Musings from “Life Is a Road” author–Daniel Meyer
Mood
Delta 191. 25 years.
Aug 2nd
Twenty-five years ago today, Delta 191 encountered wind-shear from one of our famous thunderstorms and was shoved out of the sky on routine approach to the Dallas-Fort Worth airport.
One-hundred-thirty-five people, including one on the ground, lost their lives. It was a horrific scene and is still indelibly burned into the memories of any who saw the images from that day.
Twenty five years. Wow. I was working that night (in the news production biz). It was a career changer for me.
I “had the con”. It was a hellish night. Frantic, busy, emotional, and the tasks set before us were impossible. It was important. We did it, and did it right. Up against the tragedy of the lost lives it’s not something we ever expected or sought recognition for. It was enough that we got the job done.
It was then that I decided I liked what I did…it mattered. It was then that my bosses decided they liked how I did it.
But…twenty-five years? Where did it all go? Have I accomplished anything? Will the next 25 vanish just as quickly and with as little consequence?
Will they matter?
A solemn day for solemn thoughts.
CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer
Can you tell me, friends…that it’s not about the pain?
Jul 28th
Blasting south. Pushing hard…burning miles…making time.
Hot. Sore. Dehydrated…beyond the point of rehydration for the day actually…heading for the danger zone.
Basically, in the tremendous heat and long day I’m losing more fluids than the body can process in the short term…particularly since I only stop for fluids when I stop for gas. Heat exhaustion is inevitable now if I push on much longer without rest.
Recovery time has become mandatory.
I won’t be stopping for an extended rest anytime soon though. I’m within shooting distance of home…just a few hours of hard running. Home. I’ve caught a whiff and there won’t be much besides fuel stops until I reach it.
At least…that’s the plan. I’m just entering the hottest part of the day.
I’ve been straddling this machine and piloting her through waves of heat for eight hours. It’s damn big out here.
Relaxed and alert, but beginning to favor my left leg and back when the road is rough. The back’s never quite been the same since Alaska…and the leg…well…that was probably the ladder thing…or maybe half a hundred other abuses. The long hours in the saddle…two days of hard running…bring back the pain.
The memories too…return without having diminished their power over time. Pain and vivid recollections…complete with intense emotions…flow freely on these runs.
Pain and memory…of the two…it’s hard to decide which is stronger. Sometimes they are indelibly connected. Often they come unbidden…sometimes I dredge them up on my own.
Good memories, bad ones. It’s the experience that drives me. It’s the total that makes me what I am. I would not shed either if I could.
The pain I could do without though.
When I was a young man I’d have called it weakness. Today I call it battle scars. I’ve earned the right.
I’ve earned the memories. I’ve earned the pain.
Dubious honor…that.
The big machine’s running lean. I hit reserve twelve miles ago. There’s at least that many miles remaining before the next exit. The nearly empty tank…with the extreme temperatures of the day, the sun, and the heat of the big power-plant thrumming smoothly along underneath it…is hot enough to burn the insides of my thighs, even through my jeans. I eye the odometer and the map again. There would be fuel at that exit…I hoped. With any luck I might even make it that far.
My helmet feels like it’s closing in on me…the heat, the sweat. I’d toss it right now but years of experience in hot weather tell me I’m actually better off with it on. Blast furnace winds wouldn’t help cool my exposed head much. Besides that it holds my earphones in. The music is part of what keeps me going.
Or maybe it’s just the ride. Sometimes I’m not certain.
The toes of my boots are sandblasted half through by thousands of miles in these exact conditions. That says something. I don’t think too much about what. The soles are long gone too…dragged lightly on their edges as the pegs burned off on the roadway through many hard turns. This is my fifteenth pair of riding boots. Already it’s time for pair sixteen. I can’t remember how many sets of pegs though.
Longing for home, yet somehow, dreading the end of the ride. I glance at the instruments and tap the speed up just a bit. Maybe the fuel would hold out.
Yesterday some friends passed me on the highway. We rode together for a bit…until it was time for me to peel off to gas up the big cruiser. We shared the ride but never spoke. Just a wave as our ride…as the road…brought us together and then guided us apart.
I find myself thinking about them now…with their destination and the timing, they are likely out here too…not too far away, yet they may as well be a world apart. Our routes diverge near here. I wonder if they are having a similiar ride. Similiar thoughts. Similiar pains.
Riding is like that. Elements are in common…but how they are combined is intensely individual. In the end, the experience is unique.
The big machine starts running rough. “Hey boss,” she’s saying, “we’re about dry.” The searing hot tank punctuates her remarks.
“I know babe.”
A big green highway sign says the exit is a mile ahead. Heh…we’ll make it. Again.
