  I’m running, and swing my pack around to unzip it in front of me as I run.  I am within 30 paces now.  Can the operators see me running?  My hand finds the small booklet and I pull out the passport I had grabbed, still not knowing if it was mine or my mothers.  Screaming now, “Nein!  Nein!   Don’t leave!”, I dive forward to the platform, the passport high above me and I thrust it into the impatient operators face.  Oh God, please let this be my passport.  I’m as good as dead if it is not.  The operator opens the pamphlet and looks at me.  If it isn’t my passport, God, please make my death quick.  The operator closes my passport and lowers it.  I am in limbo with his neutrality!  He hands it back to me and jerks his head toward the train.

I’m on the train.  It is more like a trolley as there aren’t even 4 solid walls.  An open seating platform on track wheels.  For the first time, I am able to allow myself a glimmer of hope.  I slump into a chair but remind myself to try and blend in, act like you belong here.  I find a map that tells me that if I stay on this train long enough, it will lead me to a northern country in which I can find sanctuary.

The train winds through the snow-dampened woods.  Eventually a clearing emerges, and a massive mountain's town lights illuminate the slopes behind it.  The train slows and many people gather their belongings to get off at this stop.  It appears to be a ski resort and everyone is getting off!  Wait- everyone?!  I am the only person left sitting.  A small blonde girl is walking by me, led by her mother’s hand.  “I know who you are”, she says without any trace of familiarity nor condemnation.  With my eyes alone, I urge her not to give me away as the train pulls away from the station.  I am left as the sole passenger.

The train winds through the dark woods, tree branches hanging over the tracks, whipping me as we pass.  I am conscious of how much of a spotlight I’ve put on myself, being the only passenger on this train, and my heart begins to thump again.  Maybe I should have gotten off with everyone else.  I’m now in the middle of nowhere.  What lies on the track ahead?  Guard checkpoints?  Maybe I should jump off and go by foot?  There’s 2 feet of snow on the ground and I have no bearings of where I am except for the train tracks.  Lights only illuminate the immediate future as the train begins to slow around a bend.  What is around the corner?  I have no idea.  Concluding I have no choice but to jump before we turn the corner, I ready myself on the edge of the trains platform, waiting for a clearing in the trees to jump…

{I wake up}

First Person Arts story slam, 'Hooked', January '16

First Person Arts story slam, "Mischief", Oct '14