When discussing motorcycles today, a friend mentioned having gone to a hill climb many years ago. Memories came flooding back in regard to a hillclimb we (family and friends) attended about, say, 40-plus years ago.
On a whim, we decided to take a little field trip to East Palestine, Ohio, to the motorcycle hill climb — something we really did not regularly do (as we were usually at the flat track races ourselves). We arrived to find a huge crowd milling about at the bottom of the hill. Bikers and biker-gang folks abounded. No big deal as we were bike people, too. However, as the afternoon wore on and the beer was flowing, a number of the crowdmembers began to race bikes through the crowd…while streaking and occasionally throwing bottles (not our usual experience with bikers). Since we had kids with us (two 10-year olds and a 5-year old), we decided to move up the hill to avoid the debauchery at the bottom.
Soon we discovered that those big old Harleys could lurch suddenly to the side of the hill (into the onlookers) when they could no longer continue the journey up the path. Hence, there were large guys (aptly named “hookers”) wielding large hooks which they used to snag the cycles and prevent them from rolling down the hill onto the fans who lined the path. Hmmmm…..not such a safe place, we decided, and continued to climb to the top of the hill, the pinnacle to which the hill-climbers aspired.
Here we felt safe. No riotous shenanigans. A crowd of twenty people and a huge tree limb blocking us from the tippy-top of the hill. A bike would have to get through all that to reach us! And, to be on the safe side, we put the ten-year-olds about three branches up in a tree, way out of harm’s way. Yes!! We had a plan.
So…the third bike to crest the hill flew up in the air (rider had bailed) off to the right and backward in our direction. It is amazing how fast twenty people can scatter. And a tree limb is no match for a bike that sails right over it! The kids in the tree were smart enough to hold onto a branch above them and lift their bottoms and legs from the branch they were sitting on as the cycle cleared that lower branch by mere inches as it flew and then bounced off the hill. My friend had scooped up the five-year-old, and the three of us made tracks down an ambulance-access road and escaped harm. And it all happened in a heartbeat.
We learned that the safest place to be a a motorcycle hillclimb is on the hillclimb bike. Whew!!
Lima (Peru)
Well, I’ve blogged about the motorcycle races in Lima (pronounced Lye-ma), Ohio. So now I’ll blog a bit about Lima, Peru. After many years in his career as a pro dirt track racer, builder of performance specialty racing motors, shop owner, mechanic, and sponsor of up-and-coming riders, my son morphed into a new and surprisingly different career — owner of pizzerias in Lima (pronounced Lee-ma), Peru. So instead of conversations about lap times, track conditions, and who’s going fast, we now talk about recipes!! When pigs fly, you say? Well, watch out for Porky up there!
Over the past eighteen years, I have been fortunate to have travelled to Peru three times, spending time in three different areas in the country — Miraflores, a touristy area on the Pacific a bit south of downtown Lima; Villa Maria, a suburb of greater Lima that reminded me at first glance of a town in the old wild west; and Paracas, a seaside resort four hours south of Lima. First of all, let me tell you that the people everywhere are great, the food is fresh, and the traffic is insane. Next I will say that most folks in the U.S. have little if any concept of what poverty can look like. I have learned that ajis amarillos (yellow chilies) should be a stable in everyone’s diet. And…never in my life have I seen so many people expending so much time and energy accomplishing so little!
A few vignettes to share! During the first trip I had the opportunity to visit an archaeological museum in Lima to learn about some of the history. When we got to the display on agriculture, I had an “aha!” moment when I recognized the shape of a lima bean. I tried to explain to my companions that at home we called these vegetables lima (lye-ma) beans but that I now saw that they were actually Lima (lee-ma) beans. But they kept insisting I was wrong because the vegetable in question was different from a “bean”. Obviously, plays on words do not translate well. I was focused on “lima”; they could not get past “bean”. But…all in good fun! Also on the first trip, I learned that pizza is important enough that in Miraflores near Park Kennedy there is an entire street named Pizza Alley featuring wall-to-wall pizzerias. In addition, I learned that in downtown Lima, shopping seems to be organized by particular streets for particular products. There was the blue jeans street, the shoe street, the formal attire street, etc. Interesting!!
