* * Counting money

A year or so ago while doing research for my new book, Harmonic Highways: Motorcycling Virginia’s Crooked Road, I spoke with a musician in Franklin County.  I asked him if he played professionally.  He said, “There are very few musicians throughout the region who make a living from their music.  You have to be extremely talented, work very hard, and then have a lucky break.  For example, Ralph Stanley over in Coeburn has been playing music for decades but he only became well known and then rich when his rendering of O Death was featured in the movie O Brother Where Art Thou?  Most of us play to entertain ourselves and our friends, and to keep the music and the heritage alive. We’re lucky if we make enough money to pay for strings and driving expenses.”  I featured over 85 people in the book, most of them musicians.  I’m guessing that I could count on the fingers of my hands those who make a living playing music.

I’ve come to realize that writing is in many ways like making music. I know many writers now, and those that make a living at it are talented, hard-working, and yes, lucky.  Most of us seem to do it because we believe it is important to maintain the craft. I am motivated to help my readers understand the culture of Southwest Virginia and West Virginia because we are too often misunderstood and viewed derisively. But if I counted the hours I’ve spent during three years and three books of writing and calculated my income by the hour, I’m sure it would be less than at any time in my professional career. Luckily, I have other income, generated by my real estate investment, but this has diminshed greatly during this recession.

In each of my two non-fiction books, I feature dozens of people and help my readers to know them, what motivates and inspires them. People have been generous of their time and are typically thrilled and flattered to be included in a book. In return, the modest notoriety they receive from being included may or may not help them monetarily, but minimally will help readers understand the culture from which they originate.

As I have been promoting Harmonic Highways, I have sent reception invitations, press releases, and other notifications to the people featured in it. I struggled with the decision as to whether to give each person a book, something that would have cost me several hundred dollars out-of-pocket. I decided to offer a copy at half-price to anyone in it.

Over the weekend, I went to the workshop of someone in the book to see if he was interested in buying a copy. He was gone, so I left a copy with an assistant, leaving a message asking him to call me. He didn’t, but I called yesterday to follow up. When we spoke, he said tersely he’d gotten the book but had no intention of paying for it.  Then he hung-up on me. Later, I wrote him an email explaining my position as politely as possible. He replied saying, “You probably don't know this but I have been on thousands of recordings in my life so far, I've done hundreds of articles, magazines, books, newspapers etc. Until today no one has ever asked for money except for you for anything I had ever been part of.”  He went on to say that he was disappointed in how short his section was, relative to the length of the transcript.

So who’s right? His point seems to be that if he was willing to take the time to speak with me and participate, surely it was worth the cost of a book. My point is that I took most of a year of my life to research and write the book with only a glimmer of hope of one day recouping a fraction of my investment, largely to promote him and many others like him. Maybe I'm being too parsimonious, and I should spend the money to give dozens of books away. I’m still scratching my head over it.



