Timothy L. Thompson's Blog

[Image by AnnaliseArt via Pixabay]      

There’s an old song from the Smokies about losing a girl for proceeding with too much trepidation.  When you finish the first half of this story, you’ll know why I wanted a wristwatch so young.  When you finish the second half, you’ll know why I learned to confront issues in a timely fashion.

       I bought my first watch in seventh grade while living in Turtletown, Tennessee; but, let’s back up a little. When I was about nine, I had a horrible experience caused by my dad running particularly late to take me to a dance.  Our community in Unaka, North Carolina had opened a little activity center to host gatherings and activities.  One of the first activities they brought in was a square dance training session every Friday night. I was skeptical, but went along to see if it would be fun.  I quickly found out that to square dance, you needed a partner, and it would be a girl!  Better yet, the girl I had a crush on at school was there and I could hold hands with her as part of the activity!!  This went swimmingly for several weeks until one night when my dad ran oh so very – very late getting home.  I lost my dance partner for arriving to the lessons late.  I was emotionally beaten and decided then and there I would never become the guy who was always late.  When I grew up, I would be mister on time, the time master, the “watch” man.

[Image by Alessandro Cavestro via Unsplash]

       At nine, I was still subject to the whims and capriciousness of adults.  When I hit twelve, I was freer to roam, had bikes and motorcycles and trails at my disposal and was able to walk a lot further than at nine.  When you get to be twelve, you find that people will give you more opportunities for odd jobs to make money too. So, when I earned a little money, I decided to buy a watch.  I had little idea how well that would go over at school with a few of the girls I liked.

[Yes, that is in Turtletown. Those are Turtletown woods back there!]

       We were a few weeks into the school year, when I bought the watch.  So, I showed up at Turtletown elementary (7th grade) the next day for a new morning of excitement.  I was proud to show off my new watch to my friends when I found out that a very, very pretty girl wanted to wear my watch.  “Wow” I thought.  “That wasn’t the plan, but… wow…”  My mind continued to whirl, I told myself, “come on man, a really, really cute girl in the class has made it clear she wants to wear the watch.  She’s going to get to wear the watch!”  And so she did, for several weeks. This relationship may have exceeded (by a week or so) most of my “going out” connections at that age…usually two or three weeks at most.

Only a depiction – Not the actual person in this story! – [Picture by Norwood Themes via Unsplash]

It turns out that the connection with this particular girl got harmed more by two third parties than my own actions, but it was time for a lesson for Tim.  I mean really, we can’t control the actions of third parties, but we can control our responses to them. 

       Our homeroom teacher that year would use her allergies as an excuse to smoke in the teachers’ lounge and would leave us to sit during recess a lot. We were supposed to sit quietly in our seats for forty-five minutes without talking. She asked me to be the class monitor that day (my first and only time to have that duty, thankfully) and while she was out, two boys decided to… be boys.  They started letting gas loudly and wiggling their butts in the direction of a few nearby girls and giggling about it.  The girl with my watch was in the group of girls being targeted. She did not appreciate their foolishness (not at all).

       Now, let me be clear.  If I had thought any of the girls were being physically bullied or threatened, I would have intervened – Immediately.  At twelve though, I knew I’d get us all in trouble if I overreacted to the boys goofing off.  From my seat in the far back of the class, all I could see was them wiggling and squirming in their chairs. Since they were still sitting in their chairs, it didn’t give me a fair chance to get up to counter them.  So, I watched… and did nothing.  Apparently, Vickie, the girl with the watch, was a particular target of the numbskulls… ok — boys — and she expected more of an intervention from me.  I failed her. 

       The teacher eventually showed up and one of the girls tattled.  The teacher looked at me and said, “You weren’t going to say anything to me about it were you”? 

       “No,” I replied.  I wasn’t a snitch and I wasn’t going to start.  But, I could have said something to the two guys and my failure to do so taught me a lesson about confronting problems.  It was not fear that stopped me, I just didn’t know what to do with two boys being dumb (I should have called them out – loudly and clearly).

       Later that day, Vickie sent my watch back to me by another classmate.  I knew she was disappointed.  I just wasn’t mature enough yet to know how to fix things.  I would think about it often that year and try to figure out what to say to amend things.  At twelve, I just hadn’t quite learned how to open dialogue on a failure.  I was ashamed. 

       Later that month, I even asked my parents to take me to Vickie’s church on a Sunday morning (I can’t remember why ours was not active that Sunday… something odd had happened).  I just saw an opening and took it.  When we got to the church and I saw her, I didn’t know how to start the conversation.  She looked away each time she saw me. I just didn’t have enough life experience yet to walk over and say, “We need to talk.” 

[Image by Mohamed_Hassan via Pixabay]

     Strangely, when I hit college I became more comfortable with correcting things that went wrong.  There’s no way it could be because I was getting in jams of my own making; thus, giving myself opportunities to fix things… right? However I came to it, I learned how to talk to girls over the next few years and confronting difficult topics in conversation became a strength.  The loss of connection with my friend in Turtletown drove me to be a better person. I didn’t want another friendship lost over a failure to address hurt and disappointment.

       The moral of this story?  Watch over your friendships carefully.  There’s never a better time to mend a fence than now.

[Cover Photo by Jordan Bauer on Unsplash]

I’m always up for exploring new lakes, rivers and creeks.  Any excuse to fish is a good one for me.  The fun part is all the adventures you have along the way (occassionally, they are a little dangerous). Sometimes you have to try a few lakes before the adventures set in. So, I had occasion to explore the banks of Shell Lake (near Sand Springs) recently and tried different things there three days in a row (about 3 to 5 hours each visit).  It was a fine lake and I caught fish, but not too much excitement or outdoor adventure. My only real complaint is that Shell Lake requires a $2.00 contribution to a little box every time you go (despite your current Oklahoma fishing license).

 It was easy to catch fish from the banks… use live worms and catch sunfish and baby bass all day long.  But, I wanted to catch bigger bass, so I kept trying different lures designed for bigger bass.  I finally caught one Large Mouth Bass the last day that was about 15 inches long (not much, but at least it was keeper size). 

I suspect Shell Lake could produce some good bass if you were in a fishing canoe or small Jon boat, but from the banks, your odds of catching a big bass are somewhat limited as there is only so much area that is accessible to walk up to.  Still, if you have a younger one with you, you can nearly guarantee a catch with live worms and small hooks. On the other hand, I saw a lot of water snakes.  I don’t believe any were poisonous, but they were there (and they are there at any lake you visit in Oklahoma – and most southern and Midwest states too).

            Just a week or so later, I was encouraged to explore Bixhoma Lake and decided to give that a try.  That’s where things got interesting. Now Bixhoma requires a special permit from the City of Bixby to fish there (your Oklahoma fishing license is not good enough there either – see a pattern forming).  So, I had to make a trip to the Bixby City Hall (online permits coming soon – says their website… I hope so) which meant I couldn’t go out early as the City Hall didn’t open until 8 am.  I had a few errands that day, but swung by on a Friday about noon and bought the permit (good for a year for $15).  Since I had a little time, I ran by the lake (another 15 minutes south) and thought I’d fish for an hour before it got too hot for effective bank fishing. 

