June 26, 2011 Forysth, Montana

For some of my friends, this blog may be a geography lesson as well as a lesson in patience.  My passport arrived, and I headed east from Whidby Island, WA on Hwy 20 across the Cascades – amazing!  Hwy 20 is closed during the winter because of snow but has been open a couple of weeks.  At higher elevations, though the road was clear and cleaned, the snow was piled higher than my head along the shoulders.  I learned that Hwy 20 east is fairly new – opened in 1972, I think.  Before that if you wanted to go to the small communities of Winthrop or Twist, you came east from Seattle on Interstate 90, then north through Wenatchee up to the canyon cul-de-sac of Twisp/Winthrop/Methow – and the natives liked it that way.  Once Hwy 20 opened as an east/west corridor through the Cascades, development ran away with much of the quiet remoteness – but it remains a beautiful, serene place.  Changing plans is an art, and I work hard at developing my skills.  So I stayed with Shellia and Curt, friends of my friend Jim, at their home in Winthrop – ended up staying two nights because it was a beautiful place with intriguing and kind people.

But by Saturday I had run out of excuses – no more passport to wait for, no more “reasons” to dawdle in that beautiful place – so I headed east on Hwy 20, turned south at Twisp, rode over the Grand Coulee Dam, to Spokane where I got on Interstate 90 for the short but beautiful ride across the panhandle of Idaho, and then into Missoula, Montana, where I stopped for the night.  This is absolutely NOT the route I had “planned”, but … the Highway to the Sun in Glacier was closed, and I needed to get south to miss the flooding in Minot, MN.  And somewhere along the way, I stopped at a casino/restaurant/novelty shop for coffee and to look thru tourist trinkets just as a tour bus pulled up for the same reasons.  When I returned to my bike, the 32 Germans from the bus were boarding, and that meant they needed to walk right by my bike.  One of them asked and I gave her a post card.  Soon I was in the middle of the whole bunch, trying to explain myself.  They were friendly but obviously confused by me, a female riding alone on a big bike across a big country.  A few of them spoke some English; I speak no German.  One man shook his head and explained loudly, “This is a man.  Must be!”  Another looked at me sympathetically and asked, “Do you ride lonely?”  I smiled and just said, “Yes.”  Sometimes it’s hard to explain the difference between “lonely” and “alone.”

Saturday I pulled into a KOA in Missoula, 440 miles later – and the orange dry bag in which I store my sleeping bag was gone.  I walked around the bike several times, sure it was just hiding for a minute.  It was one of three bags strapped securely (meaning with 3 bungee cords) on the passenger seat.  The other bags were there, not askew, and the 3 bungee cords were still aligned.  Add to the confusion that I had checked those bags carefully in Winthrop and again further south.  When I dropped the bike in the Sequoias, the bags didn’t come off.  But one was gone now – my best guess is that when I stopped at the casino or for a late lunch, someone decided it would be funny to remove just one & carefully leave the others.  But it was 7pm and the forecast was for a low of 37.  No sleeping bag was not funny, so I got back on the bike, rode to a nearby sports store, bought a new one (on sale!)  and got back in time to set up the tent before dark.  The new bag did its job; and I slept well after I put on my hooded sweatshirt.

This morning I stopped for breakfast and called my son.  I was talking with Harper, my 4 yr old grand daughter, and explained I had seen snow yesterday.  She asked, “What is snow?”  The child was born in Florida.  I explained that it can get cold, like in the freezer, and that the rain freezes like the stuff on the sides of the freezer.  She replied,  “Like the snow balls we made!” Last winter it snowed north of their home a couple of hours, and their parents took the two kids up to a ballpark where they gathered enough snow to throw snow balls.

I left Missoula and soon found a road listed as “scenic” – Hwy 12 runs somewhat parallel to and north of Interstate 90 and it’s beautiful.  It rolls through the plains with mountains in the distance.  This is grassland; some of the area is cultivated but grass seems to grow whether “planted” or not.  And the grasses move with the wind, like waves on the ocean.  It was gusty in places; when I was heading due east with a northern wind, it was strong enough to jerk my head, repeatedly.  My head would go right; I’d bring it back center; then it would pop right again.  I hope I got a few good pictures today, but for much of the ride it would have been insane to ride with one hand while taking pictures with the other.  Remember that head thing.  Most of the rivers were obviously swollen; some were flooding pastures and barns.

I stopped for gas somewhere on Hwy 12 and then parked my bike to go inside.  When I came out a Harley was parked at the pumps, and a woman stood by the bike.  We spoke, and her friend joined us.  He moved his bike, we talked awhile, and then we rode off together.  Ruth and “Bones” rode up from their home in Mexico, are simply out enjoying the country, and like me were heading east on Hwy 12.  I followed them for maybe 150 miles, at 55 MPH, something I hadn’t tried before.  I saw an eagle (how cool is that!), and a couple of deer (still makes me very nervous).  We stopped at Forsyth  (460 mile day) where we got rooms and then had dinner together.

