* * Watching the world's riots

Today my thoughts are in Tunisia.  And Egypt.  And Wisconsin. And Blacksburg.

Several weeks ago, an angry fruit vendor in Tunisia set himself afire.  Within just a few weeks, the country’s ruling dictator fled for Saudi Arabia. 

Not long thereafter, the people of Egypt arose in anger and kicked out Hosni Mubarak, a virtual monarch who had ruled the country for 30 years. 

These events have us considering several societal trends and asking ourselves several questions, which are either exciting or disquieting, depending upon the lens through which they are viewed.

First, it is undeniable that social media played a huge part in this and the current state of upheaval in the Arab world.  The ability of sites like Facebook to connect, commiserate, and organize played a significant role in the success of these social movements. In fact, some people are calling this the Facebook Revolution.

Second, people are angry at declining standards of living.  With the advent of peak oil, the inevitable, predicted rise in prices of just about everything is now underway.  In the United States, people typically pay around 10% of their income on food.  But in many other places elsewhere around the world, people may pay upwards of 50%. So even small increases in the prices of food can have dramatic negative impacts and push many families into malnutrition.  When they see their leaders basking in wealth and privilege while they starve, it is a recipe for discontent and mayhem.

Can this happen here in America?  Are people angry enough here to take to the streets in protest?  If so, who or what are they angry at or about?  And if they did go to the streets and demand change, in what form would that change occur? And if change did occur, would it really improve things?

Today in Wisconsin people are protesting the state capital over proposed cuts to the compensation package of state employees.  There is a general strike of teachers, policemen, and public safety professionals.  The Republican governor is determined to cripple their union.

I remember a defining moment from my teen years.  I lived in Christiansburg.  On the campus of Virginia Tech nearby in Blacksburg, students had taken over some academic buildings in active protests of the Vietnam War.  Classmates were being sent off to die in the jungles of Southeast Asia for no apparent defense purpose.  I rode in our car as my mother drove past a motel on the south end of town whose parking lot was filled with scores with state police cars.  These troopers were in town to contain the rioting students.  I assumed at the time that college campuses always had riots and that scores of policemen were routinely assigned to monitor them. I grew up believing civil disobedience was an acceptable and common means for balancing corporate and governmental power.

Contrary to the views of many of my countrymen, I don't believe that America is exceptional or that Americans are different in their core needs and values from most people around the world.  All of us want to live with health, security, and the opportunity to achieve prosperity.  We like to live peacefully but we get riled up when pushed too far.

There seems to be plenty of anger in America today.  People in the tea party movement seem to have made a lifestyle of their anger.  A bumper sticker says, “If you are not outraged, you are not paying attention.”  But somehow I think many Americans are angry over the wrong things.

In short order it seems as though the United States Supreme Court will make a decision about the legality of the health care plan many people are calling Obamacare.  A socialist takeover to some and a reasonable attempt to provide health healthcare security to others, this legislation has become a flashpoint for anger.  However, the real issue in this country, like in many other countries, seems to stem from the fact that there has been a decades-long transfer of wealth and power from the bottom and middle of the economic food chain to the very wealthiest. Decades of public policies and laws have made it easier for the uber-rich to prosper at the expense of everyone else.  “Everyone else” may not take it much longer.

According to Georg Lakoff, writing on the Common Dreams website, says Conservatives want to change the basis of American life, where people take care of themselves rather than each other.  He says, “The individual issues are all too real: assaults on unions, public employees, women's rights, immigrants, the environment, health care, voting rights, food safety, pensions, prenatal care, science, public broadcasting, and on and on.”  He continues, “Taxation is thus seen as taking money away from those who have earned it and giving it to people who don't deserve it. Taxation cannot be seen as providing the necessities of life, a civilized society, and as necessary for business to prosper.”

Liberals (lest I even use that word, a word so vilified that the politically correct version is now “progressives”) believe that not everyone gets a fair shake or opportunity for prosperity, accidents (both personal and widespread) do happen, corporations won’t regulate themselves, and people have a right to organize to share their grievances publicly and take action against those who would subjugate them.

It seems clear that with the end of cheap energy, worldwide standards of living are at peak.  Cheap and abundant energy allowed the population of the world to increase from 1 billion 200 years ago to 7 billion now.  As energy scarcity ripples through worldwide markets, everyone will have to pay more for everything.  How will declining resources, monetary and conventional, be shared amongst rich and poor, black and white and yellow?  Things are about to get really interesting.



* * Getting high on dopamine

I don’t have a death wish.  I swear.  Both granddads lived into their 90s and dad is still going strong at 82.  Death will come for all of us someday, but as Ralph Stanley implores in O Death, Won't you spare me over til another year? I’m hoping to see 100. Still, I can’t help myself from riding motorcycles.

