EXTREME FIRKROY! TO THE MAAAaaax...

Make sure to say “TO THE MAAAaaax” in a very low voice.

While visiting Scott's Bikes & Boards last week I was reminded of 1975 and summer days in Portland. My cousin Casey and I were skateboard enthusiasts and spent much of our summer careening down Mt. Tabor on our boards. Many times we did it the scary way by laying on our backs like present day street luge riders. I remember thinking to myself at the time that I was only 2 inches from the pavement, and it would hurt if I lost it, but I just concentrated harder on staying on. We also had races down the volcanic cinder cone that is Tabor in a catamaran style. We did this by sitting on our boards and then placing our feet on our partner's. We raced as teams to see who could make it to the bottom first. The closed off reservoir road that we used ended at a road that cars traveled on. We would all stick out our thumbs and catch rides in the backs of passing pickup trucks that were going up. We didn't wear helmets, and I ripped more than one pair of blue Levi's cords in pursuit of my thrills.

I was also a bicycle fanatic and loved taking my bike everywhere. I had a series of banana seat clad Schwinns and Huffys when I was a kid, and I've kept bicycles in my life to this day, but my love for two wheels branched off when I decided I wanted to ride motorcycles. When I was 16 the only thing I could convince my dad into letting me have was a Honda trail 70 with folding handlebars. I took it into the woods and did some serious exploring with it. My neighbor Jeff also had one and many times we would ride together. I remember having my cousin Casey on the back one day when a coyote jumped out from the brush and started running beside us. I didn't think we looked like a road runner, but I suppose coyotes only chase road runners in cartoons.

When I left home all bets were off and I started buying and riding anything I wanted. I owned dirt bikes, and street bikes, I wanted to experience it all. One winter I decided to purchase a Honda 350 from a friend in Phoenix Arizona. I flew out and spent a few days in Phoenix, then rode the Honda 700 miles back to Sacramento California. I was freezing my butt off going over the Grape Vine on Interstate 5 just north of the Las Angeles sprawl. In the years to come I didn't let bad weather slow my motorcycling down, and I remember commuting on Interstate 880 in the bay area of California in the middle of winter riding my 85 Kawasaki ZL 600 Eliminator. I would wear a bright yellow rain suit and put a gallon of Rain-X water repellent on the inside of the windshield of my helmet. I remember cutting through cars one day when traffic was stalled (legal in California) and having a guy in a pickup truck roll down his window and spit on me as I went buy; good thing it was raining. I rode the ZL 600 on that same road coming home at 110 miles per hour one day, the cars that I passed seemed to be sitting still, but the bike was running smooth with only a slight long wobble caused by the windshield. I suppose I could have gone even faster but I didn't want to push it.

About 10 years ago I owned my last motorized two wheeled vehicle, it was a Yamaha 250 scooter like Tom Hanks rode in the movie Larry Crowne. My wife wouldn't let me get anything larger, but if it made her happy I was happy too. I rode that scooter every day to work rain or shine, except when it was icy, I finally gave it up but it was a lot of fun. Now that I'm at that age where I need to exercise or rot, so I've been concentrating on my first love, my bicycle.

Looking for a bottle of chain oil for my Fuji Hybrid was the reason for going into Scott's Bikes & Boards the other day. I had a great conversation with the tattoo clad skater that was managing the store at the time. They had some beautiful long boards and I found myself longing to get on and cruise down Mt. Tabor. We had a nice conversation about each other's knee surgeries and I decided that careening down Mt. Tabor at this point in my life wasn't a good idea. The chain oil he sold me rocked! Well as much as chain oil can rock, but it does repel water and grime like a champ. I purchased a yellow rain jacket over at Bi-Mart to round out my foul weather riding attire. I'm not going to let a little rain stop me from getting the anti-rotting exercise that I need.

I would like to get a couple more bikes at some point. I need a mountain bike to ride with my older son on the dirt trails, and a tandem to use with my younger son, and my wife. I think my legs falling off would be the only thing that would ever stop me from riding bicycles. My motorcycle days may well be over but I've been fascinated by 3 wheeled Piaggio scooters as of late, but I don't think one is in the cards anytime soon. Having some maturity is one of the good things about having your first kid at 40, and not being bug squash is important these days; my boys deserve to grow up with a dad.