Tomorrow, I will cross North Dakota on Interstate 94 to avoid the flooding to the north and then head north to Duluth, MN where I’ll cross into Canada and take the “high road” over the Great Lakes.  I had Planned to take the “low road”, but the weather forecast there is for rain.  Ruth & Bones haven’t decided which way they’ll go – one option is the low road & up to Maine.  So if I’m lucky I’ll meet them again.

June 22, 2011 Wednesday Oak Harbor, WA

MADE IT  TO BLAINE, WA – 2 CORNERS DOWN, 2 TO GO

Monday morning I went to the Shriners Hospital in Portland – another challenging, encouraging experience. In the next day or two I will upload to my photo bucket page a variety of pictures, some that tell more than words – pictures of yet more rows of little feet and legs, waiting to help normalize children who just want the chance to be kids.  As in Sacrament, I was entranced by the Motion Analysis lab.  I saw a video of a young boy moving across the room with a gait I cannot describe; as best as I understand, he had a birth defect & his kneecaps were on backwards.  After intricate studies and cross-discipline conferences, the surgeons performed corrective work.  The second video showed him walking with a gait that was normal!!   I also saw photos of a child with a birth defect that results in one leg significantly shorter than the other, to the point that the foot on the short leg is roughly level with the knee on the good leg.  The doctors at Shriners perform surgery on the short leg that includes turning that foot so that the anklebone can act as a knee.  The prosthesis attaches to rotated foot, and the child has the benefit of movement at the knee level.

I had an interesting conversation with a tech in the prosthesis lab who explained that she attended a technical college and received an Associate of Arts Degree in prosthesis, that there are only a handful of such schools in the country, and she particularly enjoys what she does.   So I learned of a career choice I had never considered, one for which there is a strong demand and one that “pays back” to our society.

The Shriners Children’s Hospital in Portland has recently expanded their facilities and thus has the staff and services for more children than they currently serve.  Isn’t it a positive note to learn that a medical facility can provide more free and critically important services to children?

I left the Shriners Hospital, again “being run out of town” by another biker and member of the motorcade from the local Shriners.  I needed all the help I could get negotiating that city traffic!  Soon I was safely headed north on Interstate 5 and my escort waved goodbye.  The traffic was OK until I got up into Seattle, just in time for the 5pm rush hour.  I don’t know why anyone would voluntarily drive in that craziness on a routine basis. After getting turned around my requiste number of times, I stopped for the night at a motel near the Ronald McDonald House.

Tuesday morning I toured the Seattle Ronald McDonald House, and the experience made up for all the traffic.  Ronald McDonald Houses (RMH) around the country provides housing for the families of children who are hospitalized or in need of intensive outpatient care.  The facilities are set up something like a motel but with many expanded services.  Some people associate the Ronald McDonald House exclusively with the McDonald’s food chain and assume the RMH is fully funded by McDonalds.  However, McDonald’s provides approximately 20% of the annual budget and the balance comes from the community.  In other words, the RMH relies on your help to stay in the business of helping families.

This Ronald McDonald House (RMH) primarily serves the Seattle Children’s Hospital.  Because the Children’s Hospital serves a large population of children with cancer and those requiring bone marrow transplants, the average length of stay for a family at the Seattle RMH is 40 days.  There is a separate building on the grounds in which the families of children receiving bone marrow transplants live.  They are kept separate to help insure the children are not exposed to germs from the general population.

It is common for the sick child to complete in-patient care and need extended services on an out-patient basis, so then the child simply moves in with his or her family there at the RMH.  The family stays together, and the child moves on with treatment.

The main house was, of course, clean, modern, and well maintained.  Some of my favorite touches include – a room for teenagers to hang out in, equipped with game machines, TVs, etc. and a professional graffiti artist painted the walls!  Then there’s the theater, provided by Rashard Lewis, a professional basketball player formerly with the Seattle Sonics.  The individual that does the playgrounds for the McDonald chains provided the indoor playground for young kids; the large tree and adjoining bridge are soft to the touch and beautifully colored.  And the extra touch provided by volunteers is evidently everywhere.  The grounds are beautiful and are an on-going gift from volunteers – a group of master gardeners.  A group of quilters makes and gives a quilt to each family as they check in; several people knit hats for the children who have lost their hair to chemo; others decorate pillow cases for the kids; a group of women bring their sewing machines to the House and mend whatever is needed; various groups and clubs cook meals for the residents several times a week.  Therapy dogs pass through, searching out lonely people of all sizes; there’s a homework club, volunteers that come to help the kids stay current with their schoolwork.