* * Towing the Accord

Yesterday, I had a full day planned.
In the morning, I was scheduled to appear in at the Korner Kafe in Union, WV, to sell and sign my books after the parade at their Farmer’s Day celebration. The owner, Betty Lemons, is a reader and has been one of my biggest fans. I took my Trek mountain bicycle with me with the intention of driving to Waiteville to ride the new Potts Valley Rail Trail.  Then I had a party to attend at the home of a fellow Rotary Club member back in Blacksburg. The appearance in Union was great, but then things didn’t happen as planned.
I crested Peters Mountain, driving my 1993 Honda Accord LX that we’ve owned since 1996. I noticed something strange about the way the clutch felt. Coming down the south side into Waiteville, I noticed that the wheels were no longer responding to changes in engine speed. In the shade of a tree on a gravel road in the middle of nowhere, I coasted to a stop. I tried every gear, even reverse, but couldn’t feel the wheels in contact with the engine. When I dis-engaged the clutch, then put it in first gear, then re-engaged the clutch, there was a grinding sound but no movement. I was completely, sincerely, insanely stuck. I looked under the hood, but as I suspected could see nothing amiss. I had no cell telephone service.
So I began walking.
I walked to the first habitation I saw. Two ladies, one appearing to be in her sixties and the other in her eighties, were sitting on the front porch of their trailer home. I explained the problem and the younger woman, the daughter of the older, got her phone and let me make some calls. My insurance company linked me with their roadside assistance people, and a tow-truck was found in Roanoke who would take me home and take the car to a repair shop in Christiansburg.
I was obviously disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to do the bicycle ride I’d planned. But I became resigned to my fate and waited as patiently as possible in the company of my new friends. It was a beautiful, sunny day. They gave me some ice water and fruit salad during the three hours until the tow truck arrived. My insurance company would apparently cover the cost of the tow.
The driver was a great guy, an Irish immigrant in this country for five years. We had a great conversation on the way back to town. He had an interest in my motorcycles and I showed him through the garage. Presumably he dropped off the car in Christiansburg and I plan to go there in the morning to discuss repair with the service garage. I made it to the party after most guests had left, but there was still plenty of food.
The issue of whether to keep and repair the old car or replace it has come up. We’ll make that call in the morning.  Stay tuned.
 

* * Retiring Mae

My new book, Harmonic Highways: Motorcycling Virginia’s Crooked Road, chronicles my journey across Southwest Virginia aboard Mae, my 1981 Honda CBX motorcycle. Mae has been in my life for fifteen of her 30 years, and she now has 73,000 miles on the odometer. Her engine was rebuilt 3 years ago with 58,000 miles on her. She’s been steady, mostly reliable transportation and has never left me stranded.
Two years ago, a friend from the CBX club called me. “I know you like the 1981 CBXs. I have one for sale you might be interested in.”
I said, “The one I have is doing fine.”
“You might be interested anyway.”
“Why?”
“Mine has 920 miles.”
Wow!
What he was offering me was essentially a brand-new 28-year-old motorcycle. So I bought it, thinking that I would continue to ride Mae until some unspecified time when she might “wear out” or become unreliable. The new bike, which I’m yet to name (Let’s go with “Newbee” for now.) has been in storage since.
A few months ago, I began to have a change of heart. I spoke with Jeff, a friend in my local motorcycle club. He said, “Years ago, I was in a sports car club. Some of the guys had nearly undriven cars. We often talked about the fact that unless those cars were destined for a museum, someday somebody needed to drive and enjoy them. Why sell that pleasure away to somebody else?”
So I decided that Newbee needed to be put into service and ridden. By me. Now.
I went to my local dealer, Go Race, in Christiansburg, with both bikes, and had them transfer some of the nicer parts from Mae onto Newbee and mount some new tires to replace the 28-year old original rubber. I got it back a few weeks ago. And I’ve started to ride it. It is the identical model so of course the look and feel is 98% the same. But the exhaust piping is original, which is quieter and subtler than Mae’s. The bottom-end power is better and it accelerates away from a standing stop or a slow corner better. It feels more solid and comfortable.
As I write this, Mae is spending the weekend with a potential buyer who I’m yet to meet. He took a look at her, then balked, explaining to me in an email that he was hesitant about a bike with so many miles. I told him the mileage was deceptive, given that her engine had been rebuilt and that the other things that may need attention – brakes, chains, sprocket and the like – wouldn’t be much different for a bike with half the miles. “You owe it to yourself to ride this bike. Take her home with you over the weekend and see what you think. Ride her hard and see how she performs. Then bring her back on Monday with a full tank of gas.” As is obvious, I am applying the principle of “touch and covet.” Maybe it will work. I think she may have the same spell on him that she’s had on me for so long.
Meanwhile, Newbee needs a name. It will come in time.

* * Getting by

Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends.  Lennon and McCartney

I have a neighbor who is a professional auto mechanic.  He has worked on our cars for years.  His charges have always been reasonable and he’s saved us thousands of dollars by fixing what needs to be fixed and leaving well enough alone.  He’s also worked on my motorcycles. Years ago, he often borrowed my bikes to take trips to Richmond or West Virginia.  I never charged him for the use of the bikes and he never charged me for working on them. More recently, he’s asked to be compensated for the larger jobs and I’ve always offered to pay for the smaller ones, which he sometimes accepts and sometimes doesn’t.