            The lake was pretty, but I’m no judge as I love them all.  If there’s a large body of water and fish in it, I think it’s home and that it’s beautiful.  There is very good bank access and a couple of docks.  I fished immediately off a spot where I could tell canoes were being launched from.  There were grasses growing in the water to provide hiding places for bass.  That first spot was an area with a lot of small sunfish and baby bass, so after they stripped my worms a few times (and wouldn’t bite any crankbaits) I went back to the car to switch some things and planned on checking out the dock on the south side of the lake.

            While I was at the car putting on a fresh worm and considering on switching out a lure on the other rod (I always use two at a minimum), a young couple with a large dog pulled up in a dark colored SUV (I think it was an older Bronco).  The young lady was cute and kept asking me questions about fishing and the lake (my first time there, but I guess I looked like the elder statesman of the lake to her).  The guy (could have been husband, boyfriend or brother) also wanted to tell me all about their new canoe and how this was their first time out with it. 

            The lady asked me about snakes and I made the mistake of just answering without prefacing it.  “Yes there are snakes here and you do need to watch for them.”  I realized my mistake as she immediately told her partner that she wouldn’t be taking the canoe out and would just stay by the car.  I felt horrible, so I immediately went into damage control on behalf of the poor dude whose day I’d just made more difficult.  I explained to her briefly how safe she’d be in the canoe and how she could avoid encounters on the water if she just watched carefully and paddled away.  In fact, as her day turned out, she would have been safer staying in the canoe.

            I then proceeded to fish along the bank and headed to the dock.  I guess she accepted my advice because she went on out for a brief time on the lake by herself and then paddled back for the guy to take a turn.  I didn’t tell her that while on the dock, I saw a fairly large water snake that noticed me and expressed his displeasure. I pointed at it and told it to leave.  They get the point and leave for me pretty well.

Photo by Eliza28Diamonds on Pixabay

As she was paddling back, two younger girls showed up in their own canoe and the three females engaged in girl talk about how cute one of the swimsuits looked on one of the two new girls. The original lady then started to walk her large dog around the gravel road running along the lake.

            Two things happened about the same time.  I caught a small sunfish off the docks and the lady with the dog got knocked over by said dog and hit her head and elbow on rocks along the roads edge.  I heard her fall, but then she laughed and talked to the two girls so I thought she was ok.  She was not.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

            I came off the dock to check on her and found one of the two new girls holding her dog and the other girl holding her upright as she was bleeding badly from the arm and elbow.  I sped up and opened my car to get tissues, towels and a first aid kit.  I ran to the injured young lady and could see that she was not able to stand on her own.  The young girl was holding her upright and she was babbling nonsense. I had hand sanitizer, disinfectant wipes and a first aid kit, so I was ready to help. I quickly wiped her clean of the blood and then ran to signal for her guy companion to come back in from the lake. 

He came quickly and took her arm on the left side to walk her to their vehicle.  I knew that was not enough and took her arm on the right side which the guy soon realized was needed as she was not even close to supporting her own weight as we walked her to the car.  She started saying things like “that’s not my car” or “my car is over there”, but it wasn’t.  We got her in the correct vehicle and the bleeding started up again.  I wiped her down while the guy was grabbing some of their things.  Then I got a large bandage from the first aid kit and gave it to him to put on her.

He thanked me and went about tending to her when I realized the young girls were still nearby taking care of the lady’s dog.  So, I fetched that and brought it to the guy as well.  I was going to leave at this point, but as I backed my car out I saw the guy struggling with the canoe.  They’d unloaded it together and I realized though they’re not that heavy, they are awkward, and he needed a hand with that as well. So, I stopped the car and helped him load it also.  I told him I’d say a prayer for them (they needed it).

I went back to Bixhoma a few days later and caught a decent bass, found a bunch of baby frogs and got chigger bites that lasted about a week.  Next time, I’ll take a hoe for the snakes and bug repellant for the chiggers.   Still, I think I can recommend Bixhoma, it’s certainly provided plenty of adventure for me, just don’t let your dog knock you over. Finally, if anyone else knows the couple, please have them reach me to tell me how they’re doing.

If you enjoyed this story – First, let me say THANK YOU – then, please hit one of the “share” buttons below to share this story on your social media and help me get the word out about my stories. Also, please signup for the free newsletter on the homepage or via the occasional popup invites.]

The next story in this series is yet to be written, so why not try: Tales from Kentucky #2: One More Time or The Alligator Snapping Turtle of Jenks?

Need some outdoors, wildlife or motocross inspired t-shirts or sweatshirts? Feel free to browse and shop my gifts page at Redbubble!

I previously wrote a story about how motorcycles got introduced to me (Motorcycles, Motorcycles Everywhere). That story explains how they got introduced to me, but it doesn’t tell the story of what they do for me.  I attempt to cover that here, but the unique connection to motorcycles and motorcycling is pretty powerful and not easy to define. Consider the value of learning to accept, manage and then embrace risk and think about pure unadulterated joy pouring in while you engage in the activity and you get the idea. I think my story will resonate with other bikers.  The feeling is too powerful not to notice it, I’m sure it’s part of the driving force that fuels the industry.

I remember begging to get a motorcycle when I was a kid. I remember how excited I was when I got it too.  I couldn’t wait for my dad to get home to teach me how to start it and ride it. I kept sitting on it and moving it around the carport, even shaking it to listen to the gas in the tank swish.  That was the kind of excitement you’d expect for any kid with any new toy. It was the riding though that was going to change me.

My brother’s kids

Dad went
over the basics with me when he got home. 
Turn the gas line so fuel goes to the carburetor, kill switch if
anything goes wrong, don’t touch the exhaust pipe – ever.  Thankfully, the Honda 50’s of the day had no
clutch, so all I had to do was learn how to shift gears (and balance, and
control the throttle and brake, etc.). 
Neutral was at the bottom of the shift pattern and the gears were all
three found by lifting the little toe shifter up.

Dad’s explanation of the gearing was hilarious, yet appropriate for my age and lack of any riding background at nine.  “First gear is for most of your riding needs.  Don’t use second gear unless there’s a long straightaway and you’re late getting home.  Third gear is for racing and so you won’t really need that.”

Photo by JR Juliano Unsplash

It’s funny, at nine, you just accept what mom and dad say for the most part. So, for a good while (a few weeks anyway), his story worked.  His explanation of why not to use the front brakes was similarly ridiculous.  He said something like, “don’t use the front brakes with any force or it will make you flip over the handlebars. If you use them at all, barely feather touch them.” This was an unfortunate misconception of the time that was commonly shared.  I heard other kids, even older kids who rode dirt bikes, telling me something similar, particularly when they saw me using them.