My grandson was critically injured in an accident 4 years ago and spent 9 days in pediatric intensive care; his parents lived a nightmare no parent wants to imagine.  During that time, his parents were able to drive back to their home, less than 30 miles away.  As I sat in the waiting rooms over those days, I listened to the stories other parents shared, parents who did not live close to the vital medical care their child required, parents who were able to be close to the hospital by staying at the Pensacola Ronald McDonald House. And so I know a little of the trauma a family experiences when a little one is critically ill; though my family did not have to rely on the services of the Ronald McDonald House, I want to help insure it is there for any parent living that nightmare.

I left the Ronald McDonald House and headed north on Interstate 5 to Mukilteo WA where I caught the ferry to Whidbey Island.  I was the only motorcycle on the ferry so I was dead center at the front of the bow, an impressive seat from which to watch the Puget Sound go by.  The ferry ride was too short; the bike ride up the island was also.  As I headed north on WA 20, I rolled through miles of pastoral lands, then thought, “Must be getting close to the water again — I smell mud flats.”  Sure enough, I rounded a couple of corners and there was the water, at low tide.  I rode and grinned ‘til I made it to my friend Jim’s in Oak Harbor.

My initial plans were to leave today/Wednesday, but my passport finally came into Pensacola and I want to cross over into Canada before I get to the Atlantic.  I couldn’t figure out the geometry to have it mailed somewhere in the mid-west, general delivery, so my sister-in-law has overnighted it here. Today I rode up to Blaine for the second of the four corners.  In route, I had the oil changed on the bike & my tires checked (he said they’re wearing in the middle!! Not a good thing.  Obviously I’ve spent too much time on the Interstate).  Then I took the obligatory picture of my bike at the Blaine, WA post office, and stopped for a few minutes in the small town.  People often come up to me to talk – what do you expect when they see a grandmother on a big bike, loaded to the gills.  So I wasn’t surprised when a man, maybe mid-40’s, smiled and read the placard on my front windshield and said, “What’s a ‘gypsy judge’?”  I explained my 4 corners 4 kids, and he let out an easy chuckle.  He said, “Me too, sort of.  I’m hitch hiking though.  I left Sarasota, Fl. 14 days ago and hitch hiked up here.”  I realized he’d gotten to Blaine quicker than I had!  He said his trip was one of his bucket-list items, that traveling clean-shaven and with an American flag made it a different trip than some hitchhikers experienced.  He said he’d had 45 rides, had come diagonally across the country (see there – I could have made it in 14 days if I came that way); and that he thought he might go on up to Alaska but he was getting tired.  So from Blaine he was heading south and east, aiming at Sarasota.  As he walked off, he said, “Give me a lift if we pass down the line – if you think I’ll fit on your bike,” waved and turned a corner.

I headed south on Hwy 11, the Chuckanut Hwy.  What a beautiful ride! The road follows the coast line & is blanketed with fir and cedar which are often covered in green moss while large ferns grew everywhere – further proof that this is the “north-wet”. Back on Hwy 20 I stopped for gas and met a woman coming out of the bathroom.  She was pretty much my size, height, weight, and age – except she moved with difficulty on a walker, and I was dancing around the country on an over-sized dream.  Just in case I need to be reminded how very luck I am.

Hwy 20 crosses Deception Pass, an amazing waterway that connects Skagit Bay with the Strait of Juan de Fuca.  I stopped, of course, for pictures and was treated to an aerial dance by a pair of mature bald eagles.  I rode back to Jim’s, grateful and grinning.

Tomorrow after the FedEx package arrives, I’ll head east on Hwy 20 and cross the Cascades.  Yeah!!!!  But it’s a very, very long way from here to Maine…

June 19, 2011 Portland, OR

After a beautiful start to my day on Thursday, I headed north on US 101.  The stretch from Arcata, CA on US 101 to the OR border is one of the most beautiful in the country.  I stopped in Crescent City for gas and wished I could stay longer – it’s an empty, quiet little place blown about by ocean winds, with seafood markets and/or restaurants on each corner.  I “planned” to go to the Jedebiah Smith Redwood SP and the sign said “Stout Grove.”  I got suspicious after riding several miles without further signs, through areas that didn’t look very state-park like.  Then I found Stout Grove, which is in fact a part of the state park; I rounded a corner, amongst those Gentle Giants, and the pavement ended. So after a short stint of dirt bike riding on the Wing, I turned around and headed back to the highway.  And I have a picture to prove it.

