* * The Last Motorcycle Ride

The other Saturday, my corgi dog and I accompanied my friend Margie to Greensboro in her van to pick up a motorcycle she’d bought. She’s wicked smart, generous and funny, and I always enjoy spending time with her, either riding or just hanging out.

The bike is a Ducati 848, an exotic, fast and competent Italian sport bike. Margie owned one years ago and when someone offered her almost as much money as she had in it, she sold it. She’s regretted it ever since. So when she found another, she jumped on the deal.

On the 2+ hour trip, we got to talking about our love of motorcycling, the great rides we’d done together, and what we hoped to experience in the future. We all have an expiration date. As our Golden Years come into sharper focus, we know our riding days are numbered. We just don’t know what the number might be.

Not to get overly morbid about it, but we know motorcycling itself is dangerous. Everyone who rides understands that, and we’ve all lost a friend or two along the way.

We got only as far as Dublin on I81 before we encountered our first backup. With light Saturday traffic, we assumed there was a wreck ahead. Indeed, as we exited and took parallel roads, we could see where a tractor-trailer had crashed badly. There were tow-trucks and ambulances in attendance, doing their melancholy work.

We crested Fancy Gap and took in that wonderful, expansive view to the North Carolina Piedmont, with Pilot Mountain standing bold above the plain in the southern distance. Our conversation turned to the coronavirus, now spreading rapidly through China and beyond. Margie has a PhD in microbiology, so she knows about diseases and epidemics intimately. The lecture that ensued presented terms like “lethality,” or how likely it is if someone catches a disease they might die and “R₀,” pronounced “are-naught” which isn’t just jargon; it’s a mathematical term that indicates the contagiousness of a disease, obviously a crucial part of public health planning during an outbreak. A high R₀ describes the average number of people who will catch the disease from one contagious person.

We stopped at the North Carolina Welcome Center just beyond the state line to use the toilets and re-fill our water bottles. It turns out there were signs on the fountains and the sinks not to use the water for drinking, as there was a concern for potential contamination. There are medical risks everywhere. It’s a wonder we live as long as we do.

Margie’s specialty is how diseases transfer from animals to humans (or more accurately, as she often reminds me, from animals to animals, because indeed we humans are animals, too). We’re not sure yet where the Chinese coronavirus originated, but all viruses, even with low R₀ use the “beauty” of logarithmic math to spread rapidly. In other words, if one infected person infects two others, and those two infect two each, and those four infect two more each, the numbers expand exponentially quite quickly. The coronavirus (named because of the crown-like spikes on their surface) has killed over 1000 in China already and the World Health Organization said it presents a “grave threat to the world.”

We talked about inoculation for the flu, how flu shots are devised and distributed. Turns out, public health officials make determinations each year for the particular viruses they THINK will be a problem. But they’re always working from hindsight, and viruses are opportunistic in their mutations.

We don’t think about the flu as being a fiercely lethal disease these days, but this has not always been the case. The influenza pandemic of 1918, right after the Great War, infected 500 million people around the world and killed over 50 million, far more than the war did. The flu is nothing to sneeze at, if you’ll pardon my lame attempt at humor.

Arriving in Greensboro, we were presented her new bike. It was as stunning as advertised, pearly white with a red frame and red wheels. It looked aggressive and fast, just sitting there.

Margie had brought a crock pot of homemade chili and cornbread to share with her friends there, and we enjoyed eating while my dog ran throughout the showroom playing with the other customers. We loaded up the bike and pointed the van northward towards home.

I had bought a new bike myself a couple of months ago, a much less powerful and more sedate Honda NC750X. It replaces a bike I’ve owned for 25 years. I’ve quipped often that I’m 65 now and if I get 25 years out of this new one, I’ll be 90. Not many riders are still motorcycling at that age! My joke is that I want to die riding a motorcycle over a cliff at age 100, but I understand the unlikelihood.