The problem for me was, I had this nagging thought.  “Why would the manufacturers make them if they have no use or value?” but, like the gear explanation, I accepted it for a time… until I started to test things.

  I was a pretty good, obedient kid for the most part, so bikes probably helped me in the sense of learning to figure things out on my own.  You might say a nine year old ought not to test mom or dad’s advice too much, but again, I was kind of overly obedient back then and the bike helped me to relax a bit and start learning to make my own independent judgments. 

This was my second bike – The Hodaka 125

You see, I
started going faster and learning the limits of the bike.  As I got faster, I needed to be able to brake
harder and stop faster.  Motorcycles are
made to use the front brake.  The front
brake provides far more stopping power than the rear. I remember noticing that
I could use the front brakes successfully even with force.  I was learning to accept risk.  I understood that if I was wrong, the bike
might flip, but I could feel that the front brakes were working. I noticed they
worked better at stopping than the rear brakes and I started to trust my own
experiences on the bike… and yes I got even faster and started using third gear
(whoo hoo!).

Why would an ultra-obedient, overly worried about the rules kid, start to test dad’s statement about the brakes and the gears? If you haven’t ridden a motorcycle (or only been on one once), you might not get it, but I’m going to attempt to put that in words. It’s more than words can explain, but I hope to give you a taste, a feeling of the rush, the power, the freedom, the unbridled joy, the power, the sense of independence and control that comes with driving a motorcycle.

I remember
that feeling starting as I was sitting on the bike, waiting for dad to come
home to teach me how to ride it.  I
couldn’t explain it, but it’s like the motorcycle was feeding some sensory
organ that no other experience had ever touched.  Just sitting on it, I knew something unique
was happening.  The motorcycle was
calling me into a world that others didn’t have.  A world that I had never experienced yet, but
knew I wanted. The feeling grew when I kicked the starter and the engine turned
over.  The feeling of power and
excitement only grew even more as I revved the bike and felt the engine turning
over faster and faster.  That was in
neutral. 

Then dad let me put it in first gear and go around the yard.  Joy started pouring through me. Excitement and thrill at 7 miles an hour. You see what it meant was that I could go places, I could experience risk, I could experience nature and I could feel motorcycle power pulsing through my veins. 

This was me on my KTM 300

When you ride a motorcycle, you are closer to everything.  You are closer to the ground, the wind and the sky.  You can sense the risk, but you can feel nature.  The wind is at your face, you feel the air rushing around you.  You rev the motor and feel the power.  You can lean over and move the machine around. You can lean back and pop a wheelie.  You can twist and turn and accelerate and brake.  You feel the machine and you feel it respond to you.  You feel other motorcyclers when you see them near.  The connection is real.

Dad pointed
down to the dirt road in front of our house and I headed right down.  Now I could get into second gear and go 14
miles per hour! It was outrageous!! This was faster than any of my nine year
old friends could run!! Up and down the little dirt road I went. Then a jeep
came by on our extremely isolated deep woods dirt road. I didn’t panic, I just
slowed down as he eased by while I puttered along the edge of the road. 

I drove back to the driveway and my dad was watching.  “You did fine,” he said, “I want you to stay on all the trails around here and only ride on this dirt road to go to the neighbors when mom sends you.  Stay away from cars like you did then and I’ll let you keep on riding.”

I had fears about being alone when I was a kid too.  The bike helped there as well.  If I rode into the woods, I was by myself; but, if I didn’t, I was limiting my experiences on the bike.  Slowly, but surely, the bike called me into the woods. I listened.  I loved that feeling. That feeling grew when I got a motorcycle with a clutch and learned how to use and control the power and climb steeper and steeper hills. Then, when I got a motocross bike and started jumping… I could never escape that feeling.  When you are in the air, you are on a carnival ride, but one that you control. You are flying, you are superman. There is truly nothing else like it.

The amazing thing is that you can get the motorcycle rush and connection I described above on anything with two wheels and a motor.  I can ride a Honda MR50 (tiny kids racing bike) and still feel the rush, the wind in my face that makes the connection with nature, with all other motorcycles and motorcyclers and with myself.  I’m in control, I can make noise, I have power at my disposal, I can travel, I can travel swiftly and forcefully, I can experience risk and see, feel and hear nature up close. I can go fast or slow, I can go places others can’t go. I am a motorcycler.

Me helping a relative’s child with a school project!

[If you enjoyed this story – First, let me say THANK YOU – then, please hit one of the “share” buttons below to share this story on your social media and help me get the word out about my stories. Also, please signup for the free newsletter on the homepage or via the occasional popup invites.]

Why not try one of the other stories in this series? Motorcycles, Motorcycles Everywhere or the follow up to this story: I’ll have a Cup of Joy with My Ride!

Feel free to browse and shop my gifts page at Redbubble!

[Photo by Tahoe on Unsplash] I’ve got a couple of very short stories for you this week: Bird in the Hand and Bobcat in the Street

[Photo by Tahoe on Unsplash]

Bird in the Hand:

For me, there’s nothing like the pure pleasure of riding a
dirt-bike in the woods. I’ve written about what that means for me before, but
sometimes you get a funnier story just dealing with the mundane things in life
like keeping the house free of critters. We got a great first pet for the kids in
Kentucky.  She found us actually.  She was an outdoor cat that belonged to the
neighbors first, but when we moved in, she came to us and started staying with
us.  A few months after we moved in, the
family she started with moved out.  They
were empty nesters and took note of how “Scooter” had claimed us.  So, they came and asked if we’d like to keep
her.  She was so great with the kids it
was easy to say yes. She had a limp that she’d gotten years before when hit by
a car which made her name ironic, but she could really scoot when she wanted to…despite
the limp. 

We let Scooter in as much as out and enjoyed having her
around.  One day, she was in with me when
I opened the door for a second to check on the kids playing in the yard.  To my surprise a small bird flew in.  That’s when the adventure started.

Of course, the bird was going nuts trying to figure out what
it had flown into and Scooter decided to help. 
It was like watching a cartoon episode. 
I didn’t know that cats could run vertically and horizontally on walls
in a house.  They can.  I’ve witnessed it. 

Imagine if you’ve seen one of those motorcycle shows on tv
where they put several guys on bikes in a large cylinder about three times the
size of a merry go round and then start spinning it.  The bikes take off and use centrifugal force
to ride on the side of the cylinder wall. Except with the cat, there were no
spinning walls, just pure force, speed and cat will power. 

I grabbed a broom to try to help the cat when the bird
started relieving itself in terror in my living room.  That resulted in more bird release. Then the
cat at least partially scratched the bird and the bleeding started.  Now I’ve got bird relief, bird blood,
feathers and who knows what else on the walls. 
The bird is still going nuts. 
Then the furniture starts to fall. 
The lamps and vertical pieces started to fall along with any chair that
wasn’t particularly heavy.  I and Scooter
finally got the bird out the door.  I
can’t remember if Scooter got it on the way out or not.  I just knew it was gone and now I had work to
do. 