Soon I crossed the border into Oregon.  Along much of the coast the winds were a handful – gusting so that the trees were doing full-body waves.  I slowed waay down and continued to be awed by the coastline – huge boulders, waves crashing, and changing altitudes.  I don’t have to be in Portland until Monday morning so I dawdled.  I stopped for the night in a motel in Bandon, OR – it had misted rain off and on, it was cold, and I wasn’t sure how well the tent would hold up to the wind gusts.  Unlike other quick-pick choices, this motel was a delight (clean, light-filled) with a short walk down to the ocean.  As I was checking in, the woman clerk asked about my bike and I explained my 4 Corners 4 Kids ride and gave her a post card.  I told her about the Child Advocacy Center first, and her face lit up. She repeated several times that she had no idea there was such a thing.  And in the quiet of that small motel lobby by the ocean, she matter-of-factly told me of the sexual abuse she had suffered as a child, adding, “There was no place like that for me.  I knew I couldn’t tell.  But how wonderful that they are there now.  May I keep this card?  I want to send it to my cousin.  She still hasn’t told her mom what happened to her.  You know, it just happens too much, more than most people want to think about.”  As we talked on and I explained I was heading to the Shriners’ Hospital in Portland, she said she had a boy cousin born with defects that affected his legs and with complex diabetes – the Shriners’ had given him the surgical care he needed for his legs and helped manage his diabetes.  She added, “I talked with him the other day.  Sunday will be his first Father’s Day and he’ll spend it chasing after his foster kids.  If the Shriners hadn’t helped him, he’d have died.  Now he’s a Foster Parent.  Cool, isn’t it?”

I left Bandon, OR on Saturday under heavy skies.  I rode north along US 101 and the mist turned to rain, so I decided I might as well get over to Interstate 5.  I turned east at Reedsport on US 38, in time for their annual Chainsaw Sculpting Championships.  Chainsaw artists began a new piece, worked on a time clock with designated rest times, and will then be judged at the end of two days.  The work was incredible!  When I arrived, they were on a break and I strolled among the pieces, but in deference to my audiologist and pulmonologist, I didn’t stay long once the dust began to fly again.

The rains were steady for the rest of the day.  I am a Quaker and decided to go to Meeting in Portland on Sunday, so I slogged along Interstate 5 north and stopped for the night just south of Portland – at one of those motels where you don’t want to walk on the carpet barefooted and they use Fabreze by the gallon to prove the place is clean.

I got up this morning, Sunday, and rode on into Portland for Meeting – which was wonderful and just exactly what I needed for balance.  I’m sitting now in the office of the Meeting House while a new Friend Betsey is in a meeting regarding their outreach project to Nicaragua.  When she’s done, I’m going home with her; her husband Bruce is fixing us salmon for dinner.  I will stay with them for the night; tomorrow I head to the Portland Shriners and then north to Seattle and the Ronald McDonald House.

How am I holding up?  I surprised myself yesterday, for I had to admit I’m tired.  It takes a lot of focus to ride a motorcycle, especially when you’re in such varied and new terrain, on a big bike, and you’re an old woman 😉 Another good reason for a day sitting and hanging with a group of Quakers 😉 The bike is doing great, of course.  My confidence level with the bike seems to ebb and flow, though I’m riding well.  I don’t like negotiating heavy city traffic, but that’s a given for the next few days.  I’m looking forward to getting that second corner in Blaine – though it’s then a long, long ride across to Maine.  As my friend often says, “More than one thing can be true.”

I’ve uploaded more pictures to photobucket

http://s1141.photobucket.com/albums/n595/gypsyjudge/?start=all

Somehow, it’s showing only the title but not the pix for some.  I’ll see what I can do.

June 17, 2011 Friday Klamath, CA

It’s 7 AM & I’m sitting in the clubhouse of the CG, looking out at the Klamath River.  There’s a heavy blanket of fog wetting the world; it has warmed up to 48 degrees.  I have a hot cup of coffee, compliments of my Jet Boil.    I slept in the tent & tested the temperature range of my down sleeping bag; after I put on almost everything I brought with me, including a hat, I slept well.  Around 5:30 I heard four hooves run by; not a frightening sound, more like – wow!  What was that?  But I can’t see out of my tent so I’m left to guessing – it wasn’t huge-sounding, so it was likely a deer rather than an elk.

And back to where I left off – after my day with the Shriners, I spent Tuesday night with Helen, the soon-to-be-90 year mother of a close friend.  Helen lives in the independent section of a facility that provides a wide range of services to the elderly. It was a fascinating juxtaposition – the elderly clinging tenaciously to life, as do the children at the Shriners Hospital.   With the old, it’s easy to trace the choices of attitude they’ve made in response to the cards dealt to them by life.  The young, though perhaps guarded, remain playful and hopeful.   It was shortly after 8 pm when I realized I’d left something on the bike.  I went down, retrieved the item, and found the doors had locked me out.  No one was in sight.  I had my cell phone but not Helen’s number.  I called her daughter in Tennessee for help, and as we talked the doors flew open.  There sat Helen on her electric scooter, grinning like a little kid, “I figured you couldn’t get back in, so I came down.  I used this thing, rather than my walker, so I could get here quick.”

