The Pumice Desert, Crater Lake National Park, OR

Something about The Pumice Desert causes one to stop and appreciate the beauty of something so empty and desolate within an otherwise thick carpet of trees.

Lying in the middle of Highway 138, inside Oregon's Crater Lake National Park, the Pumice Desert was created by some 200 feet of volcanic ash after an eruption of Mount Mazama nearly 7,700 years ago.

The lack of nutrients in the soil prevented anything from growing back.

Today, the Pumice Desert remains as a scar that may never heal on an otherwise spectacular geography.

Just walking out into the middle of the field and then standing still, I felt a sense of personification, as if Crater Lake National Park was an old man nursing a wound from his childhood that never went away.

I know some people who are like that.  Overwhelmed by a load of burden placed upon them by others, and then criticized when that load topples over, they languish in their shame and guilt, forgetting to see how beautiful they are everywhere else.

The Pumice Desert, Crater Lake National Park, OR, June 2006, with my Yamaha Road Star

But much of Highway 138 cuts through thick woods, and while it's nice to see tall trees, you can only appreciate them for so long until you get bored.  Hence, coming upon a place as empty and dead as The Pumice Desert actually provides a sense of amazement, proving that something as lifeless and empty can still be a sight for sore eyes.

It makes me think about how we as humans grow up with success and failure, joy and hurt, pride and humiliation.  The opposing experiences creates conflicts inside us as if we're a rope being pulled from both ends.

And isn't it the scars that make us proud of our finer points? Isn't the pain and hurt that makes us appreciate our joys and triumphs?  Without emptiness we can never define fulfillment.  Without death we can't appreciate life.

If our road in life is flanked by hundreds of miles of pristine pines, we wouldn't see much at all. The road becomes a tunnel with our eyes fixed on one tiny point ahead of us. The little details to the left and right blend together into a blur that passes by unnoticed.

It makes us sink into one continual feeling, like a machine over an assembly line that runs at a constant speed, creating a rhythm of stagnant noise that we can't shut our ears from.  We yearn for an opposing emotion, just to feel alive and exhilarated, even if'painful.

It was rather cold when I rode through here in June of 2006.  Much of central Oregon had been warm when I rode south along US 97.  I guess even the cold, wet conditions at Crater Lake was a welcome reprieve.

And Crater Lake National Park is like that, offering a motorcycle rider a change of pace when traveling through Oregon, with its amazing views of the lake and the twisties along the rim.  The high elevation at 8,000 feet leaves banks of snow on either side of Highway 138 making for more unusual riding.

Remember to visit the Crater Lake Lodge and get yourself something warm to eat.

From there, head south to Klamath Falls for some small town relaxation.

3 comments | Post a Comment

---

Riding Off Into the Cloud

Computers have a been a significant part of my world since I was 14 years old. In the 1980s, my step-father had networked some 8 different UNIX workstations throughout our house under this Utopian idea that our entire lives would become dependent on them.

Mom would store all her recipes into a program. Step-father eagerly catalogued every gardening magazine into a database. I would compose homework on the word processor. Brother would play his video games on them. And each of us could remain in our own area of the house e-mailing each other.

But back then, computing was all local. Even with networks, you typically had a server in house, with workstations tied to it via wire. There was no such thing as "the cloud".

If all of our communication, data, productivity, and entertainment was stored on a single server, then what happens if we can't get to a workstation?

You're screwed. Network computing still couldn't offer much mobility.

Unfortately, in the 1980s, we didn't have the Internet. The only way to access a server remotely was via telephone, and they were landline phones back then, requiring a modem. Not very conducive to traveling.

The Utopia my step-father envisioned for our house never caught on, despite a good faith effort from each of us.

Today, my world has become increasingly transient.

I want less stuff and fewer possessions. I don't want anything that ties me down to a physical location. That's what homeownership was for me, a shackle and chain that required me to be there, mowing the lawn, cleaning the air filters, paying the bills.

You can see why I love motorcycles. It represents freedom for me. I could get the same transient lifestyle from a car, but a car is larger, more costly, and somehow feels like I have more to manage.

Now, there's cloud computing.

The locally hosted server that once hosted all of our data, facilitated our communication, ran all of our software, and provided us with entertainment, is now mirrored across hundreds of servers spanning the Earth. What's more, is that it's cross-platform, so that my cell phone, laptop, and tablet, all can access it flawlessly.

The Utopia is here now.

And just how much more freedom does that give a motorcycle rider like me, who runs his own Internet business?

A great deal.