I was really concerned with any disease the bird may have carried, so I scrubbed and sprayed everything.  Julie showed up at some point and joined in.  We kept the kids out until we were sure we’d disinfected all the walls, vacuumed everything in the room and wiped all furniture with rags soaked in alcohol.  Nothing like a bird in the house to break up a monotonous Saturday.

Bobcat in the Street

My 16 ½ year old son (now 22), Ross was backing a car out of the driveway with his 19 year old sister, Alicia, in the passenger seat when they heard a fierce cat fight. My son says he’s saw them in the side view mirror, but it was twilight, so visibility was down.  He thought it was a dog attacking our cat (primarily due to size).  He stopped the car and Ali jumps out to deal with the situation.  She is taken aback at the size of this large cat that is rolling in the street with Kal (our pet cat). That doesn’t stop her from running up to the both of them and taking charge.  She points her finger in the face of what she thinks is a giant sized house cat and yells at it fiercely and tells it to go away while pointing towards a point of egress.  She tells me later that she was surprised that he held his ground for a second and seemed confused that she would come tell him what to do, but he decides it’s best to go and so he does.  Kal thinks Ali is great and comes and rubs her legs.  They put him in the house and continue on.  Later, I produce pictures of a bobcat and Ali responds with, “Yeah that’s exactly what that big housecat looked like.”   Excellent, now they’re coming out of the woods into the cul-de-sac to pester our pets. Welcome to Jenks, Oklahoma. 

[Photo by Dusan Smetana on Unsplash]

But, it’s just a bobcat.  It’s not a mountain lion, not a beaver, not a wild boar (all possible here).  We lost Kal under mysterious circumstances a few months later.  I believe it was from a neighbor that was annoyed by Kal sleeping in his garden, but I have no definitive proof.  A few months to a year and a half later the wolves show up in the field across from our neighborhood. Not coyotes with winter fur, but also not northern or grey wolves.  What we saw were what we believe was the Mexican Wolf. They were only spotted in and around the area for a few months and then they disappeared.  I saw them, my wife saw them and Ali saw them.  I asked about them at a neighborhood Walmart nearby and the workers there told me they would see them in the mornings.  They wouldn’t get out of their cars until enough people showed up that the wolves would choose to leave.  My neighbor didn’t believe me until he heard the pack catch a raccoon in his back yard.  The sounds are macabre as you hear those crunching bones (and screaming).  That same night I heard them and thought they were in the street in front of my house.  It did sound like a horror movie.  I opened the door to let the outdoor cat in.  She was pressed up against the door and fell in when I opened it.  I’ve never seen two domesticated cats work together like what I saw that night.  The indoor cat was coming down the stairs when the howling started as I let the outdoor cat in.  The two cats ran together and met in the living room. I was looking out the window to see if I could spot the wolves in front. Anyway, I went back to check on the cats and they had turned back to back and were slowly circling in the house to defend themselves.  I didn’t know that was cat behavior, but it was interesting to see. 

Thankfully, we haven’t seen or heard the wolves in a year or more now.  I’d like to hope it stays that way.

[If you enjoyed this story – First, let me say THANK YOU – then, please hit one of the “share” buttons below to share this story on your social media and help me get the word out about my stories. Also, please signup for the free newsletter on the homepage or via the occasional popup invites.]

You might also like to read: Tales from Kentucky #5: An Ordinary Day on the Boat

Feel free to browse and shop for outdoor themed shirts and mugs on my gifts page at Redbubble!

[This is a new type of post for me.  Others are doing it in varying ways.  It is what is known as a “microblog” post.  I’ve attached two here for this first attempt. Let me know what you think with the submit a comment section below. Is it too little? More like a tease than a story?  Interesting to read something so concise?  I care… let me know.]

Micro Blog One:

It Pays to be Aware of your Surroundings!

Photo by Jonny Hayes on Unsplash

My parents lived in Hollywood, Florida when I was in college.
Unlike many there, I made an effort to get out to the amazing south Florida beaches
and enjoy them.  On Christmas break I
would go because the crowds were down.  On
one occasion, I’d been swimming a bit and noticed something floating about 30
feet away.  It was small, brown, square
and tossed about by the waves.  I decided
to check it out.

Curious and excited about what the object might be, I closed in on it and wondered, “Could it be some hidden treasure now brought to the surface?” I got more excited as I closed within arm’s reach.  “It’s a wallet!”  It got sucked under by waves, so I watched carefully and spotted it again, then dove forward and caught it. It had cash! I was thinking, “Maybe I’ll get a reward!” It had ID! I looked at the ID and was stunned.  It was MY WALLET!!! It had escaped my pocket and was circling around waiting for me to find it.  I was very thankful for God’s providence, but it pays to be aware of your surroundings.

Micro Blog Two:

Why Keep a Towel in the Car?

One late winter
afternoon, when I was eight, an owl flew from dense woods into our car.  “Whack,” he went fluttering down.

“Stay
put,” Dad ordered while he checked on it.

“Do
we have a towel in the car?” he said. 

“I think
so.” I can’t remember how I knew, but there it was.   

Dad
handled wild animals well.  He scooped it
up.  This was a dark brown owl 16 to 17
inches tall. Dad firmly wrapped him and placed him in the floorboard.

Dad
calmly, commandingly said, “Place both hands around and keep him firmly
wrapped.  Don’t squeeze, keep him tight
so he knows he can’t move.  He’s stunned,
but he’ll recover.  He won’t fight if he
doesn’t feel threatened. Keep arms extended and face away.” I obeyed.

He looked
around, but didn’t fight or attempt escape. 

Dad
carefully stopped at home.  “I’ll come
around.  Stay perfectly still.”

Dad placed him on his extended arm slowly unwrapping him.  The owl stretched his 3 ½” wingspan and shook.  He took flight to nearby trees. 

Photo by Marcel Painchaud on Unsplash

“Man that
guy had massive talons,” dad said, “even through my police jacket, I could feel
those claws.” 

He was
beautiful.  I’m glad we gave him a
chance.  Left in the road, he would have
been hit again.  I’ll never forget seeing
him spread those massive wings when dad unwrapped him.  I was glad we had that towel in the car.

[If you enjoyed these two micro blogs – First, let me say THANK YOU – then, please hit one of the “share” buttons below to share this story on your social media and help me get the word out about my stories. Also, please signup for the free newsletter on the homepage or via the occasional popup invites.]

Feel free to browse and shop my gifts page at Redbubble!