We know that someday, we’ll take our last motorcycle ride. Will hers be on that Ducati or mine on the new Honda? We can’t know. But as time marches on, we understand the urgency to enjoy every ride to the fullest, just in case.

* * May we please stop vilifying government regulations?

Recently, Curtis Whitt stopped by to see me in my office in the industrial shell building I own. It was not a social call; he’s the Christiansburg Fire Marshall, making his annual inspection.

There are regulations in place that dictate fire safety at public buildings and it’s Curtis’ job to ensure enforcement. He looks at flammable materials and walkways. He checks to see if fire extinguishers are properly labeled and charged and whether fire suppression systems are adequately maintained. He looks to see that “Exit” signs are properly lit.

So we walked the facility together, he making his report about required remedies. It’s always a hassle for me, as invariably something needs fixing. And it costs me twice, first in his salary that I pay in town taxes and second in the time and money to fix things.

It helps that Curtis is a nice man with a pleasant demeanor and a good sense of humor. And he’s never punitive. He never mentions fines and always allows me ample time to fix things.

It would be easy to become upset by this “intrusion” into my private company. Instead, I recognize that while perhaps we’ll never have a fire at night where someone needs a lit “Exit” sign, it is in my tenant’s interest, and by extension my own, that people are safe.

There’s a constant theme I hear over and over again about “burdensome government regulations,” and the impediment to commerce and industry they represent. I fail to see it. To paraphrase James Madison, “If corporations were angels, no government would be necessary.” They’re not.

Not every regulation seems to make sense under every circumstance, but from my experience, when government looks the other way, either by not passing relevant regulations or by not enforcing existing regulations, eventually there is significant damage. For example,

• The financial crisis of 2008 was largely caused by de-regulation of the financial industry. Corporate lenders engaged in hedge fund trading, collateralized debt obligations, credit default swaps, and other risky financial “instruments” that most of us, and frankly most of them, didn’t understand.
• The Deepwater Horizon spill in the Gulf of Mexico in 2010 was the result of many shortcuts taken by BP and their contractors. They used crappy piping and cement. The operators and regulators failed to do adequate monitoring of the pressure building up in the pipe. The disaster could have easily been prevented.
• The Upper Big Branch Mine disaster, also in 2010, was caused by flagrant safety violations by the company that owned it and lack of effective enforcement by regulators.

In the former instance, millions of people lost their savings and their homes. In the latter, people died and pollution was widespread.

Before any meaningful government regulation, the damage was worse. For example, back in the early 1930’s, the Union Carbide company (which, I might add, has got to be considered the worst corporate citizen the world has ever known), oversaw the construction of a water diversion tunnel near Charleston, West Virginia, where hundreds of workers were sickened with silicosis, the inflammation and scarring of the lungs, due to silicone in the rock. Fatalities are estimated between 500 and 1000; the company was so insensitive that although they knew about the problem did nothing to solve it and indeed refused to even account for the dead.

Overseas, there have been even worse disasters. A leak of toxic gas on the night of December 2, 1984 at a factory run by Union Carbide (remember them?) in India is responsible for as many as 10,000 deaths and a half-million injuries. There have been lingering conspiracy theories about sabotage, but it is undisputed that both the company and its regulators were lax in enforcing safety requirements. Union Carbide and its affiliates paid hundreds of millions in fines and restitution.

This highlights the major points of this essay: there has never, EVER been an instance of environmental or human health degradation that wasn’t ultimately easier to prevent than to remediate. And that prevention can only be obtained through meaningful, stringently applied regulation. Corporations have never and will never effectively self-regulate.

And what’s more, when a company pollutes, it privatizes the profits and socializes the risks. For example, a company might save $10 million by not installing proper filtration systems before dumping in the river, where people downstream may incur $100 million in healthcare costs related to increased pollution related diseases. Any company that can’t afford to protect its workers and the environment has no right to exist.

With that fact, our governments have imposed regulations that keep our air and water clean, and our food, drugs and workplaces safe. Why do we continue to demonize them?