I left Helen’s early on Wednesday and headed east on Hwy 50 to Lake Tahoe – a beautiful place I visited 15 years ago.  The traffic was heavy, and most of the roads were under major construction.  In spite of man’s efforts to the contrary, Lake Tahoe itself is beautiful.  From the lake I headed north on Hwy 89/70, aiming at Lassen Volcanic National Park.  The road construction intensified and I spent a lot of time waiting for a “follow me” truck.  I rode miles – literally – at 3 – 5 MPH, in what bikers call a slow race.  At one point, when I was tempted to whine about all the foot-dragging, I looked up and saw a mature bald eagle, looping above the trees.  The roads varied – twisties (30 MPH at most), & sweepers, with much change in altitude, as they followed fast moving rivers and climbed mountains.  The mountain sides were decorated with orange poppies, fir, and lilac.  Later the roads improved – new construction, so fresh asphalt with some scatterings of gravel, no shoulders or side markers, and no center line but those L shaped yellow markers.  I was having fun, very focused on the riding.  Each time I saw a warning about deer, I perked up even more.   And I was getting tired, for though fun, this wasn’t as easy as Interstate travel. I began to wonder why it was taking so long; quick glances at my GPS said she was still happy with my route, calling it Hwy 70.  That was OK because the road was 89/70. When I realized I was going SOUTH I knew something was wrong.  I pulled off of Hwy 70, with the GPS still goading me onward – and I was in Oroville, CA, only 68 miles north of Sacramento, but 302 miles on my bike and butt.  Good thing I’m not on a tight schedule!!!  After fussing myself, I stopped for the night at a campground with lots of mosquitoes.  Thursday morning, I enjoyed a huge breakfast and carefully headed north.  I stopped in Redding and bought myself a tank bag that holds a MAP.  I’ve always used one, but the gas tank on the Wing is made out of Tupperware, so the good, magnetic ones won’t adhere.  In the parking lot of the bike shop, I read the instructions that said simply, “remove the seat.”  Oh no.  So I stuffed the new “solution” to my being directionally challenged under a bungee cord and rode west on Hwy 299.  Hwy 299 follows the Trinity River and is magnificent.  There are many quaint villages and much unencumbered nature.  The poppies were yellow and orange; the river was often raging; the lilac was everywhere.  I stooped for a late lunch (fish tacos) and watched a biker peel over a multitude of layers, including a fleece pull over and leather jacket.  I wondered why, for it wasn’t that cold.  When I topped the last hill to face the Pacific, I quickly understood why all the clothes.  I was freezing!  But there it was – the Pacific crashing in, the heavy mist, building-sized boulders standing in the surf.  I am so grateful to be able to experience the diversity of our country!!

I rode north on Hwy 101 up through a section of the Redwood National Park.  Unlike the Sequoia NP, the people-energy of this park is gentle and quiet.  It is much easier to enjoy the magnificence of the gentle giants – the roads are good and sparsely traveled, you can stop at many places and be alone.  And the answer is – Redwoods & Sequoias are part of the same sub-family; the Redwoods are taller and the Sequoias larger around.  Incredibly, the Redwoods can grow a burl, something like an enormous wart or lump at the base.  The burl just sits there, until the mature tree begins to die.  Then the chemical brakes are released, and the burl begins to grow into a tree, using the life and roots of its dying clone.

I stopped Thursday night at a private campground on the Klamath River (it costs $35 to throw a tent on the ground in the Redwood NP!!!).  After setting up the tent, I decided to “remove the seat” from my bike.  Of course, nothing in my owner’s manual tells me how to do this small task.  After much time, I got out a Goldwing owners directory and called Roy in Redding, or somewhere.  He talked me though it – remove both handles and the backrest for starters.  After much longer than you could believe, I got the seat off, the tank bag installed, and the seat with back rest back where they belong – with no pieces left over.  It may have been easier to remove both tires & the engine.

This is good space for me.  I used my jet boil for the 1^st time this morning & sit with a cup of coffee.  My air card and cell phone don’t work here, so I’ll send this out later.

I have pictures to upload & will let you know when I get that done.  I’m surprised at how busy I stay – how much time it takes me each day to load up, ride, unpack, write, talk to people about the ride, etc.  Throw in several hours being lost, or reassembling my bike, & soon the day is over 😉

Jun 14, 2011 Sacramento, CA

“A promise worth keeping.”  THE SHRINERS HOSPITALS FOR CHILDREN

This morning I packed up my tent and rode over to the Shriners Hospitals for Children, Northern California, located in Sacramento, CA.  Catherine and Alan took John, a local Shriner who had come over on his triked Honda Goldwing, and me on an extensive tour of the facilities and in the process shared many facts. As I look back over the day, I’m over-whelmed and humbled by what I’ve seen.  If I leave out or misstate important facts, I hope you will still get a sense of the vital work done there.

