2022: THE CHURCH OF THE OPEN ROAD’S YEAR IN REVIEW

 Pandemic in the rearview mirror?  Maybe.  Maybe not.

 Let’s start with a view of Northern California’s queen…

 

 

…and a Siskiyou County winter scene.

 

 

Here’s a reminder that the (one and only one) good thing about a prolonged drought is that you can ride year round.

 

 

A February trip to the Mendocino/Sonoma Coast…

 

 

…to spot some passing whales.

 

 

A month-of-March fog slips across the Sonoma Coastal prairie.

 

 

Austin Creek redwoods rebound after last year’s fires.

 

 

Late March and still no rain.

 

 

An April visitor.

 

 

A visit to the remote reaches of the Eel…

 

 

…where nameless roads must lead somewhere.

 

 

Photo-shout-out to the people of Ukraine.

 

 

The coast being so near, we visit often.  This here’s Point Arena.

 

 

Project!

 

 

Final visit to a dear friend’s home.

 

 

Curious visitor on the Hood Canal…

 

 

…this Hood Canal

 

 

Edward recuperates.  (He’s such a good boy.)

 

 

Grand Moto Guzzi experience!  Piaggio invited twenty riders to try out the Moto Guzzi V85 TT Adventure tourer.  The bike does not disappoint

 

 

Remnant at Bodie.

 

 

Bixby Bridge near Big Sur.

 

 

Toward Humbug Summit… …after.

 

 

The Church of the Open Road publishes a book!  (Twenty bucks!  See your local, independent book retailer.)

 

 

Artsy-fartsy foliage in the ‘hood.

 

 

 

Best read of 2022 (outside of my own book ~ see above):  George Saunders is such an accomplished ~ yet new to me ~ author.  In Lincoln in the Bardo Saunders mixes historic renderings of the awful period after Lincoln’s son’s death, with the musing of those ghosts who live in the cemetery, existing somewhere between here and the afterlife.  Having early in January of ’22 been diagnosed with pretty advanced prostate cancer ~ cancer so often synonymous with ‘Oh crap!  I’m gonna die!’~ I was quite taken by this historo-fantasy. 

 

 

Immediately upon finishing it, I decided to pick it up again just to see how Saunders did what he did in this Mann Booker Prize winner. Once I got into the rhythm of his prose, this became a fabulous read. [News flash! Six months after completing radiation my December PSA test showed the prostate back well within normal range.] 

 

 

Shots of the Year:

 

Historic Blast from the Past: The ’71 Super Beetle ~ so many adventures!

 

 

Best photo from someone else:  The spiraling stairs of the Point Arena Lighthouse.  Thanks, Brother Tim!  (The discerning eye will note me climbing down.)

 

 

Second Runner-up:  Portrait of a puppy as an old dog.  (He’s such a …)

 

 

First Runner-up: Morning cup-o-joe on the Hood Canal

 

 

Shot of the Year: Northwestern Pacific Rails (to trails?)  A few bureaucratic steps closer this year!

 

 

Hoping to travel a little farther and a little wider in 2023, and I hope to see you on the road!

© 2022

Church of the Open Road Press

JOY

 Church of the Open Road Holiday Greetings for 2022

A week or so before Thanksgiving I am confronted with one of those mid-November days when a low sun peeks above the rim of our surrounding hills just long enough to raise the temperature to the mid-sixties. It had been a while  since I’d straddled my Moto Guzzi and, I decide, whatever else I actually need to do this afternoon can wait. A few minutes from home I am slipping under and through tunnels of black oaks and maples with their glittering gold leaves and entering into gently rolling expanses of harvested vineyards, blocks of foliage now purple and crimson and orange and rust and brown. The sky is cloudless, as blue as it’s ever been. Ever. And the pavement is dry and smooth. The curves are sweeping and gracious.  The speed I am traveling is not heart-poundingly fast. Heart-poundingly fast is not necessary. No. The speed is just right for carving wine country by-ways. And, along with that just right, the emotion I feel is joy.  Not thrill. Not danger. Joy.  

 

We find ourselves entertaining deeper, different thoughts under various conditions. While walking a forest path in the rain. Standing atop an ocean bluff.  Peering into the night sky. Or, for some: looking into the dancing eyes of a grandchild. Or massaging the belly of a loyal, snoozing pet, or, better yet, the shoulders of a beloved partner.