I suppose there are, or could be, regulations that are strictly punitive, that exist for no other reason than to punish and inhibit our corporations. But I don’t know of any. I believe that every regulation we face, at least initially, had sound reasoning behind it.

Curtis’ visits may be a hassle, but ultimately I know his actions will result in a safer, healthier community. Let’s please always appreciate that.

* * Taiwan is awesome, too

I’m sitting in the airport in Seoul, South Korea, awaiting the flight that will take me back to Dulles Airport and Virginia in a few moments, having arrived here last evening from Taipei, Taiwan.

Taiwan is the third and final country on this, my first visit to Asia, and my last article about my journey. My first two were from Nepal and Bhutan, both poor nations sandwiched between India and China. Taiwan is a tiny island nation off the coast of China that has entered the new century in far better shape economically. Its gleaming cities are showcases throughout Southeast Asia.

Why was I in Taiwan? The other two nations were part of a tour with several other travelers, while I visited Taiwan by myself. Turns out, I was invited by several friends I’d met through my membership in Rotary International. Rotary sponsors programs called Group Study Exchange, and I had been both a participant and a host, traveling to Bolivia 8 years ago and hosting travelers from Taiwan, India, Brazil, and Bolivia at my home since then.

We had two guests from Taiwan, and they were my favorites. Courtney stayed with us first, and we became immediate friends. She calls me her “Appalachian dad,” and asked me repeatedly to visit with her and her family. Then we hosted Maggie, who was quieter and more shy, but equally wonderful. But I became close to all the Taiwanese.

So when the other trip came about, I decided to take the opportunity to stop in Taiwan on my way home.

Here are some highlights:

Courtney lives near the capital of Taipei in the north of the island. Our first stop from the airport was to get a foot massage, something I’d never done. The masseur showed no mercy; it hurt like heck but was still relaxing by the end. The next day, we went to the observation floor of the Taipei 101 skyscraper, which at its completion was the world’s tallest building. Featuring the world’s fastest elevator, it is not only an awesome engineering feat, it’s also beautiful, with pleasing postmodern features in steel and glass throughout. And it is LEED certified, making it the tallest and largest “green” building in the world.

After that, I boarded the Taiwan High Speed Rail for my journey south to Kaohsiung, a trip of around 200 miles with speeds exceeding 185mph. Once there, my friends took me on tours of the Kaohsiung harbor, a chaotic neighborhood farmer’s market (featuring meats for sale that surely once belonged to warm-blooded animals, but were unrecognizable to me), the computer simulation lab at Pingtung Technical University with its virtual reality games, and the Fo Guang Shan Buddha Museum, sort of a Holy Land Theme Park for Buddhists. I also climbed a small mountain where wild monkeys scampered around, stealing bags of food that hikers failed to guard.

Everything except the market was futuristic and modern, and happily far cleaner than Nepal where I had just left.

All the while, my friends were treating me to meal after meal of traditional Taiwanese food, including lots of sea-food, unsurprising for the island nation. In most cases, the streets were filled with traffic, including lots of scooters, just like Nepal. But in Taiwan, most riders drove more sanely. I joked with one of my friends that in America, there are lots of traffic rules and most people obey them; in Taiwan there are also traffic rules and some people obey them; in Nepal, there are no traffic rules at all. In spite of the frenetic nature of things, everyone was unfailingly courteous; I can’t recall any harsh words or horns honked in anger. On a face-to-face basis, everyone was preternaturally polite. My friends showered me with a breathtaking level of generosity. At every occasion where money was involved, they rigorously refused to allow me to contribute.

During my entire 4 day stay in Taiwan, I spent not a single dollar; I didn’t even exchange my money for the local currency. And they insisted I bring home many souvenir gifts.

Yesterday, I took the High Speed Rail back to Taipei where I found a local rail system to deliver me to the airport. It was efficient and modern. Speaking of which, the Seoul airport from which I now type is the most beautiful, spacious, and modern I’ve ever seen. Our USA has fallen woefully behind in its transportation network, especially its public systems. I don’t think we’ve built a major new airport in America in the last generation and our highways are always in need of repair and modernization. Oh, and our railroads... don’t even get me started.

