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Monday
Aug012011

* * Riding the VFR with Whitney

My daughter Whitney is 20 years old and she is an only child. This is her summer break and within the next few weeks she will return to Virginia Tech for her junior year. We don't often get a chance to talk with each other. Usually when we’re together, there are other people around. Or far too often, she is poking away at her infernal cellular telephone. No inbound message is too trivial to interrupt whatever conversation we seem to be having. Lately, I have figured out the best way to spend some quality time with her and to get a sense of where she is in her life. We go motorcycling.

A year or so ago, I purchased a set of electronic communicators. These devices contain a microphone and a speaker that attaches to a motorcycle helmet and allow the driver and passenger to speak to and hear from each other.

Yesterday, Whitney and I took a ride together of about an hour and a half on the 1998 Honda VFR Interceptor, an 800-cc sport bike.

Our weather over the past several weeks has been extremely hot. But yesterday morning, the air was a bit overcast, low clouds were beginning to break up, and the temperature was perfect for ride. We left the house descending into the Roanoke River Valley and driving upstream alongside the river towards the community of Catawba. The road undulates up and down and swings back and forward closer to and further from the river itself. The river is on the right and beyond it rises a forested ridge called Pearis Mountain. There are scattered farms and cultivated fields, punctuated by barns and horse stables. There are several older houses alongside those of newer construction. The area is close enough to Blacksburg to benefit from the relative economic strength of the college town. Occasionally, I was called upon to swerve to avoid various small rodents like squirrels and chipmunks crossing the road. Turkey vultures, with their distinctive V-shaped wing pattern, soared overhead.

Whitney had just returned from a four-game tour of major league baseball cities, including the Yankees in New York, the Orioles in Baltimore, the Phillies in Philadelphia, and the Nationals in Washington. (Every team she rooted for lost.) She went with her current boyfriend and three other friends. I asked her if she went because she was interested in baseball or because she wanted to be part of the crowd. She said that it was equal parts of each. She and her boyfriend have been living together this summer, the first time she has done so. She said she wasn't sure whether she and her boyfriend would stay together as a couple once he moved out of her apartment and back into his fraternity house where he lived the previous year. She has concluded that his approach to their relationship is generally not something she has much control over. While certainly unhappy about situation, she seemed resigned to it and determined to face the future optimistically. We talked a lot about relationships and how good communication works to build relationships and I imparted what I hope was some useful, parental advice.

She was looking forward to be coming semester with a mix of apprehension and enthusiasm. I reminded her that for many people, their four year college experience was one of the most important in their lives. She said it seemed surreal that she had already completed half of her college education, at least the undergraduate part should she choose to go to graduate school.

“Where did the years go?” she asked me.

I said, “The years go by even so much faster at my age.”

We reached the town of New Castle and made a left turn on State Route 42 and began ascending. We entered a curvy section of roads where I was able to communicate with her about each turn and the lean of the bike. Many passengers may have been skittish about the incredible lean angles we were doing. However, being able to discuss this with her as it was happening made her feel more comfortable about it.

Like the road in Catawba Valley, Highway 42 follows a drainage, in this case that of the Sinking Creek. It is equal to if not more beautiful than the Catawba Valley, with long, forested mountains bracketing the road.

Having recently gotten a traffic violation, I held my speed fairly close to the posted speed limit of 55 mph. I commented to Whitney that with over 70 miles behind us, we had not encountered another single vehicle to pass.

Most of the time, I kept the revs of the engine between 5000 and 6000 RPM. The red-line on this magnificent motorcycle is 11,500. Pulling onto the 4-lane highway at Newport and pointing the bike uphill, I ripped it all the way to redline in first gear before shifting, telling Whitney what I was going to do before I get it before I did. “Wow,” she said.

The last 12 miles home were on the 4-lane highway, first crossing Gap Mountain and then Brush Mountain and then along the US 460 bypass. We finished our ride having thoroughly enjoyed the motorcycling experience, the beautiful scenery, and the opportunity to catch up with each other's lives.

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