Why not read an earlier adventure from The Tim Tales? Tales from Turtletown #1: The Crazy Creek

Similar stories to consider:

I last wrote about how much motorcycles affect and drive me.  I thought I’d share more details of some specific sensory experiences I had when riding at different times. The second day I had the Hodaka 125 (at 12 years old) I left the yard for the unknown eastern Tennessee woods of the trails behind my house.  Dad spent the first day making me ride around the house until he was satisfied I could operate a clutch.  I was ready to expand my boundaries now. We’d been told there were 300 plus acres of woodlands directly behind us to ride on and I’d had yet to explore them.

I was already feeling a prickly sense of excitement as I pulled the bike out of the garage. I kicked the starter hard to crank it up.  The bike came to life with a gust of oily smoke and an explosive roar. My blood started rushing immediately.  I was scared, excited and motivated all at once.  I breathed in that oily cloud and connected the smell forever with joy and a sense of adventure. Something great was going to happen and I knew it – every time I kicked the starter.

Photo by Kelly Lund on Unsplash

The ground near the house was covered with grass, but as I worked my way down the hill from the house to the trails, I realized that the dirt trails were still slightly slick from recent rains.  I had good knobby tires and I was young and athletic enough to balance the bike as it slid down the culvert running along the edge of the hill and onto the trails.  As mentioned above, I’d just started learning how to use a clutch, but I don’t think I stalled out too many times as I got to the base of the trails and was about to head off into the woods. 

As I climbed into the hilly trails and ditches, the stall outs came a little more frequently. The stall outs were good teachers for me though.  I had to learn how to restart on a hill, sitting on a bike that was too tall and quite heavy.  I was twelve. My growth spurt hadn’t yet hit, but was about to. The kick start was challenging.  I was on a bike that I had to tiptoe on to begin with.  I had to lean the heavy bike over, balance on one foot in the mud, get the kick start lever turned out and kick hard. I had to do that again and again until it turned over.  Then the mixture of thrill and fear kicked in again each time the engine roared to life.

Photo by Andraz Lazic on Unsplash

Each time I stalled out, my stomach would churn as I was alone in the woods on a strange bike that I hadn’t mastered at all yet.  I felt vulnerable, as I had little confidence in my ability to maneuver the bike successfully if a bear, wolf or mountain lion showed up (these were not unreasonable possibilities where we lived). I also had that internal desire to conquer the fears and overcome the learning period on the cantankerous and heavy bike.  I wasn’t going to let a machine beat me.

As I got to the base of the trail and entered the woods I heard the birds squawking.  They were quite furious with me for breaking the peaceful silence of their homes with the glass-breaking sound of a two stroke motor working its way into the forest. The trail was muddier than I expected and even with knobby tires on, I was sliding and shifting in and around the edges of the trail.  All the while I was trying to learn how to shift and use the clutch and keep the revs up so it wouldn’t stall going up or down hills.  It was a blast.

I needed to find a way through the woods to my friends at the Kimsey boys’ house so I could show the bike off. I didn’t know the trails though, so I made it about halfway through the woods and took a ½ mile stretch of broken, worn out pavement the rest of the way. When I arrived you’d have thought it was a party.  The four Kimsey boys, their mom and a grandma came out to greet me.

Photo by Victor Van Welde on Unsplash

“Nice bike!”
the boys kept saying.  Each of them had
to take a turn sitting on it.  Kevin kept
asking to take it for a ride and his mom and brothers kept saying “NO”.  I wasn’t sure why they were so firm with
Kevin (they all had bikes – well… a shared bike anyway), but I’d learn more
about that later. 

I told them how I’d come part way by trail and the rest on the pavement.  Tim (the oldest of the brothers) then showed me where the trail let out behind their house at the top of a hill. “Follow that back and it will hit the trail you pulled off of and you can make it the rest of the way home 100% by trail.” 

After visiting with them for a bit, I was anxious to ride some more and to continue to learn the bike and the trails. There would be plenty of time for adventures with the Kimsey boys.  Just a few weeks later, one of the Kimsey boys took me to the “Mud Bowl” (a deep round pit of mud in a hole near one of the neighbors) and showed me how well a good dirt bike could climb out of near vertical walls.  I had plenty more to learn (how to feather a clutch, how to pop a wheelie and maintain it, etc.), but it was coming and coming pretty quickly). 

In order to
leave, I got to work on the kick start process some more. It really wasn’t
terribly hard to start, but took more effort than my little Honda 50 ever had.  It was good for me to learn that process too.
It was all part of mastering the ride. The bike roared to life again with that
gust of oily smoke and the boys’ faces lit up. 
We all loved the sound of that two-stroke motor.

I waved good-bye and headed up the hill towards the mouth of the trail.  The bike was very torquey and had no trouble getting up the hill and on into the trail.  I was getting more comfortable with the clutch and the bike now and successfully worked through the trails to find my house.  It was in these woods that I would run across a wolf (on his own without a pack) and in these woods where a mountain lion would roar at us from the darkness one night.  On this day though, I was learning to ride a dirt bike with a clutch and gaining confidence in my ability to tackle things alone.

Photo by Gabriel Sanchez Unsplash

Each experience brought a new thrill and a new sensory blast of motorcycling joy.  It was going to be a great year in Turtletown, Tennessee and the bike was going to be a big part of that success. Don’t you want to go get a new dirt bike right now?

[If you enjoyed this story – First, let me say THANK YOU – then, please hit one of the “share” buttons below to share this story on your social media and help me get the word out about my stories. Also, please signup for the free newsletter on the homepage or via the occasional popup invites.]

Feel free to browse and shop my shirts & gifts page at Redbubble!

I last wrote about how much motorcycles affect and drive me.  I thought I’d share more details of some specific sensory experiences I had when riding at different times. The second day I had the Hodaka 125 (at 12 years old) I left the yard for the unknown eastern Tennessee woods of the trails behind my house.  Dad spent the first day making me ride around the house until he was satisfied I could operate a clutch.  I was ready to expand my boundaries now. We’d been told there were 300 plus acres of woodlands directly behind us to ride on and I’d had yet to explore them.

I was already feeling a prickly sense of excitement as I pulled the bike out of the garage. I kicked the starter hard to crank it up.  The bike came to life with a gust of oily smoke and an explosive roar. My blood started rushing immediately.  I was scared, excited and motivated all at once.  I breathed in that oily cloud and connected the smell forever with joy and a sense of adventure. Something great was going to happen and I knew it – every time I kicked the starter.

Photo by Kelly Lund on Unsplash

The ground near the house was covered with grass, but as I worked my way down the hill from the house to the trails, I realized that the dirt trails were still slightly slick from recent rains.  I had good knobby tires and I was young and athletic enough to balance the bike as it slid down the culvert running along the edge of the hill and onto the trails.  As mentioned above, I’d just started learning how to use a clutch, but I don’t think I stalled out too many times as I got to the base of the trails and was about to head off into the woods. 