As this trip comes to a close, I’m trying to wrap my head around the impressions I’ve made. I think the most striking is that while Asia, like the Americas, has wealthy and poor places, it is vast, fascinating, and happily quite friendly. In three weeks and three countries, I don’t recall a single terse or unpleasant interaction. We’re often told the world is a scary place, but that was not my experience. And there is so much more to see.

By the time you read this, I’ll be home again, savoring the memories. Thanks for reading and hopefully enjoying this journey with me.

* * Bhutan may be the world's most appealing country

Bhutan is enchanting!

You may remember from last week's article, I was in Nepal for the first time. As fascinating as it was, I was thrilled to board a plane in Kathmandu and head east to the Dragon Kingdom of Bhutan.

Sandwiched between India on the east, south and west and the monstrous Himalayas to the north, Bhutan is one of the world's least visited nations. 

But ironically, it is one of the easiest, most intriguing places for Americans to go. More on that in a moment.

I had a window seat on our flight, the massive Himalayas to our left, including the highest on earth, Everest, snowcapped and gleaming in the morning sunshine, plumes of snow wafting into the rarefied air.

Our Druk Air Royal Bhutan Airlines, jet made a curving approach to the runway in Paro, literally the only international airport in the nation. Ours was the only plane on the tarmac.

Thus our exploration began of this most mysterious country. The landscape reminded me of western Colorado, high, dry mountains with snowcapped peaks in the distance. Strings of prayer flags rippled from buildings and trees. 

It was cold and windy when our buses delivered us to the 177 foot tall Buddha statue on a hillside overlooking the capital of Thimphu, snuggled in a valley too tight and winding to have its own airport.

One of the first things you notice is that all the buildings are richly decorated, inside and out, with carvings and paintings of tigers, dragons, other animals and figures from their Buddhist religion. Many of the people wear traditional garb. The elegant gho is required for men to wear on all special occasions and by all government workers.

I can't begin to tell you about all the fantastic experiences, but here's a sampling from just one day.

We toured Thimphu's farmers market, fascinating, with a cornucopia of fruits, vegetables, and fish. Then we watched an archery competition, shooting traditional bamboo arrows an amazing 145 meters (1.5 X a football field) at a target maybe 24" in diameter -- archery is the national sport. We created a 10,000 foot pass with a skyline of 20,000 foot peaks in the distance, then descended to 5000 feet to the unparalleled Punakha Dzong, Bhutan's most famous and picturesque temple. We finished the day walking across a canyon on a cable bridge 520 feet long. 

Bhutan is a kingdom, rigidity controlled. Tobacco is forbidden. So is private ownership of guns. All tourists must be escorted continuously and pay a $250 dialy fee for being in the country (which seems expensive, but it covers transportation, lodging, meals, and the guide). In spite of the restrictions, everyone loves the King, who seems to be a modest man, devoted to the welfare of the people. He made international news a few years ago by presenting to the United Nations the concept of Gross National Happiness as a more relevant index than Gross National Product.

Everyone I've met is genuinely friendly and warm, and most of the people speak English.  All the road signs are in English and many have gentle admonitions like, "No hurry, No worry."

The next day, we visited the Phobjikha Valley where stupendous black necked cranes spend the winter, migrating over the mountains from Tibet. From the edge of the valley, we could see dozens of these regal birds grazing in the wetlands. Our guide, Dorgee, is a handsome young man with a great sense of humor, and is an accomplished bird photographer who shared the photo of the cranes shown here.

Today we took a tough hike to the famous Tiger's Nest Monastery, one of Bhutan's most famous places, perched on a cliff 2000 feet above the valley floor. Fantastic!

Our visit to Bhutan will end soon and I will be on my way way to my next destination, Taiwan. But Bhutan has seared a tattoo of affection on my heart and I already look forward to my next visit.