I took a long walk yesterday on The Huckleberry Trail with an old friend, a woman who went with me to grade school, high school and part of college.  The issue of motorcycles came up.  She said she’d never ride one. She told me a long story of growing up in our hometown of Christiansburg where the school bus driver on the hill where she lived often drove recklessly and many times overshot her bus stop. She was so scared that she insisted her mother drive her to school for all the years afterward. “I am terrified by the feeling of being out of control and having no protection around,” she explained.

“But when you fly, someone else is piloting. You have the airplane itself around you, but they don’t offer much in the way of crash protection.”

“I’ve only flown twice in my life and I hate the prospect of flying again.”

“I love to fly,” I exclaimed. “Life has risks.  It’s a terminal disease.  But far more people I know have died prematurely from poor nutrition and lifestyle choices than reckless accidents.”

I’m particularly enamored with motorcycling. It’s a thrilling activity. It’s reasonably priced and easily accessible (unlike bungee jumping, skydiving, and many other thrilling things). I haven’t crashed in a long time and my crashes haven’t been serious. Motorcycles can be scary, but the most scared I’ve been in a long time was driving Interstate 81 back from Roanoke one night recently during a sleet storm.  Trucks were kicking up drenching sprays of water and visibility was awful.  And I was in my car.

I’m told there is lots of psychology surrounding thrill seekers.  Apparently the people who look for thrills are more often adolescents. Perhaps those of us “of a certain age” who still enjoy our thrills are thought of as adolescents – or at least are still chasing our youth. I suppose it’s a Darwin thing that thrill-seeking behavior is a leading cause of death in adolescents, but less so for us oldsters – probably because if we made it this far, our chances for survival improve.  I’ve been at gatherings of motorcyclist where we’re all a bit astonished we’ve lived as long as we have.

The neurotransmitter dopamine has been linked to sensation-seeking behavior. Is there a reason it begins with “dope”? Researchers can’t seem to understand why some folks have it and some don’t.

All this aside, not having a motorcycle around here is like not having a sailboat around Key West or a set of skis at Aspen. We have pleasant seasons, lots of curvy, generally well-maintained roads, and wonderful scenery. Why would anyone not ride a motorcycle?

I told my friend that I’d be happy to take her for a ride. She said her psychologist had suggested she do the same to help overcome the fear. I apologize if I sound smug, because it is not my intention, but I don’t know too many motorcyclists who seem to need psychologists. I doubt my friend will ever accept my offer.

* * Writing the next book

With books #1 and #2 already in print and book #3 on its way, I’m beginning to think about what comes next.

As I wrote on this blog a month or so ago, new novel is percolating in the back of my head. I’ve done some preliminary work on a story I would someday like to write about a girl from Atlanta who is transitioning to adulthood. The story begins as she arrives at the Old Fiddlers’ Convention in Galax. She’s a violin prodigy and she takes an interest in traditional Appalachian music. Within days of her arrival, the national power grid fails and she is stuck, forced to make the area around Galax her home for awhile. I haven't started yet because I don't yet have a clear picture of where the story might go.

Meanwhile, I am compelled to stick closer to what has become my “bread and butter,” writing about the people of a region or a corridor.

From the mid-1940s until the late 1960s, the Norfolk and Western Railroad ran several named trains as part of their passenger service. One was the Powhatan Arrow that ran daily from Norfolk to Cincinnati concurrent with another running in the opposite direction. I’m thinking about a book called Chasing the Powhatan Arrow, exploring the history of the train through the eyes of the people who knew it.

I sent some emails recently to some people who posted on the Internet about their experiences. I got this one from a woman named Wadine Toliaferro who now lives in Philadelphia. She wrote:

Hello Michael,
Thank you for writing. Congratulations on all of your books including the one you are writing, now. I grew up in Northfork, WVa, but was born in Roanoke.
I can tell you that as a child the Powhatan Arrow was the start of my love for trains. Even, today, I can smell the inside of the train station in Northfork... the smell is from the wooden benches.
At the age of eight, my father gave me a full Lionel as a Christmas gift; it was cherished into adulthood. My mother had someone clean out the basement and the train went missing.
I was adopted at birth in 1948. My birth parents and adoptive parents agreed that I would stay connected with the maternal birth family. Subsequently, there were many trips on the Powhatan Arrow to and from Roanoke. On trips to Roanoke, my mother always packed a lunch for the ride to Roanoke; as a six year old I was interested in eating in the dining car. Before the Powhatan Arrow arrived I was asking my mother if we could eat in the dining car and she was always said no. Once on the train the nagging started again and eventually she gave in. The linen table cloths were white and crisp as crisp could be. Bud vases with flowers were on every table, and standing in the back of the car, on the left side, was a man in a white jacket waiting to take MY order. On these rides, I was a princess. The Powhatan Arrow was special and made me special, and because it ran through our town, the town was special. I remember the Arrow passing by and waving at passengers, longing to be among them.
In my office today, there are pictures of trains that remind me of where I grew up and my experience of trains.
Thanks again for this opportunity (to discuss the Powhatan Arrow).
Wadine Toliaferro