As I climbed into the hilly trails and ditches, the stall outs came a little more frequently. The stall outs were good teachers for me though.  I had to learn how to restart on a hill, sitting on a bike that was too tall and quite heavy.  I was twelve. My growth spurt hadn’t yet hit, but was about to. The kick start was challenging.  I was on a bike that I had to tiptoe on to begin with.  I had to lean the heavy bike over, balance on one foot in the mud, get the kick start lever turned out and kick hard. I had to do that again and again until it turned over.  Then the mixture of thrill and fear kicked in again each time the engine roared to life.

Photo by Andraz Lazic on Unsplash

Each time I stalled out, my stomach would churn as I was alone in the woods on a strange bike that I hadn’t mastered at all yet.  I felt vulnerable, as I had little confidence in my ability to maneuver the bike successfully if a bear, wolf or mountain lion showed up (these were not unreasonable possibilities where we lived). I also had that internal desire to conquer the fears and overcome the learning period on the cantankerous and heavy bike.  I wasn’t going to let a machine beat me.

As I got to the base of the trail and entered the woods I heard the birds squawking.  They were quite furious with me for breaking the peaceful silence of their homes with the glass-breaking sound of a two stroke motor working its way into the forest. The trail was muddier than I expected and even with knobby tires on, I was sliding and shifting in and around the edges of the trail.  All the while I was trying to learn how to shift and use the clutch and keep the revs up so it wouldn’t stall going up or down hills.  It was a blast.

I needed to find a way through the woods to my friends at the Kimsey boys’ house so I could show the bike off. I didn’t know the trails though, so I made it about halfway through the woods and took a ½ mile stretch of broken, worn out pavement the rest of the way. When I arrived you’d have thought it was a party.  The four Kimsey boys, their mom and a grandma came out to greet me.

Photo by Victor Van Welde on Unsplash

“Nice bike!”
the boys kept saying.  Each of them had
to take a turn sitting on it.  Kevin kept
asking to take it for a ride and his mom and brothers kept saying “NO”.  I wasn’t sure why they were so firm with
Kevin (they all had bikes – well… a shared bike anyway), but I’d learn more
about that later. 

I told them how I’d come part way by trail and the rest on the pavement.  Tim (the oldest of the brothers) then showed me where the trail let out behind their house at the top of a hill. “Follow that back and it will hit the trail you pulled off of and you can make it the rest of the way home 100% by trail.” 

After visiting with them for a bit, I was anxious to ride some more and to continue to learn the bike and the trails. There would be plenty of time for adventures with the Kimsey boys.  Just a few weeks later, one of the Kimsey boys took me to the “Mud Bowl” (a deep round pit of mud in a hole near one of the neighbors) and showed me how well a good dirt bike could climb out of near vertical walls.  I had plenty more to learn (how to feather a clutch, how to pop a wheelie and maintain it, etc.), but it was coming and coming pretty quickly). 

In order to
leave, I got to work on the kick start process some more. It really wasn’t
terribly hard to start, but took more effort than my little Honda 50 ever had.  It was good for me to learn that process too.
It was all part of mastering the ride. The bike roared to life again with that
gust of oily smoke and the boys’ faces lit up. 
We all loved the sound of that two-stroke motor.

I waved good-bye and headed up the hill towards the mouth of the trail.  The bike was very torquey and had no trouble getting up the hill and on into the trail.  I was getting more comfortable with the clutch and the bike now and successfully worked through the trails to find my house.  It was in these woods that I would run across a wolf (on his own without a pack) and in these woods where a mountain lion would roar at us from the darkness one night.  On this day though, I was learning to ride a dirt bike with a clutch and gaining confidence in my ability to tackle things alone.

Photo by Gabriel Sanchez Unsplash

Each experience brought a new thrill and a new sensory blast of motorcycling joy.  It was going to be a great year in Turtletown, Tennessee and the bike was going to be a big part of that success. Don’t you want to go get a new dirt bike right now?

[If you enjoyed this story – First, let me say THANK YOU – then, please hit one of the “share” buttons below to share this story on your social media and help me get the word out about my stories. Also, please signup for the free newsletter on the homepage or via the occasional popup invites.]

Feel free to browse and shop my shirts & gifts page at Redbubble!

I last wrote about how much motorcycles affect and drive me.  I thought I’d share more details of some specific sensory experiences I had when riding at different times. The second day I had the Hodaka 125 (at 12 years old) I left the yard for the unknown eastern Tennessee woods of the trails behind my house.  Dad spent the first day making me ride around the house until he was satisfied I could operate a clutch.  I was ready to expand my boundaries now. We’d been told there were 300 plus acres of woodlands directly behind us to ride on and I’d had yet to explore them.

I was already feeling a prickly sense of excitement as I pulled the bike out of the garage. I kicked the starter hard to crank it up.  The bike came to life with a gust of oily smoke and an explosive roar. My blood started rushing immediately.  I was scared, excited and motivated all at once.  I breathed in that oily cloud and connected the smell forever with joy and a sense of adventure. Something great was going to happen and I knew it – every time I kicked the starter.

Photo by Kelly Lund on Unsplash

The ground near the house was covered with grass, but as I worked my way down the hill from the house to the trails, I realized that the dirt trails were still slightly slick from recent rains.  I had good knobby tires and I was young and athletic enough to balance the bike as it slid down the culvert running along the edge of the hill and onto the trails.  As mentioned above, I’d just started learning how to use a clutch, but I don’t think I stalled out too many times as I got to the base of the trails and was about to head off into the woods. 

As I climbed into the hilly trails and ditches, the stall outs came a little more frequently. The stall outs were good teachers for me though.  I had to learn how to restart on a hill, sitting on a bike that was too tall and quite heavy.  I was twelve. My growth spurt hadn’t yet hit, but was about to. The kick start was challenging.  I was on a bike that I had to tiptoe on to begin with.  I had to lean the heavy bike over, balance on one foot in the mud, get the kick start lever turned out and kick hard. I had to do that again and again until it turned over.  Then the mixture of thrill and fear kicked in again each time the engine roared to life.

Photo by Andraz Lazic on Unsplash

Each time I stalled out, my stomach would churn as I was alone in the woods on a strange bike that I hadn’t mastered at all yet.  I felt vulnerable, as I had little confidence in my ability to maneuver the bike successfully if a bear, wolf or mountain lion showed up (these were not unreasonable possibilities where we lived). I also had that internal desire to conquer the fears and overcome the learning period on the cantankerous and heavy bike.  I wasn’t going to let a machine beat me.

As I got to the base of the trail and entered the woods I heard the birds squawking.  They were quite furious with me for breaking the peaceful silence of their homes with the glass-breaking sound of a two stroke motor working its way into the forest. The trail was muddier than I expected and even with knobby tires on, I was sliding and shifting in and around the edges of the trail.  All the while I was trying to learn how to shift and use the clutch and keep the revs up so it wouldn’t stall going up or down hills.  It was a blast.