Miraculously, my boys didn't inherit my thrill seeking genes, it's one less thing I have to worry about as they grow up. Instead I have to worry about the little pack of girls that seems to be following my 12 year old around. My wife has been giving him the low down on wild adolescent girls, and I've been doing my part in filling him on what his life would look like being a dad at 14. Hopefully he's been inoculated against stupidity. But the thing about stupidity is that resistance requires frequent booster shots.

Lucky for me, I survived my bouts of 110 Mph stupidity.

You Just Need a New Knee!

Six words that made me sweat, and squirm in my seat.

For months I had been back and forth to the Veterans Administration hospital about my aching knee. I wrecked it 20 years ago while on active duty in Grand Forks, North Dakota. I remember hobbling around on crutches for some time after that, it seemed to be ok after a healing, but these things have a way of biting you in the butt later.

After years of my knee just hurting it finally started to lock up, I couldn’t straighten it out, ibuprofen and foamy knee braces weren’t going to help this time. I drove up to Portland’s VA hospital with an appointment, not really knowing what to expect this time. I knew my knee was messed up, but that was about the extent of my knowledge.

I checked in and was told I was seeing the head of orthopedic surgery, “this is a new twist” I thought to myself.

I wondered what that was all about. A few minutes later a doctor looking to be in his late 50s came out and told me to come on back. We headed back to his little room, I sat down, and the doctor introduced himself. He had the mannerisms of a country doctor and sounded a bit like Bones from the first Star Trek.

He got right to the point. “I’ve looked over all of the charts and X-rays, and you just need a new knee” he said matter-of-factly.

It took me a few moments to pick my jaw up off of the floor and I started to sweat. “Holly Crap!” I thought to myself.

“Really?” I said quietly. It was one of the rare times where I was at a loss for words.

The doctor started showing me pictures of new knees, X-rays of my own mess of a knee, and talked generally what would have to be done. Ultimately it was up to me as to whether I would have the procedure or not.

The doctor told me that he only used the Mercedes parts, which was reassuring because if he had said Cadillac parts I would have really started to sweat. After he was done explaining everything he paused and waited for me to respond. Well, I’ve never been one to let an opportunity to get away from me so I told him “Let’s do it”

The doctor looked surprised, I don’t think he was used to getting such a decisive answer at this point in the game, but I knew I had to get it fixed, I was kind of found of being able to walk, and “No Guts, No Glory” has always been one of my mottos.

A couple months went by and I got a call. They had a couple dates for the surgery I could choose from. I quickly called the master of scheduling (my trusty spouse) and we picked a date.

The day before the surgery we drove up to Portland, kids in tow, and stayed at a hotel. I did the fasting thing, took a shower the night before with the “secret soap” that was prescribed to me, then per instructions showered again in the early morning with the “secret soap”. My dad lived in Portland and picked me up at the wee hours of the morning and he drove me to the hospital. My wife and kids would meet me later before surgery.

I checked in at the appropriate place, they directed me to take yet another shower -with more “secret soap”- I then put on a gown. They pushed me around in a wheel chair until I finally landed in a pre-op bed. A very nice nurse painlessly stuck an IV in my wrist; she was very comforting and thanked me for my service. I was having a hard time keeping from being teary eyed for some reason when she said that.

Everything was happening quickly yet in slow motion, anyone who has ever spent time in the military understands the term “hurry up and wait” that’s what seemed to be going on, with a delay waiting for the last victim -I mean patient- to get done with his surgery. I just lay there waiting. My family came in to visit, and I assured everyone it was no big deal and that I would see them in a little while. The kids were on an adventure and got to spend some time at Grandpa’s house while dad got sliced and diced, and bionic parts installed.

After having a conversation with the anesthesiologist I decided to go for the spinal shot instead of the conventional general anesthesia. I was told I would sort of be awake for the procedure but I would be paralyzed from the waist down. I was assured they would be putting lots of happy juice in the IV so I would be mostly asleep for the procedure. I told them that I didn’t want to know what was going on, so if I woke up to please turn up the juice and put me back in happy sleepy land.

The time came, and they wheeled me into a very large room, it looked as if they could have done 20 surgeries in here at the same time. They must have turned on the sleepy drug knob because the next thing I knew I was sort of waking up. There was a blue curtain in front of me and I could feel some tugging. Light out again, and then I was being wheeled to another place. While being wheeled I was congratulating them on doing such a great job in my drug induced stupor.

After a few minutes I felt great! It was around lunchtime and I wished that I had a sandwich. The doctor finally came out to talk to me.