As I pull to the pump I realize that I’m panting. Still, I fuel the bike first. After, I stick my helmet in the bagged-ice freezer and chug the liter of water I bought from the halter-top clad, 20-something, tanned Oklahoma girl running the station. They grow ‘em nice here.
I stare at my hands. Yep, I’m overheated. I stretch a little and try to moderate the shakes. More water, some of it over the head and down the back. I allow myself five minutes and then I retrieve my (now cold) helmet and mount up.
I’ve still got that whiff of home…and the warm and willing woman waiting there for me.
Hot, sore, exhausted, and pushing on. It’s time to fly.
Tomorrow I’ll have to pull the big bike apart…I destroyed the rear tire on the outbound leg…not far from this very spot. Plugging a hole that size…that likely shredded the belts…is only for getting home. Heh…well, home after I ran the three-thousand miles I had already planned for the trip first. Now I need to pull it and see if it can be patched from the inside. Yeah…sure. Already I know I’ll be shelling out the bucks for a new one. Gad.
I hit the road and push the bike to highway speeds…and somewhat more. The blast furnace winds are familiar now…and will make short work of whatever rest that last stop provided.
And I’m smiling.
God help me, I’m ENJOYING this.
Another gas stop and I should be able to make it home. I glance at the map again…hmmm. Maybe not. That’d be stretching it. Perhaps two stops. We’ll see.
The highway sings. The big bike’s lonely wail joins in. The music on my mp3 player enhances, rather than covers, this tune. Suddenly, a symphony, and I find myself singing.
Yeah, I’m enjoying myself. I don’t know why. Frankly I don’t care.
But I do occasionally wonder.
Can you tell me, friends…that it’s not about the pain?
CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer
All Summer long…
Jul 17th
Riding for me…is often a time for reflection.
Notice I didn’t say “quiet reflection”. I sing along to music. I scream at thunderstorms. I taunt the things out in the wild that would have my life…or worse…
Even more dangerous…I taunt those demons I carry within me.
I seem to have accumulated rather a lot of them…despite NOT mis-spending my youth. I wish I’d have known that IN my youth…I expect I’d have mis-spent quite a bit more of it.
clicky–> This song dredges up a lot of that sort of reflection. Give it a listen. Kidd Rock does it pretty well, and I’m riding that part of the country at the moment so it readily comes to mind.
This one is lost youth…that girl…that summer…and oh yeah, I remember. I will remember till I’m dead. No…that’s not true. I will remember far beyond that…I’ll remember until my soul is lost somewhere in the vast universe.
That time...Where the hell did it all go?
My Valkyrie runs on AAA batteries…you know this, yes? I stick a AAA battery in my mp3 music player and take off down the hiighway. If the music stops, often, so does the Valk whilst I search for another battery…another dose of music.
I can define or relive my life by the music I’ve experienced as I’ve made the journey…as I’ve traveled this road. Every album…from every artist…every record I’ve ever bought…every song I’ve ever liked…all of it…fits on my player with room for another 1000 songs (ANOTHER ONE-THOUSAND!). My whole life…in a player no bigger than my thumb. Scary that…but I DO love this technology.
So yeah…it was not 1989 (as it is in the song)…it was a large number of years earlier for me. Scary how many, really. Mostly I remember working…nose to the grindstone.
It. Bought. Me. Nothing.
That one summer though…it earned me my soul.
Food for thought.
Now nothing seems as strange as when the leaves began to change
or how we thought those days would never end
sometimes I hear that song and I’ll start to sing along
and think man I’d love to see that girl again.
Life’s short. Let’s ride.
CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer
Perception and Belief
May 31st
‘Well, now that we have seen each other,’ said the Unicorn, ‘if you’ll believe in me, I’ll believe in you. Is that a bargain?’
-Lewis Carroll (Through the Looking Glass)
I wonder how many people know…really know…that most of what they perceive…is what they believe.
It’s an important distinction, and life-changing food for thought…
CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer
Death. Dragons. The rider’s way.
Apr 26th
Just rambling tonight…indulge me if you will.
Music. Passion. Riding into the night. The shiver when dropping into a cool hollow. The adrenaline flowing when chasing the lightning in the distance…and the uncertainty when you suddenly realize you’ve no idea whether you are chasing it…or it’s chasing you.
Cool. Balmy. The unknown things lurking in the night.
Tasting the wind.
Y’all may know I ride extensively at night…the dayside too…but the night is where the magic grows.
Knowing the danger…and not simply knowing on an intellectual level. I’ve seen it. Felt it. Fought it. Experienced it.
Sacrificed much to it.
And yet still I ride. It heals the soul…or prevents it from breaking…or perhaps…it was broken long ago and the ride keeps it from simply wandering off.