I needed to find a way through the woods to my friends at the Kimsey boys’ house so I could show the bike off. I didn’t know the trails though, so I made it about halfway through the woods and took a ½ mile stretch of broken, worn out pavement the rest of the way. When I arrived you’d have thought it was a party.  The four Kimsey boys, their mom and a grandma came out to greet me.

Photo by Victor Van Welde on Unsplash

“Nice bike!”
the boys kept saying.  Each of them had
to take a turn sitting on it.  Kevin kept
asking to take it for a ride and his mom and brothers kept saying “NO”.  I wasn’t sure why they were so firm with
Kevin (they all had bikes – well… a shared bike anyway), but I’d learn more
about that later. 

I told them how I’d come part way by trail and the rest on the pavement.  Tim (the oldest of the brothers) then showed me where the trail let out behind their house at the top of a hill. “Follow that back and it will hit the trail you pulled off of and you can make it the rest of the way home 100% by trail.” 

After visiting with them for a bit, I was anxious to ride some more and to continue to learn the bike and the trails. There would be plenty of time for adventures with the Kimsey boys.  Just a few weeks later, one of the Kimsey boys took me to the “Mud Bowl” (a deep round pit of mud in a hole near one of the neighbors) and showed me how well a good dirt bike could climb out of near vertical walls.  I had plenty more to learn (how to feather a clutch, how to pop a wheelie and maintain it, etc.), but it was coming and coming pretty quickly). 

In order to
leave, I got to work on the kick start process some more. It really wasn’t
terribly hard to start, but took more effort than my little Honda 50 ever had.  It was good for me to learn that process too.
It was all part of mastering the ride. The bike roared to life again with that
gust of oily smoke and the boys’ faces lit up. 
We all loved the sound of that two-stroke motor.

I waved good-bye and headed up the hill towards the mouth of the trail.  The bike was very torquey and had no trouble getting up the hill and on into the trail.  I was getting more comfortable with the clutch and the bike now and successfully worked through the trails to find my house.  It was in these woods that I would run across a wolf (on his own without a pack) and in these woods where a mountain lion would roar at us from the darkness one night.  On this day though, I was learning to ride a dirt bike with a clutch and gaining confidence in my ability to tackle things alone.

Photo by Gabriel Sanchez Unsplash

Each
experience brought a new thrill and a new sensory blast of motorcycling
joy.  It was going to be a great year in
Turtletown, Tennessee and the bike was going to be a big part of that success.
Don’t you want to go get a new dirt bike right now?

I previously wrote a story about how motorcycles got introduced to me (Motorcycles, Motorcycles Everywhere). That story explains how they got introduced to me, but it doesn’t tell the story of what they do for me.  I attempt to cover that here, but the unique connection to motorcycles and motorcycling is pretty powerful and not easy to define. Consider the value of learning to accept, manage and then embrace risk and think about pure unadulterated joy pouring in while you engage in the activity and you get the idea. I think my story will resonate with other bikers.  The feeling is too powerful not to notice it, I’m sure it’s part of the driving force that fuels the industry.

I remember begging to get a motorcycle when I was a kid. I remember how excited I was when I got it too.  I couldn’t wait for my dad to get home to teach me how to start it and ride it. I kept sitting on it and moving it around the carport, even shaking it to listen to the gas in the tank swish.  That was the kind of excitement you’d expect for any kid with any new toy. It was the riding though that was going to change me.

My brother’s kids

Dad went
over the basics with me when he got home. 
Turn the gas line so fuel goes to the carburetor, kill switch if
anything goes wrong, don’t touch the exhaust pipe – ever.  Thankfully, the Honda 50’s of the day had no
clutch, so all I had to do was learn how to shift gears (and balance, and
control the throttle and brake, etc.). 
Neutral was at the bottom of the shift pattern and the gears were all
three found by lifting the little toe shifter up.

Dad’s explanation of the gearing was hilarious, yet appropriate for my age and lack of any riding background at nine.  “First gear is for most of your riding needs.  Don’t use second gear unless there’s a long straightaway and you’re late getting home.  Third gear is for racing and so you won’t really need that.”

Photo by JR Juliano Unsplash

It’s funny, at nine, you just accept what mom and dad say for the most part. So, for a good while (a few weeks anyway), his story worked.  His explanation of why not to use the front brakes was similarly ridiculous.  He said something like, “don’t use the front brakes with any force or it will make you flip over the handlebars. If you use them at all, barely feather touch them.” This was an unfortunate misconception of the time that was commonly shared.  I heard other kids, even older kids who rode dirt bikes, telling me something similar, particularly when they saw me using them.

The problem for me was, I had this nagging thought.  “Why would the manufacturers make them if they have no use or value?”, but like the gear explanation, I accepted it for a time… until I started to test things.

  I was a pretty good, obedient kid for the most part, so bikes probably helped me in the sense of learning to figure things out on my own.  You might say a nine year old ought not to test mom or dad’s advice too much, but again, I was kind of overly obedient back then and the bike helped me to relax a bit and start learning to make my own independent judgments. 

This was my second bike – The Hodaka 125

You see, I
started going faster and learning the limits of the bike.  As I got faster, I needed to be able to brake
harder and stop faster.  Motorcycles are
made to use the front brake.  The front
brake provides far more stopping power than the rear. I remember noticing that
I could use the front brakes successfully even with force.  I was learning to accept risk.  I understood that if I was wrong, the bike
might flip, but I could feel that the front brakes were working. I noticed they
worked better at stopping than the rear brakes and I started to trust my own
experiences on the bike… and yes I got even faster and started using third gear
(whoo hoo!).

Why would an ultra-obedient, overly worried about the rules kid, start to test dad’s statement about the brakes and the gears? If you haven’t ridden a motorcycle (or only been on one once), you might not get it, but I’m going to attempt to put that in words. It’s more than words can explain, but I hope to give you a taste, a feeling of the rush, the power, the freedom, the unbridled joy, the power, the sense of independence and control that comes with driving a motorcycle.

I remember
that feeling starting as I was sitting on the bike, waiting for dad to come
home to teach me how to ride it.  I
couldn’t explain it, but it’s like the motorcycle was feeding some sensory
organ that no other experience had ever touched.  Just sitting on it, I knew something unique
was happening.  The motorcycle was
calling me into a world that others didn’t have.  A world that I had never experienced yet, but
knew I wanted. The feeling grew when I kicked the starter and the engine turned
over.  The feeling of power and
excitement only grew even more as I revved the bike and felt the engine turning
over faster and faster.  That was in
neutral. 

Then dad let me put it in first gear and go around the yard.  Joy started pouring through me. Excitement and thrill at 7 miles an hour. You see what it meant was that I could go places, I could experience risk, I could experience nature and I could feel motorcycle power pulsing through my veins. 