So, why do I even bother to live in the same place for more than a month? Why do I even bother to own furniture?

I can understand that most people need to feel grounded. They need neighbors and friends they see each week. They need the familiarity and predictability of the same restaurant, the same streets, and the same weather patterns.

I just never wanted that. I didn't grow up with a close family. I didn't have close friends. We always moved around a lot, and I had to change schools often. When you grow up this way, you feel unattached. You need to keep moving.

Wyoming, Highway 220

If anything, and as much as I hate to admit, but Facebook is perfect. I can meet people in person, get to know them a little, and then just follow them online. I don't need to keep seeing them each week.

I guess even my friends are stored on the cloud.

If people never live in the same place for more than a month and change towns each time, what does that do a society?  Do we bother to make friends knowing that we won't be around?  Will we still join clubs, make commitments, or make large purchases?  Will be become more diverse, or will we feel more empty?

How much of a ghost am I if I'm not grounded? If I enter into a town, stay there for a couple of weeks, and continue on, perhaps people only catch me out of the corner of their eye, and then I disappear, hitting the highway yet again, just watching the world go by, living off the cloud.

6 comments | Post a Comment

---

The Religious Right of Motorcycling

One can even argue that Harley-Davidson is a religion unto itself.

If you compare Catholicism to The Motor Company, it's just as fanatical and pagan...

• The Vatican vs Milwaukee, WI
• Catholic Diocese and Cathedral.  HOG Chapter and Harley Dealer.
• Catholics wear crucifixes.  Harley riders wear H-D symbols.
• Catholics pay penance.  Harley riders pay Gap Insurance.
• Catholics collect rosaries.  Harley riders collect dealer t-shirts.
• The Father, The Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Uncle Sam, Willie G. Davidson, and Jax Teller.

But the truth is that anything can be a religion.  You just have to have a book, a leader to rally around, some elders to preach the masses, and some fanatical followers.

I look across the world of motorcycling and wonder how much am I into a religion.  Albeit not Harley-Davidson, at least not anymore.  But a two-wheeled religion in general, kinda like how Catholicism is part of a larger umbrella of Christianity.

Countless riders across countless motorcycle forums refer to car drivers as "cagers" or "idiots" as if somehow they're less skilled and less observant on the road.  Riders often speak of the "brotherhood" as if we're all closer together just because we all ride motorcycles.  I mean, you never see a biker waving his hand at a cager.

But because we all ride motorcycles, somehow that makes us all "in it together", like some kind of war we're battling against the four-wheeled forces of evil.

Yet when we're all getting our fill at the local biker hangout, riders don't seem to want to wave their hand at each other anymore.  It's only when we spot each other on the road that we take the time to acknowledge one another.

And then we knock each other for riding Metric versus American, cruiser versus sport bike, motorcycle versus scooter.

I've never said anything against riders who go ATGATT, so why do they label me "squid" just because I ride without a jacket?

I guess it's like how Baptists knock Mormons, or how born-again Christians knock Catholics.  All of Jesus' followers can't seem to see the forest for the trees, being more concerned with how much more "holy" they are than others.

Harley riders often chide me because I don't ride a "real motorcycle".  Well, I used to ride a "real motorcycle" for many years, until I got so tired and poor from having to repair the damn thing.  Going on nearly three years, my Honda has been reliable, and that speaks volumes for me.

Wynola Rd, Wynola, CA

I wouldn't so much mind thinking of other motorcycle riders and even motorcycle bloggers as my "brothers", except I just never grew up with the feeling of being part of a family.  Even in the company of friends, and in various riding clubs, I've felt alone.  I like to think of motorcycle riders as people who don't otherwise conform to society or "play well with others", and just haunt the highways like ghosts who watch the world at 70mph, and never put down roots anywhere.

The fact is that if I met another rider at a coffee shop, I sit down with him or her and have a good time trading war stories from the road.  I'd actually like to assemble for a meeting of the minds and a few good pints with local riders.

But being an active part of some group always seems to evade me.  Sure, I've put down good faith efforts into the riding clubs I was in, as well as the motorcycle meetup group I ran, but that never got me any feeling of family, just a lot of headaches and schoolyard squabbling.

As soon as it starts to taste like Kool-Aid, I just want to spit it out.

So to all my motorcycle riding brothers and sisters out there, forgive me when I don't eschew the notion that cagers are idiots, or if I don't feel like waving back.  I don't want to argue over American versus Metric and I don't want to hear that I'm going to die if I don't wear ATGATT.

I just want to be free to do what I want.

6 comments | Post a Comment

---