The Shriners Hospitals in Sacramento is the only one in their 22-hospital system to house facilities for the treatment and research specialties for children with orthopaedic problems, spinal cord injuries, burns, and cleft lip and palate.  The hospital is located across the street from the University of California, Davis School of Medicine, and all Shriners Hospital physicians have faculty appointment at the UC.  But that is only the tip of the iceberg, for the Shriners have made a fine art of collaborating and partnering, to bring best practices to their young patients.

Our first stop was the Motion Analysis Lab where an incredible array of professionals work together, using cutting edge research and electronics to analyze the movement patterns of children – defining how specific muscles and nerves are functioning and sharing that information with surgeons, PTs, etc.   My favorite part of their work was the light electrodes they put on the kids; the kids move around lighting up the place and providing important data.  I wish I could have watched a kid dance to that light show!  Anita, our tour guide (who has a PhD in biomedical engineering) said she was often asked if it wasn’t depressing working with disabled children; she laughed and shook her head, “They are KIDS.  They laugh, they cut up.  They’re so full of life.  How could you be depressed?”

The next stop was Orthotics and Prosthetics where Dan explained that part of what they do is build new limbs for kids who are in need because of birth defects or trauma.  The kids get to pick the outer design (skulls with cross bones and camouflage are favorites of young boys).  On one of the several workbenches was the soon-to-be-delivered right hand for a 13-year-old girl who lost her fingers in an accident; the prosthesis matches her skin tone and has nice fingernails she can paint.  What an important touch for a young teenager who just wants to be like her friends.  There was a left arm outfitted with a special device to hold a ball bat; the clamp at the end of the arm releases and the owner can then attach his ball glove. Important stuff to a kid who wants to play Little League with his buddies.  When I asked about a tiny hand maybe an inch long, Dan explained it was a matching prosthesis for the owner’s doll, that having your doll go through the same surgery and then receive a matching hand can be a good thing.  He laughed and said he does amputations, but only on dolls.  There were literally rows of legs and feet, in route to helping to normalize the life of a specific child.  There was a wall of facemasks, molded to facilitate healing and minimize scarring after a sever burn. There is nothing academic or theoretical here.  Each mask, each arm, each hand, and leg is the imprint of a unique child in need of medical help, a child who simply wants to be a normal kid.  This “shop” also sews custom-fit burn clothing – yet another necessary device to help minimize scarring.  Dan showed me a just-completed outfit for a toddler, skin toned but trimmed in pink; I would guess an 8 – 10 month old.

We stopped at the school (another facet I hadn’t considered).  The Shriners provide certified teachers to their patients (K thru 12^th grade) and insure that when the children return to their home schools, they are on track.  Several volunteers worked with the teachers so the kids were getting a lot of interaction and instruction. The head of the school explained they also do outreach to the home school so that the receiving teacher will know what to expect and how to best incorporate the child back into the class.  A black and white cat made her rounds among kids eager to run small hands through gentle, purring fur.  A large dinosaur, compliments of a volunteer & made to scale of course, reared its snarley face by the window.  At one table sat several young children with severely scarred faces, playing and working with shapes.  They only spoke Spanish; I only speak a little but I was able to make a girl smile, perhaps because I blotched my Spanish but every smile counts.  Back in the hall, Catherine explained that at the table were three of the children burned so badly in a nursery in Mexico two years ago, that they come up to Sacramento for scheduled treatments, and the Shriners’ doctors also see them in their hometown.  She also explained that the pouches on their throats were made by injecting saline under the skin; after the skin stretches over the saline bulge, the Dr. will cut it and fold it up over the facial scars.  Some of the tiny faces were too scared to move into a smile, but the little eyes glistened with joy.

On the surgery floor, a therapy dog moved between the waiting families.

On the 6^th floor is the Institute of Pediatric Regenerative Medicine – a place where a wide array of scientist work in search of new ways to make the dreams of disabled children come true.  Professionals are intensely engaged in clinical studies I cannot pronounce much less understand; their goal is to give children an opportunity to live life to its fullest.

The Shriners work is to meet the needs of the children and their families.   There are many examples of those efforts throughout the facility; a play ground with varying textures (spongy, cobbled, cement, grass) to teach muscles and nerves how to function again, a basketball goal, and a large rec. area with a pool table, etc.  On the weekends multiple programs are available, giving patients the opportunity to choose what they want to do, at the end of a week in which they had few options. There is also a section where the families of the children stay (a few apartments and several others that are motel-like); when space is not available on-site, the Shriners have contracted with the near-by Ronald McDonald House.