 

How frequently, I wonder, could that deeper notion be defined as joy? What makes a circumstance joyful? And not thrilling or dangerous or silly or sad?  Just as we can drive to the coast or the trailhead or to a starry night sky viewpoint, can we somehow drive our minds to the place where the aroused emotion is delight or bliss?  (Meditation comes to mind, but I fidget way too much to be successful at meditation, so that’s off the table; and my long ago staff at Maidu School more than once, in meetings I was conducting, held up a sign that simply said, “Focus!”)

 

I suppose that I, for one, must do something or go somewhere in order to get to that point.  Good thing there are trails through our neighboring woods for walking.  Good thing it’s a short drive to the ocean.  Good thing that little motorcycle is available for a late-autumn escape.

 

With apologies to Jackie DeShannon, may I posit that joy, like love, is something that ‘there’s just too little of.’ Perhaps it’s because we feel we have to go looking for it. Or we expect to get it from somebody or something else. Perhaps we don’t embrace that joy is not something you get; it is something you have. It’s internal. And it shines through when conditions are just right. 

Like when the kids are tearing through Santa’s gifts on Christmas morning. Or when the fragrance of a freshly carved turkey wafts across the table. Or when a satisfying dusk settles over a tender and cluttered day-long gathering. I’m prompted to think that while love often takes two or more – you know, something folks share with one another – joy, equally appealing and fulfilling, can ride solo. And that’s okay.

 

Sitting in front of the fire with a mug of something warm after everyone else has toddled off – just before the lights are doused on the tree – that joyful feeling visits. 

 

It has been a holiday and it has been just right.

                    The Church of the Open Road

                    and Edward, our beloved pooch* 

                    wish all a joyous noel.

                    Cheers!

* He’s such a good boy.

BLOG POST HIATUS EXPLAINED

 The Church of the Open Road gets Published!

 

Our last post to the Church of the Open Road was last April.  You may be wondering why.  

 

Was it COVID-19?  Nope.  We didn’t travel as much but that doesn’t mean we didn’t travel.

Was it that cancer diagnosis?  Nope.  Radiation ending in June seems to have cleared things up.

Was it a lack of motivation?  Nope.  I’ve been writing away, just not bloggy stuff.

 

And that gets to the big announcement:

 

Eden, Indeed: Tales, Truths and Fabrications of a Small Town Boy, a compilation of my growing up stories has been published!  

 

When I was just a little kid, I used to love it when Dad would sit at the foot of my bed ~ I still recall his weight pulling the covers snuggly around my feet ~ and tell of his adventures growing up in the Mojave Desert.  Fast forward a few years and I was married with a lovely child but soon divorced.  It immediately occurred to me that I would not have the opportunity to sit at the foot of her bed and tell my growing up stories.

 

While the pieces in the collection are arranged roughly in chronological order, the first piece I wrote was about a little old lady that lived down the street from us.  Initially, I composed it when while assigning my fourth graders the task of writing a short biography of someone they know “…but it can’t be a relative…” one little boy said, “You do one, too!” And the class chorused “Yeah, Mr. D!”  Thus, I was stuck.

 

What now exists are my hazy impressions of growing up on five semi-rural acres during the tumultuous late 50s and 60s and beyond, building tree forts, catching poison oak, crashing canoes, surviving a pre-teen crush or two and remembering some dark national times from which me and my gang of friends were pretty well insulated. The target audience is my grandkids.  Implicit is the desire that they have an impression of my youth similar to the impression Dad gave me of his own.

 

The stories have been critiqued and vetted by members of the Cloverdale-based writers’ group with which I’ve been engaged. It was designed by Personal History Productions LLC in Santa Rosa so it looks much more professional than anything I might have imagined on my own.  https://www.personalhistoryproductions.com  The CEO of Personal History, upon reading the text (many times) said that she grew up in a small town in North Carolina but that my stories reminded her of home.  With that generous comment in mind, I’ve asked the company that prints the volume, IngramSpark, https://www.ingramspark.com to add it to their wholesale catalog.  

 

 

At 230 pages, the cost is twenty bucks. Available by ordering through your independent, local book seller (also online from Amazon, but the Church of the Open Road always prefers you shop with the local guy.)

 

While I don’t want to commercialize my blog, I hope you will consider ordering a copy. 

 

 

Now, for 2023, the Church of the Open Road resolves to return to the Open Road, take a few photos, write a few words and tell folks about it here…

 

© 2022

Church of the Open Road Press