* * Living a life of passion

A life of passion is a good life.  Everyone should be passionate about something. One of my greatest passions is motorcycling.

We’re blessed with four distinct seasons around here.  Sometimes it feels like we get all four within a week. This past week was like that.

Thursday and Friday were hot, but by Saturday, a cold front ushered in a thunderstorm massive enough to drop hail as thick as a snowstorm on places throughout the area.

Passionate motorcyclist try to take the vicissitudes of weather in stride. So this morning, a Sunday, I called my best friend Mike Gunther and we arranged to ride to a scheduled breakfast event of Twin Valley Riders, a loose group of sport-touring enthusiasts from the Roanoke and New River Valleys.

I have a new bike – a used one, actually – a 2007 Honda ST-1300. It’s a fabulous touring bike, with a meticulously refined four-cylinder engine that purrs along calmly and methodically at any speed less than 100-mph. At 65-mph, it’s barely breathing hard. It has a windshield that raises and lowers with the push of a handlebar-mounted button. Very plush.

The forecast was for a chance of rain, increasing through the morning. It was raining off and on as we drove SR-8 towards Floyd and our ultimate destination at the restaurant at Tuggles Gap.

We arrived a few minutes before the designated start time and I joked to Mike, “It’s a good thing we like each other…”

And he finished my sentence, saying, “… because we might be the only ones here.”

However, soon enough, Tom arrived on his Gold Wing from Roanoke.

Moments later, Paul arrived as well, driving a Toyota convertible.

Tom is the youngest of the bunch. Around 40, I’m guessing, he’s an undertaker by profession. He has three kids. He looked at my ST longingly, saying his wife refused to ride the Gold Wing as it was “not her style,” being an “old person’s bike.”

Paul is a retired clinical psychologist. After his hip replacement, his doctor told him to give up motorcycling, as if he ever crashed on the artificial hip he’d not walk again.

So we three riders and one ex-rider sat at a table in the nearly deserted restaurant. Our conversation revolved mostly around weather gear. Specifically, I was in the market for a new electric liner jacket. Dedicated riders now have their choice of complete heated suits: socks, pants, jackets, and gloves, as well as heated seats! Each person at the table had his specific experience and advice.

I told the story of the Harley rider I spoke to years earlier who was riding merely in a sweater and leather jacket on a 30F day. When I met him at the general store in Paint Bank, he was hypothermic, so cold he couldn’t manipulate the gas pump. How could anybody justify spending $15,000 on a bike and not spend $200 on a heated jacket?

By the time we emerged from the restaurant, it was raining lightly but steadily. I put my rain layer over my regular jacket before we departed. So on my torso, I had a polypropylene T-shirt, a thermal jacket, my riding jacket (with impact protection) and my rain jacket. Reaching Floyd, it was raining harder still, so we stopped and I put on my rain layer over my riding pants, too.

The rain turned to a full-fledged torrential downpour. Water streamed across the road and splashed from the wheels of oncoming cars. Fortunately, the curved shape of my helmet’s face-shield channeled the water away from my line of sight. But I had to keep the shield cracked slightly so it wouldn’t fog up.

Reaching the superhighways and eventually home, I found myself thinking that this was the type of ride only an enthusiast – someone with a real passion – could enjoy. But enjoy it I did!

* * Recounting an experience from my Bolivia trip last spring

This is a short speech I gave at my Rotary International Convention last weekend, regarding my Group Study Exchange trip to Bolivia last spring.

I joined Rotary International several years ago. Last March, I was chosen by Rotary to lead a team of four young professionals on a Group Study Exchange trip to Bolivia. I gave a report last weekend at the annual conference at The Homestead Resort in Hot Springs. Here are my notes:

The nature of GSE is that you’re in constant movement, being in new places, meeting new people, and then moving on. This was doubly hard in Bolivia because of the extremes of climate and altitude. Our journey took us from 1000 feet to almost 15,000 feet and from hot and muggy to cold and dry. At some point, everybody gets tired. By Potosi, I was tired.

Potosi, our third stop, has the most interesting history of any city in the world you’ve never heard of. Founded in 1546 as a mining town, it soon produced fabulous wealth. By 1672, the population exceeded 200,000 people and it was one of the largest cities in the Americas and was at the time more populous than London. It has a nominal elevation of 13,400 feet and is one of the highest cities in the world.

I loved my two prior hosts in Santa Cruz and Sucre; they were warmly hospitable and spoke excellent English. Sadi and Olga in Potosi were equally nice, but they spoke no English and my Spanish was rudimentary at best. The city felt cold, austere, and exotic.

Being a team leader is a privilege, but it carries a huge responsibility. The safety and well-being of my team was my first priority.