We lift up our prayer against the odds
And fear the silence is the voice of God
I’ve never known for sure.
Music is important to the ride. Sometimes it’s the music in my head, sometimes the music on my player, sometimes it’s the music of the universe…but there is always music. The magic would die without it you see.
I don’t know if Emmylou Harris ever rode a motorcycle…but she understood.
I could write an essay on how this song relates to the rider’s way…and someday I probably will. For now, please, just indulge me and give her a listen. The lyrics are below. Follow along. See how it connects…if it does for you.
And then go fly…
Listen:
The lyrics…follow along.
The Pearl
Oh the dragons are gonna fly tonight
They’re circling low and inside tonight
It’s another round in the losing fight
Out along the great divide tonight
We are aging soldiers in an ancient war
Seeking out some half remembered shore
We drink our fill and still we thirst for more
Asking if there’s no heaven what is this hunger for?
Our path is worn our feet are poorly shod
We lift up our prayer against the odds
And fear the silence is the voice of God
And we cry Alleluia Alleluia
We cry Alleluia
Sorrow is constant and the joys are brief
The seasons come and bring no sweet relief
Time is a brutal but a careless thief
Who takes our lot but leaves behind the grief
It is the heart that kills us in the end
Just one more old broken bone that cannot mend
As it was now and ever shall be amen
Amen. Amen.
And we cry Alleluia Alleluia
We cry Alleluia
So there’ll be no guiding light for you and me
We are not sailors lost out on the sea
We were always headed toward eternity
Hoping for a glimpse of Galilee
Like falling stars from the universe we are hurled
Down through the long loneliness of the world
Until we behold the pain and become the pearl
The pearl. The pearl.
Cryin’ Alleluia Alleluia
We cry Alleluia
And we cry Alleluia Alleluia
We cry Alleluia
Life’s short. Let’s ride.
CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer
Do you *like* what you do?
Apr 6th
My Dad loved his work.
I always thought that was normal. The world is big enough…and diverse enough…that I believe a man can work at practically anything he loves and make a decent living at it. The key is passion.
That said, I sort of stumbled into my career. I’ve liked it…I’ve loved it. But it’s changed, and lately it seems I’m just going through the motions.
I’m intensly passionate about my home life…I can’t even articulate my feelings for my wife of 19 years…they’ve never dimmed…and I enjoy the projects we elected to tackle together. The Old Vic is an amazing, challenging, and fun project…and our 100+ year old building on the square is a cool and facinating project as well. Big plans. Big dreams.
And we don’t just dream. We DO!
Other passions…no less strong, some perhaps stronger than others:
–Riding. Heh…you’d think the years and the miles…or maybe even the pain…would have dimmed the desire.
–Writing. Somehow crafting the world that I see…that I experience…into something others can understand and perhaps even feel.
–Family. Friends. A day with them at the movies…or lazing around the couch just chatting…or working on something. All good.
–Art. The doing. The viewing. The discovering.
–Flying. Skiing. Machines. Materials. Wood. Metal. Fire. Stone. Creation! The synergy between man and his machines…the tangible soul he imparts to his endeavors.
Will there ever be enough time?
Passion. It drives me. It moves me. It inspires me.
But not for my work…I’m not burned out…the work itself has changed. I’ve found I’ve only stayed for the money. Oh, I still do the job…I’m still dedicated…AND good at it.
But I’ve stayed for the money…and that…somehow…just seems wrong.
Well, ‘wrong’ seems the…heh…wrong word…perhaps ‘tragic’?
Should my home life be enough? Or should a man be *allowed* to be passionate about his work as well?
Don’t get me wrong…I’ve paid my dues. We ALL do things we don’t want to do at times…but should that be the norm?
Passion as principle. I’ve touched on this before…and often meant to write more extensivly about the merits…and the costs. Maybe I will someday.
But for now…what about you? What do you do for a living? Are you passionate about it?
Comments?
edit: I posted this in several places, and am getting a lot of interesting and well thought out responses…so next week or so I’ll post an article summary of the responses/gist and my conclusions. Thanks for commenting!
CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer
Spring…sprung!
Mar 11th
Balmy nights, pleasant days.
Well…almost…if you squint a bit.
Spring is here…or so close by as to make no difference.
And those nights…those nights are just plain magic…and the thunderstorms…they hunt me yet again.
Or maybe it’s the other way around.
And I ride.
The worries left behind. The stress scattered to the winds.
Blood, bone, muscle, and steel once again merge into something much greater than their parts.
Apart, we exist. Together…we can fly!
Screaming into the night. Sometimes literally. The darkside calmed. The lust satisfied…if only for a moment.