I recently tried to make arrangements with him to install some new tires for me.  In the midst of our planning during a phone conversation yesterday, he announced that I had forgotten to offer to pay him the last time and therefore he didn’t want to do it this time. I rushed to his house and offered to pay for the last time, saying I was always willing to pay for his work.  Did he still want to work on my cars?  Was I taking advantage of him? We calmed down a bit but it got me thinking about the nature of human favors.

Another friend is storing a motorcycle for me long-term. When I bought the bike and looked for a place to keep it, he offered generously.  But recently he is making noise like he’d like me to pick it up. I am making plans to do so although I have no good place to store it.

Two other friends have edited my books for me. One I’ve offered compensation or a gift, and she’s declined. The other I also offered, and she accepted a donation to her favorite charity. Another friend drew the maps for two of my books.  He’s declined compensation.

On the other hand, I’ve welcomed the opportunity to help others. Jane and I hosted four cross-country bicyclists on their way through town. Although they were total strangers, we kept them for two nights and fed them food both that they’d supplied and that we’d bought. They brightened our lives.

I’ve asked another young friend to help me with some website development, here on this site. He can do in minutes what takes me hours. But I helped him recently with the process of interviewing for a job that will pay him likely more than I’ve ever been paid myself.  Of course, the reason they’re paying him is for the knowledge he’s proven with his Master’s Degree, but I think the advice I gave him helped in the interview process.

So there’s give and take.  I never want to be a burden on anybody, especially my friends, and I always want to pay my debts.  But don’t we all get by with a little help from our friends?



* * Arriving home

I’m home!
I returned after midnight last Monday from five weeks in Bolivia.  Bolivia is the poorest, highest country in South America.  It was an experience being there like no other.
I was the team leader of a GSE (group study exchange) team sponsored by Rotary International.  My team members were coincidentally all teachers.  They ranged in age from 28 to 36 and were from Lexington, Elton, and Front Royal. 
There is much to like and much to dislike in Bolivia.  The best part is the people.  Whether I was able to communicate with them or not, I found them warm, welcoming, and friendly.  They greet newcomers with a warm handshake (if between men) or a kiss on the cheek (if between women or between a man and a woman).  They put up with terrible hardships in worker strikes, unstable governments, theft (or the threat of theft), and unsanitary public facilities, but maintain their positive outlook and desire to help the world.
When I awoke at home the next morning, I looked outside into the dawn sunlight and the trees were green, brilliant green.  When I had left in late March, springtime was only on the way.  I had no sense of any seasonal change in Bolivia, the transition from fall into winter.  But here things had changed dramatically.  There is nothing more deliciously vibrant than an Appalachian spring!
My first book was published by Pocahontas Press here in Blacksburg.  When the sole proprietor, Mary Holliman, died last August, the company fell into disarray and I took over ownership of the book and have printed and marketed it myself since.  In the meantime, Jane and I have been negotiating with Mary’s heirs to take over ownership of the company.  That was completed shortly before I returned.
This past week, I finalized my third book, Harmonic Highways, Motorcycling Virginia’s Crooked Road, and I sent it to the printer for the first set of 50 copies.  So it won’t be long until it’s in print.
Tomorrow I leave for three more days on the road.  Johnson City, TN, has invited me and another motorcyclist and writer to ride the backroads of the area with some local folks and write about it.  The hope the publicity will bring tourists to town.  I don’t have a confirmed outlet, but they have offered me a hotel room and meals anyway. 
I have another commission to write about SR-16, the sinuous road from Marion, VA to Fayetteville, WV, for Blue Ridge Country Magazine and another to write about a long-term employee of The Greenbrier for Greenbrier Quarterly Magazine.  Looks like it may be a busy summer!