For our departure from Potosi to Cochabamba, we were scheduled to go by taxi for the two-hour drive from Potosi back to Sucre, from where we would fly back to Santa Cruz and then catch a connecting flight to Cochabamba, all on the same day. As I said, Potosi is at 13,400 feet. Sucre is at 9000 feet. Santa Cruz is at 1300 feet. Cochabamba is at 9200 feet.

Bolivia is often beset with strife which takes the form of street protests. The morning we were scheduled to leave Potosi, protesters had set up a roadblock. Our two taxis drove us to the edge of town, but we were unable to go further. Our hosts told us it was likely the blockade would be dismantled by evening. So we spent the day waiting, roaming town.

By evening, our hosts had learned that the blockades were gone, so again we loaded in taxis and departed the city. Because it was too late to fly out of Sucre, the Rotarians there had arranged for us to stay at a nice hotel that we were already familiar with. We had a nice drive on a pleasant evening. At the outskirts of Sucre, we learned that their protesters hadn’t got the memo, and the street was still blockaded. Unfortunately we weren’t able to make contact with anyone to meet us. So we walked through the blockade on our own.

Imagine this eerily nightmarish scene. It was nighttime and the area was lit with streetlamps. There were parked cars and trucks lining the road. The blockade consisted of several rows of football-sized rocks spaced 100 feet apart, with protesters mulling around, sitting in lawn chairs beside tents and canopies. Through this, we five gringos had to march along schlepping our suitcases. We took care not to make eye contact or ruffle any feathers. We had no problems, but it was nerve-wracking nonetheless.

On the Sucre side of the blockade, we hailed another taxi. The five of us, along with our luggage, piled inside a small Toyota station wagon. With the car’s suspension bottoming on every bump, we were driven into the city center. At the hotel, I had a luxurious penthouse suite!

The next day, our Sucre hosts took us to the airport. The Sucre airport consists of a single paved runway and no taxiways at all, so airplanes taxi towards the end of the runway on the runway itself.

We reached Santa Cruz safely, but our flight to Cochabamba left in the evening, so we had all day to wait. We took a cab towards the city where we had lunch. But there wasn’t much for us to do. It was hot. I was tired from travel, tired of the responsibility, and frankly I think we were all tired of each other. We finally boarded a Boeing 737, where it was even hotter. Apparently, the air conditioning wasn’t being used.

An hour later, we landed in Cochabamba. Being higher in elevation, it was much cooler. As I walked across the tarmac with my team, I began to feel rejuvenated. We walked inside the terminal where we met our new hosts, who greeted us with an enthusiasm and graciousness that is difficult for me to describe. The smiles and hugs flowed for many moments. They were so happy to see us! These people who none of us had ever met were instant friends, merely by virtue of our shared membership in Rotary International.

In that singular moment, it was abundantly clear to me why I joined Rotary. Reflecting back on it now, it was that instant when I made the transition from being a “Rotary Member” to being a “Rotarian.” It was an experience I hope all 1.2 million members have at some point in their lives. I thank you and our wonderful friends in Bolivia for providing the opportunity for it to happen for me.

* * Attending and presenting at the Virginia Festival of the Book

The Virginia Festival of the Book, held annually in Charlottesville, is the largest gathering of authors, writers, and readers in the Mid-Atlantic region. Writers are by invitation only, and this year I was invited!

I left town on Thursday afternoon and arrived to a complimentary room in the fabulous Omni Charlottesville Hotel. The hotel is at the west end of the downtown mall, the sole pedestrian-only downtown I know of in Virginia. I found dinner at an outdoor café on a mild, gorgeous evening.

My presentation was Friday morning in the upstairs of the Jefferson/Madison Library a block from the mall. Jon Lohman was the moderator for me and two other panelists. Jon is a folklorist and the director of the Virginia Folklife Program at the Virginia Foundation of the Humanities. Other panelists were cultural anthropologist and filmmaker Charles Thompson, who wrote Spirits of Just Men: Mountaineers, Liquor Bosses, and Lawmen in the Moonshine Capital of the World and Paddy Bowman, who wrote Through the Schoolhouse Door: Folklore, Community, and Curriculum. Our session was called, Moonshine, Mountaineers, and Motorcycles: On  the Crooked Road Then and Now. I half-expected to speak to an empty room, but was delighted to find almost every one of the 100+ chairs filled. The audience seemed delighted by our presentations and asked many keen questions. It was entirely enjoyable and I sold a surprising number of books afterwards.

In my audience was Kevin Donleavy, who several years ago wrote Strings of Life, published by Mary Holliman at Pocahontas Press before she died. He and I had lunch together and we discussed the next book he’s working on, about the early Irish migrations to America.