I have also spoken with Bev Fitzpatrick who is the Executive Director of the Virginia Transportation Museum in Roanoke. It is home to the last remaining locomotive of the famous “J” class that powered the Powhatan Arrow. This fabulous steam engine achieved 110 miles per hour in a speed test and could cruise at 90. Bev is excited about this project and eager to help me get started.

A new journey is underway!

* * Climbing Pearis Mountain

People live busy lives and interests change over time.  So it’s been hard for me to find friends to take part in activities that I enjoy like hiking our mountains.  In the past couple of years, however, a graduate student in Aerospace Engineering at Virginia Tech has become a frequent companion on the trails.  Kyle and I took the opportunity on a cold but clear day yesterday to climb one of the area’s most dramatic mountains. 
I picked Kyle up at his apartment in town and headed north across Brush Mountain and Gap Mountain into Giles County.  We drove into Pearisburg and parked at a car dealership that is only a few paces from the famous Appalachian Trial.  We remarked how most trailheads are deep in the woods often on gravel roads, which this one was right in town.  Very convenient!
The trail up Pearis Mountain is pancake flat for only the first 100 yards.  But things quickly change.  We began our ascent, working our muscles into climbing form.  It was cold enough to require wool clothing, a jacket, and a hat.  But the warmth of exertion had us balancing between being too hot and too cold. 
Kyle is nearing completion of his Masters Degree and his defense of his thesis is only a couple of weeks away.  He is a smart kid and I enjoy his knowledge and perspective.  I was once an engineering student at Virginia Tech myself, so we always have much to talk about.
Half-way up the mountain, the trail was in places covered with a light dusting of snow.  As we continued to climb, the snow was deeper in places and where boots had flattened it already it had become ice.  I was using trekking poles to help maintain my balance but the going was strenuous.  We stopped for several short breaks to catch our breath.  The last hundred yards to the boulder-filled summit were particularly icy and treacherous, as the trail was on the northeastern slope where the low winter sun seldom warmed it.  We reached the summit about 95 minutes from leaving the car.  We stopped only briefly at the summit as it was shady, cold, and uninviting. 
Kyle is 23 and I am 56. Given his youthful exuberance and fitness, I am no match for him in strenuous activities like climbing mountains. But he typically walks behind me.  Were he in front, I couldn’t keep him in sight.  Our conversations are stimulating and interesting. 
We walked another half-mile on the ridgeline until we found an overlook to the south, providing expansive views and some warmth from the bright sun.  We ate our lunch on a dramatic rock outcropping.  We had seen some footprints in the snow before our own, but no other hikers.  I found a nice pair of sunglasses on the trail but couldn’t envision any way to find their rightful owners. If they’re yours and you can identify them, I’m happy to give them back!
We returned to the summit and walked the short distance to the overlook called Angels Rest. There were three other hikers occupying that space, so we didn’t linger. 
Last week, a member of my Rotary Club had admonished me for my hiking, saying she thought the danger was too great to risk injury before my big trip to South America in March.  “Danger?” I thought. Geez, I do motorcycling and bicycling, both of which I consider more dangerous than walking the trails.  However, on our way down, I wasn’t so sure.  The ice was harder and slicker and downhill is always more treacherous than uphill.  I fell harmlessly a couple of times.  After one fall, I said to Kyle, “I just want to sit here for a moment and rest.”
We reached the car about four hours after leaving it, tired but happy to have spent time together in the great outdoors. 


* * Receiving kind words

One of the more interesting people I met during the research for The Spine of the Virginias was Tazewell’s Bob McGraw, an amateur Civil War historian and re-enactor. When Bob died during the process of bringing the book to print, I printed a memorial page in the introductory section.  His widow, Anita, ordered several books for his brother, sister, and son.  When she received the books, she sent me a kind letter that included these words.

“(The books will make) meaningful gifts to them. I don’t think any of them knew how deeply my husband felt about his history and how much he cared about this community.  I suspect most siblings and children lack understanding of their parent’s or brother’s life outside the family.

“Thank you for your work in the world.  Thank you for honoring my husband, Bob McGraw.”

Makes all the work worthwhile…