When it was time for me to leave, a transport van pulled up with several young patients for therapy.  A mother pulled a wagon with her 8 – 10 month old daughter whose hips were cast to correct a skeletal issue.  A 4-year-old little girl (the age of my grand daughter) and her older brother (I’d guess around 8 or 9 yrs old) came straight for our bikes.  Their faces had been severely burned and each wore saline pouches in anticipation of future skin grafts.  They spoke only Spanish; grateful for their patience I somewhat communicated with them.  The little girl’s face couldn’t smile, but she gave me a high five with sparkling eyes.  Both kids sat on my bike and John’s trike.  The girl liked my bike best; her brother preferred the trike 😉 The kids went in for their treatment, and I rode away.

And Anita is so very right.  The hope, the laughter, the smiles are not depressing.  The work is real and absolutely vital.  There is much in our world that is draining, detrimental, and simply unimportant.  What the Shriners do is life sustaining, enriching, and real.  Their hospitals are a testimony to what a dream, dedication and partnerships can do.

There are enormous costs involved in delivering such top-rate medical services, but the Shriners provide free medical care to children.  Their ability to continue this amazing and important work depends on our financial help.

June 13, 2011 on the outskirts of Sacramento CA

For those who are counting, I’ve tent camped two nights (John bet I’d get 4 nights on the ground, over 6 wks).  I rather like being outside, the air mattress is comfortable, the weather has been cool and dry, and then there are no bed bugs to think about in the middle of the night.  The price is better than a motel if only slightly.  I pulled in yesterday just before dark too tired to be picky and paid $36 to sleep on the ground!!!

Yesterday morning I headed north from Visalia into the Sequoia National Park on Hwy 198.  The roads within the park are varied and include wonderful twisties that help rub rubber from the outer edge of my tires.  Not too far in, I stopped at a bathroom,  and as I made a hard right turn onto what I know now was recently tarred gravel, I found myself sliding on what felt like greased ball bearings.  At that point, the Wing decided to lie down for a brief rest.  The bike wasn’t hurt and neither was I.  I was really mad at myself, though, ‘cause I should have known better.  A group of bicyclists had also stopped for a rest and four of them picked my bike up, while discussing how heavy it is.  In response to my mumblings, one of them laughed, “I didn’t get a picture of it, so it didn’t happen!”  We joked; then they rode down the mountain and I headed up.   I went through a long stretch of construction with one lane of traffic; the road was mostly dirt, some gravel, and plenty of potholes along tight curves.  I’d had my wake up call in the parking lot, so I was VERY careful.  .

I spent some time walking amongst the Sequoias, the Gentle Giants.  It’s hard to put to words the experience of sharing oxygen with other living beings who are so old and magnificently large.  But words like small, fragile, fleeting, insignificant came to mind when thinking of us; enduring, strong, and wise were inadequate synonyms for the Gentle Giants.  The short hike to the General Sherman tree is at 7,000 ft, so I was huffing.

Within the Park there were stretches with snow on both sides of the road and warnings like “tire chains may be required at any time” and “watch for ice in shady areas.”  Throw in a few tour buses and motor homes, salt with loose gravel, spice with incredible scenery and you have your hands full on a bike.   I left the Park on Hwy 180 West, heading down to Fresno and Hwy 99 north.

Back on a freeway, I began to make good time and wonder where I’d stop for the night.  It had taken much longer in the Park than I thought, and I was getting tired.  But soon I dropped in behind a green Triumph Motorcycle and enjoyed “being with” another biker.  I rode with him for about 100 miles; he obviously knew the road though there were a couple of times I thought he would earn us both a speeding ticket, Several times he made room for me or “waited” so I could join him after we were separated by traffic.  Then I needed to stop for gas, so I signaled to him, waved, and pulled off.  That’s one of the many things I enjoy about bikers – sharing the road and courtesies with someone whose face you never see.

After a 367 mile day, I stopped for the night and set up my tent (man, I wish they wouldn’t put tent sites uphill on gravel!!!)  This morning I met a lady who was also brushing her teeth in the campground bathroom; she and her husband both ride.  They came over to my tent briefly, took a post card, and gave me a good luck hug.  She added, “Remember to have fun!  The kids want that.”  Great reminder.  I’m making this ride for the kids, and I want to do it their way, which is the fun way.

Today I’m chilling out; for some reason, I’m tired 😉 I hope to go the Shriners Hospital in Sacrament, and then I’ll move on towards Blaine, WA.

So far I’ve ridden 3,114 miles, and I’m still smiling.

I’ve added more pictures on my photobucket site http://s1141.photobucket.com/albums/n595/gypsyjudge/

If the link doesn’t work, do a copy & paste and that should get you there.

Visalia, CA Saturday Jun 11, 2011

Yesterday I headed west from Yuma, AZ,  in a heat that is hard to describe, even to those accustomed to HOT.  There were times when it was uncomfortable to breathe through my mouth, like the air was just too hot.  I kept thinking, “This is the stuff that can kill you.”  The world was beautiful in addition to being hot – mountains, enormous rock formations, rolling deserts.  There were also stretches in which I could see the wall stretching along the desert, a wall designed to separate two countries.