I attended another session at the UVA Bookstore, presented by two authors who have written books about the lives of other authors. Afterwards, I walked back to the downtown mall, seeking as much shade as I could find on a hot afternoon.

I then attended a session presented by three authors who wrote books about updated stories that were already legendary. One author was Sharyn McCrumb who spoke about her new book, The Ballad of Tom Dooley. Sharyn lives near Roanoke and I’ve known her for years. A woman in attendance told me she’d been to my presentation and really enjoyed it and wished she’d bought a book. When I told her I had more in my car, she followed me 5 blocks to buy it from me! She was attending the Festival from Maine.

I went to dinner with new friends, hosts I found through an internet hosting service called CouchSurfing. Delia and Tommy took me to their favorite Mexican restaurant.

Afterwards, Delia and I went back to the UVA Bookstore where we again waded through a sea of blue and orange to an event showcasing James (Bud) Robertson with his new book about the Civil War, The Untold Civil War: Exploring the Human Side of War.

I left early this morning and was home before noon. Bud and I are friends and he was a huge help to me with my first book, The Spine of the Virginias.

The Festival was an entirely positive experience. I saw several old friends, met several new ones, sold some books, ate some great food, and enjoyed my presentation. It is flattering to be mentioned in the same programs and listings as such accomplished people. Check this out:

http://www.vabook.org/site12/participants/view.php?names=A

Is this cool or what!!!???

I can’t wait until next year and hope to be invited back to present my upcoming book, Providence, VA. 

 

* * Raising the perfect child

I generally find boastfulness unbecoming, but my wife and I have the perfect child. Really.

Whitney, our only child, is on my mind today for a couple of reasons.

First, her 21^st birthday is coming soon when we lose her to adulthood.

Second, a YouTube video that’s gone viral has shown a parent-child relationship at its worst. The video shows an unhappy father of a teen girl excoriating her publicly. It goes something like this:

 * Man finds Facebook post from daughter, decrying her unfair treatment by her parents who force her into performing simple chores.

 * Man gives her the what-for, quite publicly. (As of this writing, over 25-million people have seen it. If it hadn’t touched a nerve, it wouldn’t have been watched by 8% of our nation’s population.)

 * Man shoots her laptop computer – literally – with bullets from a handgun.

My first reaction to this was despair and sadness. I mumbled to myself as I watched it, “This father and daughter have a problem, and I’m not sure whose is worse.”

My second reaction was puzzlement, as my own parenting experience couldn’t be more different.

When Whitney was conceived nearly 22 years ago, her mom and I lived in Seattle, Washington. We counted as friends several voluntarily childless couples, and would have been content not to have children of our own. But as Jane reached the upper end of her reproductive years, our minds changed. She had several miscarriages before her successful birth. Whitney was a beautiful baby with wisps of blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She was seldom fussy and easily calmed.

We relocated to Blacksburg when she was only six months old. Blacksburg is the only home she’s ever known.

When she reached the “terrible twos” she remained pleasant and eager to please. She swept though the “tantrum threes” and the “fiendish fours” way too fast, but remained a joy to be around. We never hesitated to take her to restaurants or shows as she always behaved, even as we saw other kids making their parents miserable. We heard so many times, “Yeah, she may be fine now, but wait until she turns X,” but when she’d turn X, she was just as wonderful as she’d been before. I don’t ever recall disciplining her.

People have often praised my wife and me for doing such a good parenting job, but I think most of the credit goes to Whitney. We did have some guiding principles, although we never codified them.

We always treated her with esteem and love.  

We always respected her opinions and desires.  We let her know she was an equal member of our household, not a guest, and would always be treated as such.

We always cut her some slack. Millions of beds around the world aren’t made every day and if she didn’t feel like making hers, it wasn’t that big a deal.

We always let her make all but the most potentially dire decisions in her life and helped her to understand that she would benefit or suffer from the repercussions.

We always tried to expose her to the grand variety of cultures, landscapes, art, music, and adventure the world offers us. She’s been in over thirty states and a dozen foreign countries.

When I asked her what she thought about her upbringing, she said, “You and mom taught me to be independent and to make my own mistakes. You were always very supportive. You pushed me to do well but didn’t make me feel unworthy or ashamed if I couldn’t do something. I learned to always be nice to people no matter who they are. I have never really been interested in misbehaving.”

See? I told you!

She’s a junior at Tech this year. She’s stressed with multiple demands of her schoolwork, part-time job, boyfriend, sorority, hobbies (mostly horses) and other assorted activities. She’s worried about getting a good start with her career when she graduates, cognizant that our job market is not the best for new entrants. Okay, she’s not really perfect; she spends more time than I’d like with a cell phone in her hands, she curses like a sailor, and her burps would wake a corpse. But she’s still tiny, still gorgeous, and still great to be around. As far as I can tell, she has no enemies; everyone adores her.