The second trip showed me that Chinese food is a favorite there as well as pizza. (I would have expected more Peruvian food, but…hey….) We visited a place called Wong’s which was actually rather like a superstore with all kinds of shopping possibilities as well as a Chinese buffet at which you would pay for your meal by the pound, as your plate was weighed when you got through the line. I also learned that a person who fears heights should not embark on a journey to the top of Mount Cristobal in downtown Peru as the trip involves an overcrowded, unbalanced bus travelling up the side of a mountain with switchbacks with a wall of rock on one side of the one and a half lane road and a sheer drop-off, largely with zero guard rail, on the other side. Let’s just say that the panic attack far exceeded the terror I felt when the storm dropped two oak trees on our house while I was in it.
The Paracas trip provided the opportunity to take a motorboat about 20 miles out into the Pacific to visit islands largely comprised of bird guano (poop, specifically) which are inhabited by sea lions, red and silver crabs, Humboldt penguins, and a gazillion birds (gulls, cormorants, Peruvian boobies, etc.) Fascinating! We also visited museums that displayed elongated skulls found in the area over the years. (I have seen reports that there have been DNA tests completed on the skulls and that the DNA is mostly human…but partly from some life form not known to planet Earth.) Hmmmm…….
More Peruvian stories to come in the future. Above are just a few highlights. And the best times there were with family and friends. Love you all!
Lima (the races)….
Today, the last Saturday in June, I am grieving the loss (hopefully only temporary) of a family dirt track racing tradition. Were it not for the disruption of the coronavirus, we would be on our way to the Grand National Championship motorcycle dirt track race in Lima, Ohio. During our years on the racing circuit (my son’s racing career and his adjunct career as a performance motor-builder, shop owner, mechanic, and sponsor), we almost always pitted near turns one and two, and once my duties of scrubbing leathers were done I would take my stop watches, notebook, pens, water bottle, sunblock, and an occasional book or puzzle book (for the track preparation downtime) and plop myself in my lawn chair by the fence. Even after the AMA started providing lap times via transponders and computer printouts, I did not know how to watch races without timing. It becomes a programmed reaction, and I am still learning to just watch and cheer. (Actually, once the transponders took over, it became a bit of a game to see how closely I and my hand-held watches would come to matching their times. Woohoo!! Nailed it within thousandths of a second! Simple pleasures!)
Mixed with the smells of lime dust, bike exhaust, and sunblock, Lima has always had a wonderful overlay aroma of roasting chicken, so that had to be supper during the open-pit break when the race fans can come in for a tour and autographs from racers who were not too busy prepping bikes for the events to come. (The open pit after the race ended was the best bet for autographs and memorabilia – posters and the like – as the riders’ major “work” would be done for the evening.)
Due to midwestern weather patterns, Lima frequently involved a traditional Lima severe thunderstorm that would send folks scrambling for cover and prolong the evening as the track prep folks had to redouble their efforts to be sure the races could go on. The year we had purchased our first canopy for the pits, one of those nasty storms rolled through. The winds were so strong they deflated the Camel Pro inflatable Joe Camel (the cigarette company sponsored races back in the 70s) and tried to take our new canopy to Oz. Our whole pit crew was hanging onto the metal frame (along with tethering to a ballast of wheels, tires, and toolboxes) to prevent our new investment from leaving.
And there was the year I managed to catch my foot on the van doorstep and land on my twisted other foot, snapping the tendon in my ankle. Yay!! More fun and challenges for the day. Getting from our pit to the track to take times and watch the races was pretty much impossible since I was unable to put any weight on my foot. Luckily, for the short run, the ambulance folks provided ice packs, and the Camel Pro representatives loaned us their golf cart to transport me. First stop was the restroom under the grandstand. But, of course, we could not take the golf cart under the grandstand to get to the door that was open to the public. So the track folks opened a locked door directly from the pit area just so I could get closer. Still, I had to hop…and I am not coordinated at all! To my rescue came a nice, tall Harley gal who scooped me up with an arm around my waist and hopped me through to a restroom stall, commanding that folks in the long line yield right-of-way for me. Then she waited till I came out (bless her!) and hopped me back to the waiting golf cart…which wouldn’t start. The battery had died. Not to be daunted, my husband found a fellow with a wheel chair which we borrowed to get me up the hill to my lawn chair by the fence. Whew!! (Thanks to Mr. Rayburn!) The next challenge was protecting my foot when practice began. My bum foot was propped on a second lawn chair, and we had to design a barrier with a race program brochure to fend off the spray of pea gravel roosting off the tires as the racers would throw the bikes sideways close to the fence. Lima is a half-mile oval “cushion track” wherein the loose limestone is thrown to the outside during the course of racing, creating a soft deep “cushion” on the high line. (For those of you who are newbies to dirt track racing, the term “roost” is derived from “rooster tail”, the visual effect of the dirt spray behind the bikes as they get into the heavy dirt. So…as the riders would test that high line, my poor foot was being pelted with a barrage of pea gravel. Seems Davy Camlin (a great racer, unfortunately no longer with us) was the guy that year who had me jerking (owwwww…) each time he’d spray my poor beleaguered sole.
One year my son fell down at the far end of the track (turns 3 and 4). I had been sitting on top of the race van with binoculars and, despite a speedy slide down the windshield, I could not move fast enough to get to the far end of the track to see what was what. The report from my husband when he returned to the pit was that my son just had the wind knocked out of him but was otherwise okay. I guess his first words, when he saw the huge scissors wielded by the paramedics and aimed at the front of his leathers, were a breathy “Don’t cut!!!” (Racing leathers don’t come cheap, and we were not wealthy folks. We even had a sticker for the van window that boasted, “We race motorcycles, and we’re broke to prove it.”)
Ahhh, the dirt track days. I am missing Lima right now (and it’s probably gonna storm today….)
Romp’n’chomp and Tree — My youngest child’s favorite games!!
Kids nowadays seem to gravitate to electronics. Maybe Edith Anne, my youngest, would have enjoyed video games…if her dainty little squirrel monkey fingers could have exerted enough pressure to click on the screen. (Don’t get me wrong. If Edie wanted something badly enough, those little fingers could hold on with a vengeance! But game screens? Not so much.)
My first child Kong entertained himself by climbing up and down his leash…usually to tease other critters. He’d jump from my shoulder to my arm, then climb down the leash to see what mischief he could reach. (For example, I recall that my friend Nancy had a little cross-eyed kitten, so Kong would shinny down the leash, taunt the kitten, and scramble back up when the kitten would make a lunge at him.)
My human child liked anything involving a ball or wheels…plus the occasional board game. An outdoor type of kid, he enjoyed climbing the tall oaks in our yard. The lowest branches were two stories up, so he’d build little makeshift ladders with wood slats nailed to the trunks. I’d go out the front door to call him and hear a voice from above. There he’d be, high above, on the bottom branch. So…in my social worker self (with a warped sense of humor) would yell up to him, “If you really want your leg broken, I’ll break it for you to save you the trouble of falling out of that tree!” (Needless to say, I didn’t say such things in the course of my employment.) Later on, this was the kid who raced motorcyles, eventually going pro on the Grand National Dirt Track circuit.
Kid number 3, Mo (another furry one) was never really into fun and games. He was older when he came to us and was rather like a lifelong brooding teenager. He did put considerable effort into his Houdini act (escaping from just about anything from his belt to his cage), and he did get a kick out of pestering and intimidating the pets in the house (Schultzie, Chickie, and Gimpy. PomPom could not be pestered or intimidated.)
Edith’s version of fun involved physical activity. In her early years, she really got into a good game of “romp’n’chomp”. She would get into someone’s hand, hold on with all fours, and let us bounce her around on the bed while she scolded and pretended to bite us. (REALLY glad about the pretend biting. I think I’ve mentioned the straight-pin-like teeth.) Great entertainment for a monkey child. “Tree” was another favorite (maybe she was more like her brother than I thought). Since she was not allowed to climb the massive oaks, she would bounce around in lower bushes (often in a quest for an edible snack critter). When indoors, “tree” was us. We would hold our arms up, and she’d jump from arm to arm, swinging her way along to the treetop (arms extended straight up) where she’d bask in being higher than anyone around. Then, arms lowering, back down the “tree” only to start all over again as the arms would get higher. Leap, leap, gloat, repeat! Fun and games for the younger years. As she got older and more settled, her duties as a monkey mom to her jingle bell babies, consumed more and more of her time. Romp’n’chop fell by the wayside, but tree was forever!