I greeted the surgeon with “Hi doc, how did it all look in there?”

“You’re one tough duuude” the doctor replied. “I took out a cup full of arthritic teeth.”

I guess that’s why things were catching; it was like sticking a screwdriver in the gears. I wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to the doctor except to thank him for fixing me up.

The next five days I spent recovering in the hospital. The feeling came back below the waist again, I started taking a lot of pain pills, and I got to eat gruel. I think I had one piece of fresh fruit in my entire stay which consisted of half an orange. Yeah I know budgets are tight but could they at least given me the whole orange!

Lunch one day consisted of some whitish past with a bean in it, one of the other patients lost it over that lunch, and the police were in the hallway talking to him. The doctors and nurses were great, but the head cook must have worked in a prison before coming to work for the VA. I wrote a few letters about the food, and hopefully it will be better if I ever need to go back there.

After coming home I spent 3 months in physical therapy. Physical Therapists are a strange breed and I made sure to take lots of pain pills before visiting Mr. Crunchy my assigned leg straightener. He really laid into my leg working to get it to bend again, scar tissue builds up after a surgery and it needs to be busted loose. He dutifully did his job of busting loose that scar tissue… Ouchy! Thank You Mr. Crunchy!

Three years later I’m doing well, my leg gets a bit sore from time to time, but it doesn’t lock up anymore. You really wouldn’t notice that I was full of metal pieces and plastic chunks unless you noticed the big scar. My leg used to be bent a little to the right and it’s now straight! I told this to the doctor, he simply smiled and replied “we like things to be straight around here.”

My Father's Revenge

10 funny things to do or not that will drive your adult children crazy after you die, or sitting on a cloud laughing your butt off at the show.

My father passes away a while back, he had a house in Portland Oregon and some of his last words to my sister and I was about his house. He smiled at me and said “it’s going to be a chore” and he wasn’t kidding…

My father had been plotting to get back at us for the headaches we gave him over the years, and we just didn’t know it. After we all arrived at the house that my sister and I had inherited (to assess the size of the chore, and to find the hidden bars of gold), we found that we did indeed have a chore. I was going to learn how to be a handy man whether I wanted to or not. We’re still looking for the gold. It’s got to be around here someplace.

If my dad had made a to-do list for his revenge it would have looked something like this:

1. Don’t put an exhaust fan above the stove. 40 years of accumulated bacon grease on the kitchen ceiling is handy. One of the door hinges in the house might start to squeak, or you might want to fry up some eggs. You just can’t have too much bacon grease.
2. Don’t throw away that junk mail from 1969. One day that Montgomery Ward’s advertisement featuring lawn chairs will be a collector’s item and the kids will be able to sell it on ebay.
3. Don’t throw away that mobile phone from 1985. You may want to jump start your car sometime and that battery pack would be just the ticket.
4. Do string electrical cords from one end of the house to other. No phone jack upstairs or in the bedrooms? Not a problem, as they make connectors and wires for that. Not enough outlets? Not a problem! That’s why they invented power strips and extension cords. And don’t forget the multi adapters!
5. Do use lots and lots of duct tape to do repairs around the house. (My dad would have fit right in at the Possum Lodge hanging out with Red Green.)
6. Do let possums live in your shed, they make interesting pets and really don’t mind when you move the box they’re sleeping in.
7. Do nail up some wood paneling and leave it there 40 years after the roof leaks and damages the ceiling,
8. Do stuff old socks in the cracks for insulation where cold air is blowing in through the rigged up repair job on a window upstairs.
9. Do cover the puddle of mystery goo on the floor of your old pickup truck with an old T-shirt.
10. And lastly, never, never, never clean or paint your bedroom walls. That layer of nicotine from the 70s when you smoked is a natural insect repellant.

We did find some stashes of treasure; my dad had a philosophy about watches, don’t buy a watch that costs more than $9.95. He always seemed to have a new watch, “all perfectly good, and only $9.95 at Walmart” he would say. We found the can that he kept all of his broken watches, some dating back to a Pre-Walmart time. I’m sure they were still purchased for under $9.95, and none of them were made of gold.

My sister and I loved our dad and we miss him very much. He was a good guy and everyone loved him. He had some lifelong friends that he could always count on, and they were always a source of entertainment for me. So dad, here’s to you, I miss you and I crack open a can of Hamms in your honor.