We finish every conversation with, “I love you.” Every day I’ve had her in my life has been a blessing. Gosh, wouldn’t the world be a better place if every parent felt that way about their kids?

* * Talking with Randy Marchany about his band, "No Strings Attached"

Randy Marchany is a founding member of No Strings Attached, a string band with three decades of history. A jovial man with long braided grey hair, Randy’s day job is in computers at Virginia Tech, but music is his passion.

“I started playing the hammered dulcimer in 1978. Most dulcimer players are from the Celtic tradition. I came from a classical piano background.”

Randy met Wes Chappell and Pete Hastings in their Tech dormitories in the early 1970s. They discovered a common interest in the clogging and folk traditions that were emerging then. The Appalachian mountain dulcimer is a simple, hourglass shaped instrument with four strings that sits in the musician’s lap. The hammered dulcimer is a large, trapezoidal table-like instrument that sits on a stand. The musician plays by standing in front of it and tapping the strings with pencil-like wooden hammers.

“The instrument has a long history, dating back thousands of years to the Persians. In the late 1960s, there was a revival of interest in New England that filtered to the southern states.” Randy found it a perfect compliment to his piano training. He paid $200 for his first one, and delivered it home in a laundry bag as he rode his bicycle. He got together with Wes and Pete and began practicing, “in the stairwells of Squires (Student Center). By 1980 we had coalesced into a band of six musicians.”

Three of the band’s original members left the area. A new bass player, Bob Thomas, joined the remaining three in 1984. So for most of the band’s years, the members were Randy, Wes, Pete, and Bob.

I asked Randy about the other players.

“Wes Chappell is one of the most talented natural musicians I’ve ever met. We once counted the instruments he could play, and we got to 19. You can hum a song to him, hand him virtually any instrument in the world, give him ten minutes and he could play it – well! Some instruments are similar in fingering, but some aren’t. He can play clarinet, dulcimer, violin, didgeridoo, pennywhistle or hurdy-gurdy. It’s almost a subconscious ability to play almost anything. And he is a good singer.

“Pete plays rhythm guitar but is phenomenal on the harmonica. There are few if any better anywhere in the country. When we’ve played in front of large audiences, the blues harmonica players move forward to watch and listen to Pete. And he’s totally modest about his abilities. He’s really special.

“Bob fit right in. He got the names of the songs and the chord progressions and he already knew most of the Old-Time tunes. Bob knew Jazz, Bluegrass and Punk Rock. Bob played everything bass. His main instrument was the upright bass, which he played with an elegance, versatility, and fluidity that most people have only ever seen on violins. His goal was to play the bass instrument in every family. He had a bass mandolin, a bass saxophone, bass clarinet, contra-bass clarinet, tuba, euphonium, you name it. He did woodwind, brass, and strings.

“We started playing Old-Time fiddle tunes like Rag Time Annie and Whiskey Before Breakfast, but playing them on dulcimers. We knew the melodies from clogging. So we were playing a blend of Celtic and Old-Time tunes. We played lots of reels and gigs, good dance music.

“We did our first album in 1983. We did our second in 1984 with more of our original stuff.”

They’ve released 10 albums with 6 of them nominated for Indie Awards in the “Best Album – String Music” category. Their 5^th album, “Take 5” won the Indie in 1988. Music has opened doors for them all across the country and even in Europe. For several years in the 1980s, they routinely toured the West Coast playing at festivals and house concerts.

“It was a hoot!”

People always enjoy the humor, spirit and camaraderie of No Strings Attached concerts. I asked Randy about it. “We’ve been playing together forever. When I play with the band, my own musicianship is so much better from a quality standpoint, than with any other people or by myself. We have a natural chemistry and bring out the best in each other. Wes was into Rock-N-Roll. Pete was into the Blues. I came from the Classical side of the house. Bob brought every genre. We were ostensibly an Appalachian string band, centered on hammered dulcimers, but we played Jazz and many other things. Other hammered dulcimer bands are often Celtic duets, but we were playing things people had never heard played on dulcimers. So that’s kept it fun and fresh for decades.”

Bob Thomas died unexpectedly from a heart attack a few weeks before my conversation with Randy. Randy said, “We really began to understand his contribution after he had passed. I’ve been lucky to have had the opportunity to play with musicians of the caliber of Bob Thomas, Pete Hastings, and Wes Chappell.”

With Bob’s passing, the band is being forced to enter a new era. “We’re all in mourning now. We all shed man-tears when he died. But I hope soon we’ll get back on track. There’s nothing better for the soul than playing music.”