Too soon I was in the hellacious traffic of Southern California.  I’d much rather sleep in a room with a boa constrictor than ride through that!  At times there were 7 – 9 lanes in each direction.  As you follow my journeys, you’ll realize I’m directionally challenged.  Add to that inconvenient reality the fact that generally I can’t see the screen on my GPS because of sun glare; I wear a full face helmet with ear plugs (plus I’m hard of hearing), so there’s no chance I’ll actually hear it.  Ergo, getting around can be a bit messy.  Wrong turns are not much fun in Southern California.  But I finally made my way down to the first of four corners – San Ysidro, CA, at mile marker 1A.  And I have a picture to prove it.  Then I gladly headed north on I-805!  The traffic remained impossible for several hours though I opted for I-15 to bypass San Diego and Las Angeles.  I stopped at Rainbow, CA for a very late lunch and decided to spend the night next door, in the village of Fallbrook.  I woke this morning to a heavy mist that was cool enough to require a long sleeve shirt and jacket liner – a great change from yesterday.  I rode through hills and traffic, and then I missed my western turn to Pearblossom.   When traveling long distances like this, it often doesn’t matter which road I take so long as it’s heading north or west.  So I turned left/west at Victorville on Hwy 395 and soon found myself in the Mojave Desert.  It was a delightful “mistake” –  though I had to shed my long sleeves.  Boron, CA, on Hwy 58 is home of the 20 Mule Team Borax.  What do they use borax for now?  I climbed out of the desert at Tehachapi and the world changed again.   I passed several semi’s pulling mesh trailers loaded with garlic and rode through mile after mile of grape vineyards, fruit trees (apricots, peaches, olives, oranges, cherries) nut trees (walnut), onions, and garlic.

I stopped for the night and set up John’s tent.  Tomorrow I’ll head up into Sequoia National Park, and stop for the night close to Sacramento.

OK – I just can’t figure out how to upload pixs to this blog. But if you go to http://s1141.photobucket.com/albums/n595/gypsyjudge/ you’ll see something of what I’m seeing. Pan on the pix for a brief description.  p.s. if the link doesn’t work, do copy/paste 😉

Thursday, Jun 9, 2011 near Yuma, AZ

I left Lakewood, NM, on Wed, Jun 8, and headed north thru Artesia, then west – up and over the mountains at Cloudcroft.  A beautiful ride in wonderfully cool temperature.  The elevation drops from 8,650 feet in Cloudcroft to 4,335 feet in Alamogordo, in a distance of less than 18 miles — great fun on a bike, a bit daunting in a heavy RV.

I had lunch with John in Las Cruces; we met a couple of years ago when I took the Dirt Bike Course from him, and we’ve become friends.  He’s an avid biker and one of the best riders I’ve known.  After lunch we rode over to his house to visit with Kayla and play with their four dogs.  Somehow, I no longer have the tent that I packed in Florida, so he loaned me one – and made some comments about how often I’d actually use it over the next six weeks.  I took them up on their invitation to stay the night and parked my Wing beside his several bikes. John is always buying and selling bikes and may have to think to tell you how many he has today.  (I counted seven).  He explains that bikes are like golf clubs; no one is good for everything so you have to have choices.  (He has a big dirt bike, a little dirt bike, a very fast sport touring bike, a retro showpiece, and several others scattered in pieces as he’s rebuilding them.  And I may have missed one or more.)   After a good Mexican meal, Kayla showed me her boa constrictor and two chinchillas that live in the guest bedroom.  I said I didn’t mind the room mates, so long as the boa couldn’t get out in the middle of the night.  Kayla assured me the lid to the snake’s aquarium was tight, and then she took the wheel out of the chinchilla’s cage.  I told the boa good night, and went hard to sleep – after I put in ear plugs (chinchillas play a lot at night, even without a Ferris wheel.)

This morning I got on the road fairly early and rode 500 miles across the deserts of New Mexico and Arizona.  It was noon before it began to get uncomfortably hot, and from then on I simply couldn’t drink enough to make pee (OK, too much detail, right?)

I’ve stopped for the night in a very comfortable motel (i.e., it’s air conditioned & doesn’t feel like it has bed bugs).  Tomorrow, I’ll ride a mere 180 miles to touch the 1^st of the 4 corners, then turn right and head somewhat towards Washington.

After 2,000 miles, it finally feels like I’m actually out here, riding.  Much of the earlier route I’d ridden before but it’s all new now.

I’m working on the pixs – seems I just too tired tonight to get them on the blog.  Hopefully they’ll cooperate before I get on the road tomorrow.  A disclaimer – most of these were taken while riding, so they are certainly not fine art, but hopefully they’ll give you an idea of what I’m seeing.