The soul rebuilt. Ahhhhh.
Yeah, magic.
Suddenly the 20 mile commute into work starts racking up 40, 50, even 100 miles on the odometer of the big Valkyrie cruiser. The ride home is even worse and seems to take me through cities that have no business on my route. Since when is Hugo on the way from Dallas to Garland?
And just what the hell is a Tishormingo anyway? It’s one…interesting…place in the middle of the night.
The wife asked me to pick up some takeout on the way home. Heh. Rookie mistake…she forgot to specify what city to get the takeout from.
I’m happy to report the tamales from south eastern Oklahoma are quite tasty, even reheated hours later in the microwave.
Yum. I’ll simply have to go back.
Too bad I don’t remember where exactly I got them from. It was…that-a-way…I’m almost certain of it.
No help for it…I’ll just have to go looking again!
Maybe this time…just this once…I’ll even remember what I’m looking for.
CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer
What About Love?
Feb 1st
Meatloaf…says it all for us…
[Boy:]
I can’t forget the feeling of your sweat upon my skin
And the trembling of your body on the day you let me in
That happens once, only once, in a lifetime
[Girl:]
On a summer night’s surrender with nothing to lose
You were scared and so was I when I gave myself to you
It happens once, only once, in a lifetime
[Both:]
What about love that lasts forever?
What about time to see it through?
If you don’t give you just don’t get it
What about me?
What about you?
What about love that won’t say never?
When you’ve done all that you can do
If you don’t live you’ll just regret it
What about me?
What about you?
What about love?
The song is here.
She is…one of the reasons I ride…though a wanderer’s soul is a pesky thing…one benefit is that it often takes me far enough away so I can turn around and see what I have…
The depths of the feelings are hard to plumb…
And usually, I, the wordsmith…I completely fail to express it…
The passion. The drive!
Just melancholy tonight…I am a very long way from her.
And it occurs to me…shivering in the cold and the dark…that my demons don’t hunt me from the hot places in this universe…it’s not from the depths of hell they come…rather they spring from the cold places of our existence…they haunt me from the curse of winter…the coldness of some mens’ hearts…and the frozen, unchanging roads of what what some folks call “destiny.”
Hah. Destiny…There’s a thousand miles of it between us…slippery roads, icy bridges, and cold mens’ souls.
The Dragon’s full of fuel. I think it’s time to tackle it…those demons…that destiny.
But that will be subject for another story.
Life’s short.
If you don’t live you’ll just regret it…
CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer
Normalcy
Jan 24th
No work for me this weekend. Resting. Processing. Recuperating. Recharging.
I putter. Watching some TV. Listening to music. Reading. Writing. Plotting my next project.
Sunday I manage a nap…and for the first time in days, my dreams don’t wake me in a cold sweat, yelling for people to get down…to run…to get away from the laughing drug dealer who, even as he steps over bystanders’ bodies, just won’t run out of bullets.
The wife sits across from me, reading, occasionally looking up at me. We share a look then…a promise…a reaffirmation…that only intimates can make or understand. Nineteen years and my heart still gives a lurch.
The caffeinated kitten, who now (and seemingly rather suddenly) inhabits a big orange cat’s body, bounds in through the gap we left in the patio door for some fresh air…his collar jangling. He prances up and proudly deposits his latest catch at my feet…a large leaf from the front bushes. It joins the growing pile of similiar prizes he’s left me in the last hour.
He gets some praise and a quick skritch behind the ears and he’s off to his next big adventure.
The Maine Coon is upside down, half in and half out of a bag on the kitchen floor…his natural habitat methinks. He snores.
Bills to pay. Back to work tomorrow. Normalcy.
And yet I wonder…is that okay?
CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer
Where’s the damn erase button?
Jan 22nd
I started this week as a juror on what seemed a fairly mundane case.
The prosecution’s case was very carefully put together. He knew his business. The defense had nothing. There was no reasonable doubt. There was no doubt at all. The verdict was inevitable, and even with our diverse jury, quick and unanimous.
And then the other shoe dropped.
The case was far more than it seemed, as we suspected from the extreme care the prosecution had taken with the case, and we discovered for certain during the sentencing phase.
I ended the week with the images of an innocent bystander murdered…caught in a shootout…in full color/motion and from every angle…burned into my head.
It shook me up far more than I can explain.
Yeah. The jaded, world traveling, burly, biker dude.
And I can’t find the damned erase button.
To the defendant…whom we put away for 85 years…may God have mercy on your soul…if you even have one…because surely I have none for you.
And damn you for making me face that fact.
Ride. I think I need to ride.
But I need to vomit first.
And I really, really need that damned erase button.
CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer