Cajun Joke

Driving Blind: Part II

My original Driving Blind Post appeared 9/25/03. I discussed parking cars at Red Lobster without a license and driving a fishing boat in the Gulf of Mexico. Driving Blind: Part II is about my motorcycle days. You read it right, I said motorcycle. Who says blind guys can't ride motorcycles? A disclaimer: Tim, Dick, and Dorothy will probably bust out laughing at me calling a Honda XL 250 a motorcycle, but I also drove a Gold Wing once - maybe that counts.



I always liked bicycles. We rode all the time. A bike in my neighborhood was like a horse to a cowboy. From bicycles, I graduated to riding lawn mowers. They were like slow go-carts. Most of the fun was working on them and souping them up. I would take off the muffler and experiment with different pipes to change the sound of the engine. It was really fun watching flame shoot out the back of the mower. As we drove the mower around, we would reach back on the engine and over ride the governor by pushing the throttle on the carburetor. It would sound like an Indy car, but only be traveling 5 miles an hour.



About age 13 the neighborhood kids began getting mini bikes. I finally got a 4 HP Rupp knock off sold by K-Mart. It was pretty fast and I wore out the grass in the back yard driving around in circles. I sold it and bought a Honda 50. The Honda was actually slower, but it had gears and some neat bells and whistles.



One summer, I took the Honda to my grandparent's house in Missouri and drove it all around on the dirt roads there. My friend Mike in Missouri had a Honda Trail 90 and we went all over the Ozarks on that thing. It was so much fun, I could not get enough. I looked at catalogs and magazines. I saved money and schemed to get a bigger motorcycle and finally, I purchased a Honda 100. A bigger frame and quite a bit more power, I rode a lot off road and on the dirt roads. This motorcycle stayed in Missouri. I only rode it when I got down there for the holidays and summers.



I even gave my niece, Becky's daughter Jennifer, rides on the motorcycle. I was off for the summer and Becky was working. My mom and step dad along with my grandparents watched Jennifer. One thing led to another and one afternoon, my grandpa was strapping the child to me and the motorcycle. I was very careful and only went up and down the road slowly. Jennifer seemed to love the rides and it was something you didn't see everyday.



Finally, I purchased the Honda XL 250. That baby could go from 0 to 40 really fast off the road. It was geared real low for power. I eventually changed the sprocket to raise the gear ratio and add a few miles of speed to the top end. I got it up to 65 once going down a big hill wide open.



My mom points to a patch of gray hair on her head and claims I put them there with the motorcycle episode. I did not have a license, but drove on the street. I never had a wreck or got stopped by the police. I had two close calls with accidents and they woke me up a bit. I finally sold the motorcycle when I moved to New Orleans. I needed the money and I figured I had tempted the fates enough.



You may wonder how a legally blind person can do such a thing. I can make up for a lack of sight with familiarity. Knowing the roads and where the signs are prevents missing a curve or running through a stop sign. I rode when conditions were good for me to see and I was careful. My biggest vulnerability was if something would just run out in front of me.



Looking back, I cannot believe I did all of that. Maybe we really do get smarter with age. I know my limitations better and accept them now. I do not want to kill myself. I would like to ride a motorcycle again though. it is a feeling of freedom. One can feel the temperature changes as the road moves from valley to ridge. The feel of the sun and the smell of the grass and earth are noticeable unlike riding in a car.



So that's it, the motorcycle chapter of my life. Now, I will have to tell you about the time I got run over by a SeaDoo, but not today.



Until the next time

John Strain

Hobo Responds to Cheeky Squirrel

Next Time I'll Use A Script

Dogs and Projection

Projection is a term used in psychology referring to how people project their attitudes, ideas, and beliefs onto others as though it originated with them. An individual may not be able to face their own laziness, but easily see laziness in others. Usually, projection refers to unacceptable or undesirable behavior. A woman may not want to admit she has sexual feelings for a coworker so she accuses him of being a flirt and a wolf.



Accusations often tell more of the accuser than the accused. Have you ever been accused of something that you never even knew existed? You may be a victim of someone else's projection. At work, you may do something conscientious but be accused of trying to gain favors with the boss. The accuser may have tipped their hand about the real reason beneath their actions.



A form of projection occurs among dog owners and animal owners in general. We project our thoughts and opinions onto our animals. I even talk for my dog and have a special voice I use when I am in character. If dogs really can understand what we say, it must be frustrating not being able to respond. Then again, maybe they do. I have noticed Hobo depositing more turds on the rug lately.



Surely I learned this from my mother. She always had voices for the dog and cat. One of my friend's mother had several animals for which she spoke. He was amazed at how she could carry on a detailed conversation between two dogs and two cats, each with a unique voice and personality.



I often project onto Hobo for a laugh, but even if I am alone, I may speak for him. It just seems natural. Often I am working on something and Hobo is laying there staring at me. I assume he notices each mistake. Not liking to be under such scrutiny, especially by a four legged critic, I talk back. "What are you looking at?" I may say, "I suppose you could do it better." He just stares back. Sometimes he can be so passive aggressive.



Maybe that is why dogs and pets are so hard to part with. I have been putting words in Hobo's mouth for 13 years. When it comes to voting, his paw pulls the same lever I do. When it comes to sports he cheers for the same teams I do. He can keep a secret and he has a way of sending a wave of comfort over me with a simple look from his big brown eyes.



Hobo is so much like me, he sometimes uses foul language and cops a smart ass attitude. Barbara may say, "Oh, Hobo, you're out of food and water." I respond using Hobo's voice, "Yeah, get off your ass and feed me or I'm calling the Humane Society." I think Barbara knows it is really me talking though, because she still feeds the poor dog.



I wonder what he's really thinking.



Do you talk to for the animals?



Until the next time

John Strain