I really, really miss Edith Anne! It was a great 28 years with her!
My First Child’s Best Friend Was a Bunny Rattle…and my first grandchild was a jingle bell…
Because Kong (the first squirrel monkey) was an only child for awhile before my human son was born, he got a little lonely at times. (Although he did usually accompany me to the university for class and work, went along on most outings, and was quite a popular little guy.) At one point, I found a very lightweight baby rattle, a little yellow bunny rattle designed for easy lifting by infants. The weight factor was important as Kong himself was only a pound and a half. Kong was instantly enamored of the bunny, and they became fast friends. The bunny had to come along with Kong on outings. They had ongoing conversations with Kong chirping and the bunny clicking his response. It was a close and comforting relationship.
So, when Mo came along, we provided him with a similar rattle friend. Nope! Not a match! Ignored, tossed aside (poor bunny!) Mo preferred to spend his time interacting with the household menagerie of pets. One favorite sport was to hide in an armchair and wait for one of the dogs (Chickie or Schultz) to happen by, then pounce and startle. He like to thump the side of his cage to intimidate Gimpy, the otherwise dauntless cat, who would dive for cover behind a chair. Climbing drapes and jumping from curtain rod to curtain rod provide even more good entertainment. Mo was creative like that.
The middle child (the human) would share his toys with Kong early on, but he later came to be attracted to things that involved bouncing, wheels, and/or motors. (Hence, his eventual career as a motorcycle racer).
Years later, little sister Edith Anne was a different story. She loved hanging out with her human family (and did not seem to realize she was a tad furrier than the rest of us). When we gave her cute cuddly toys with faces, she drowned them in her water dish (which did concern us just a bit). We could not find the same little infant rattles that had befriended her older sibs (we think they were removed from the market because the lightweight plastic was fragile and provided a potential choking hazard if they broke). So we tried providing a variety of other types of rattles. All seemed to be heavier and unwieldy…or had faces and got drowned. Squeaky toys were more readily accepted. One strange little yellow squeaky duck seemed to be a particular favorite as Edie would drown him but then pull him back out and dry him off on her pink blankie. Eventually, though, the duck became a bit grungy and was cast aside. Yucky ducky!
Then came the jingle bell babies. Somehow Edith Anne came into possession of a little silver jingle bell, and it was love! It fit perfectly in her hand, was lightweight, and chirped back at mommy monkey with its tinkling little voice. So for most of her 28 years, Edie had at least one or two “bell babies” with her at all times. Because she had two hands, she could generally manage up to two babies at any moment. Three became a bit stressful, and more than that created a very frazzled little mommy monkey. She would have to tote them between her arm and her body and put them down and transport them one at a time if leaping from her room (aka cage) to the bed. While she was a loving mother to her bell babies, she just wasn’t cut out to provide bell baby day care. And we learned very quickly not to create the appearance of threatening a bell baby. (That straightpin-teeth issue again!) If Edie dropped a jingle bell and could reach it herself, it was safest to allow her to do so. (Auntie K, when watching her during one of our racing excursions, found this out the hard way as she tried to pick up a bell and was rather viciously nailed in the hand — much like my friend the Brussels sprout when Kong bit her because his human brother had pulled his tail. Reference earlier blog entries.) If we had to rescue a runaway bell, we had to act quickly and immediately toss it to her (she was a great catch!) Once she had retrieved the bell baby, she was assured of its safety and would be content to cuddle it and talk to it with no need for nipping. Fortunately, she generally left her bell babies lined up on her pink blankie when she came to bed with us at night. I hate to think what would have happened should a bell baby cry out (jingle) in the middle of the night and awaken Edith from a sound sleep. Ouch ouch ouch!!