* * Nepal: Checking off my oldest bucket-list item

I'm in Nepal. In the Himalaya Mountains. I know, right? I'm still pinching myself.

I cannot remember a single place that has been on my bucket list longer. Everest. Annapurna. Kanchenjunga. Nanga Parbat. These are fabled peaks, the highest in the world, and they're here in these mountains.

So when Tom Hammett, my friend the forestry professor I wrote about recently told me about a trip he was organizing and invited me, how could I say no?

Tom has been making frequent trips for 45 years since his first experience with the Peace Corps, sometimes taking students along for study abroad and sometimes going alone to do conservation work. He was motivated for this trip to show friends and members of his extended family the country he'd come to love.

Beyond that, he pieced together a few more days in the hidden kingdom of Bhutan, where our tour is going next. Although he’d extensively traveled the world, it was a place still on his bucket list. After a full day of flights from Dulles Airport via Dubai, we landed in Nepal’s capital of Kathmandu just after dark. To say this was a shock to the senses doesn’t adequately articulate what it means to arrive in this city from the Western world.

Through jet-lagged eyes, I watched our bus weave through insane traffic of trucks, other buses and swarms of motorcycles, on the left side of the road. Even in the dark and cold, many people were out in the streets and in the shops, some standing around pots with fires crackling below chilled hands.

Our hotel was in the city of Bhaktapur, once well away from the heart of Kathmandu, but now engulfed by the swelling metropolis of perhaps 5 million. My sensibilities were shattered by what I saw from the bus window, as seemingly everything I’ve come to understand about an urban environment was different, from the extreme poverty to the stray dogs, the litter, the clothing of the people, and the smells. Oh, the smells, the pungent fires, the excrement of the dogs, pigeons, and whatever, and the food spices.

On our first day of exploration, our tour bus was immediately engulfed in a massive, go nowhere, traffic jam. And thus the day went from there, as we explored various temples, stupas, and other mostly religious shrines in the mixed Buddhist and Hindu nation. I was overwhelmed.

A highlight for me was a drive to the mountaintop of Nagarkot for our first true Himalayan panorama. And of course the fabulous antiquities of Bhaktapur itself, a well-preserved mediaeval village with its vibrant street market, architecture, and a festival of native dance and music in the square.

Still, I longed to be in the mountains! We took a 45 minute flight from Kathmandu to Nepal’s second city of Pokhara and then got on an ancient, high clearance bus for the ride up the mountain to the village of Sikles. The journey was perilous, mostly on a mud road, seldom more than one lane, steep in places, where vehicles like ours vied for access with construction equipment.

Perched on the slope of a ridge spilling from the Annapurna range, Sikles is totally without vehicles, with hundreds of humble shacks splashed between stair-stepped pathways.

Our first day there, several of us took a short but thigh-wrenching hike upwards to an overlook of the expanse of the Annapurnas. Back to our lodge (which, incidentally had no heat whatsoever), a storm front arrived bringing hail, thunder, plunging temperatures, and lots of rain, which continued for 30 hours. We were all cold and wet. I was sure the road would be slicker than a peeled onion in a bowl of yoghurt.

But oh, the next morning’s sunrise made it all worthwhile! A layer of fog sat in the valley below while far above, the massif of Annapurna, with its frosting of newly fallen snow, glistened in the orange sunlight, almost 20,000 feet above our already lofty 6300 feet viewpoint!

Our trip organizers thoughtfully hired three four-wheel drive cars to bring us down, as the bus would likely not have made it. We live for another day!

Back in Pokhara, warm, full, and resting for the next phase of the trip, I’m struck by the warmth of the Nepali people. They habitually greet each other and us with lovely greetings of hands in a prayer position and the word “Namaste,” a universal sign of respect. Especially in the village, technologies are primitive and living conditions are harsh and wretched, yet everyone exudes equanimity, unmoved by hardship, discomfort, or the machinations of the outside word.

Tomorrow, off to the jungle.