This was me on my KTM 300

When you
ride a motorcycle, you are closer to everything.  You are closer to the ground, the wind and
the sky.  You can sense the risk, but you
can feel nature.  The wind is at your
face, you feel the air around you.  You
rev the motor and feel power.  You can
lean over and move the machine around. You can lean back and pop a
wheelie.  You can twist and turn and
accelerate and brake.  You feel the
machine and you feel it respond to you. 
You feel other motorcyclers when you see them near.  The connection is real.

Dad pointed
down to the dirt road in front of our house and I headed right down.  Now I could get into second gear and go 14
miles per hour! It was outrageous!! This was faster than any of my nine year
old friends could run!! Up and down the little dirt road I went. Then a jeep
came by on our extremely isolated deep woods dirt road. I didn’t panic, I just
slowed down as he eased by while I puttered along the edge of the road. 

I drove back to the driveway and my dad was watching.  “You did fine,” he said, “I want you to stay on all the trails around here and only ride on this dirt road to go to the neighbors when mom sends you.  Stay away from cars like you did then and I’ll let you keep on riding.”

I had fears about being alone when I was a kid too.  The bike helped there as well.  If I rode into the woods, I was by myself; but, if I didn’t, I was limiting my experiences on the bike.  Slowly, but surely, the bike called me into the woods. I listened.  I loved that feeling. That feeling grew when I got a motorcycle with a clutch and learned how to use and control the power and climb steeper and steeper hills. Then, when I got a motocross bike and started jumping… I could never escape that feeling.  When you are in the air, you are on a carnival ride, but one that you control. You are flying, you are superman. There is truly nothing else like it.

The amazing thing is that you can get the motorcycle rush and connection I described above on anything with two wheels and a motor.  I can ride a Honda MR50 (tiny kids racing bike) and still feel the rush, the wind in my face that makes the connection with nature, with all other motorcycles and motorcyclers and with myself.  I’m in control, I can make noise, I have power at my disposal, I can travel, I can travel swiftly and forcefully, I can experience risk and see, feel and hear nature up close. I can go fast or slow, I can go places others can’t go. I am a motorcycler.

Me helping a kid with a school project!

[If you enjoyed this story – First, let me say THANK YOU – then, please hit one of the “share” buttons below to share this story on your social media and help me get the word out about my stories. Also, please signup for the free newsletter on the homepage or via the occasional popup invites.]

Every state
has a few parks, exhibits or attractions for which it is well known.  Take for example: Mt. Rushmore in South
Dakota or The Alamo in San Antonio, Tx. Then there are the hidden gems.  In Kentucky, it was a small lake called Bashear
hidden in between Caldwell and Christian Counties.  It wasn’t the massive, and heavily traversed
waterways of Kentucky Lake or Lake Barkely, but Lake Bashear produced the
Bass.  The nice thing about the lake was
that it was secluded and you didn’t feel pressure from over saturation by
tourists.  In Oklahoma, it is Little
Sahara and the place is just what the name sounds like.  It’s a real sand dune desert like you’d
expect in California or Saudi Arabia.  It
is a deep sand park with steep dunes great for riding a dirt bike, a dune buggy
or renting a four wheeler and taking a family trip to see and experience it.

I’d always heard of it, but had to see it for myself.  So, I rounded up three teen boys, another dad, lots of cash (to rent three wheelers) and off we went.  We calculated it was three plus hours from Tulsa and it seemed every bit of it. The trip there was glorious though.  Very diverse scenery was encountered along the way.  We went from the lakes of Northeast Oklahoma to the western scenery just past Enid.  Gloss Mountain State Park is along the way and what seem like scenes from cowboy westerns of the 1930’s and 40’s extend from before and after the park. 

Finally, when you get to Waynoka, that’s where the dunes began.

We ate at
the Diner.  Yes one café and one Mexican
restaurant were your choices.  Then we
got to the ATV dealer.  We’d reserved
five ATV’s of varying types, had to go through brief training and then headed
out to the desert. Awesome! We were all very excited at this point.

I must state that each of us were at varying driving skill levels and had machines that required varying operator skill levels; however, the driver skill levels were not optimally matched to the machine skill level requirements.  After a few stall outs by the boys trying to use the smaller ATV’s that required a clutch, we switched people out to match their skill level and machine requirements up better. Really we just made it easier for the boys to drive the ATV’s that required less work and had more power.

After the few start up issues, it got fun quickly.  The boys took to it fairly well and were truly enjoying themselves.  We got comfortable running up and down those dunes! Then a few spills happened.  They were not excessive and no one had any permanent damage- just a few bumps and bruises.  The machines did suffer a little.  One got the handlebars pretty mangled on a tumbling roll down the hill.  We even had one that snapped the starter unit on another tumble and slide.  The guys at the rental place were great though and came right out to the dunes to repair it. 

We got the boys to tackle bigger and bigger dunes and let them go off on their own some.  After we had reached a point and knew it was time to go in, we started the trek back to the store.  I didn’t realize that’s where the fireworks would begin. I was happy that no one got hurt in any meaningful way.  Small spills and scrapes are learning experiences.  No machine got meaningfully damaged either.  All in all, we’d had a pretty fun day and got a few nice pics to show for it. 

We pulled up to the shop to wrap things up. Now, they have a “hold” on your credit card that is fairly substantial (understandable) and they don’t release it until the ATV’s are safely returned.  They take a few minutes to do a thorough check on the bikes before they have you sign off on the final charges and let you go.  The bike with the bent handlebars was the issue.  They wanted about $125 on top of all other charges to address the handlebar repair. Now I understand there is shop time as well as parts involved.  However, the other dad, who came with us, was the one who was going to bear that extra expense.  He did not like it and he let the shop owner know it. I wasn’t in the same corner of the shop, but heard the shouting across the large warehouse area – I just didn’t realize it was my friend and the owner who were shouting at each other.

I went out of the store portion of the shop to see the mechanics working on the ATV’s that needed clean up issues.  The store owner came up and I thanked him for their service and support.  I didn’t realize that I was being the peacemaker, but I could see as I was thanking the store owner that he was still a bit tense about the encounter he’d had.  He asked me how the day went for us overall.  I replied with, “We had a great time.  No one got hurt, the machines only suffered minor tweaks that were repairable and the boys were happy and had a great time, so I was happy.”

The shop
owner let out a sigh and seemed to have the weight of the world slide off at
that moment.  “I’m glad the boys had a
good time,” he said.

Then, I went
looking for the other dad, my friend.  He
was still steaming from the words he’d exchanged with the owner and expressed
his feelings of frustration when I found him. That’s when I realized it had
been him and the shop owner I’d heard yelling. 
After I repeated my conversation with the shop owner, the other dad
asked if I thought the repair charges were fair.  I said yes for this reason, “look at the
total cost of the day, the quality of the machines we were provided and the
service they provided when there was an issue out in the desert.”

After a few minutes, the two combatants came together again and both expressed a better understanding of the situation.  We paid the repairs, but the shop owner actually thanked me for telling him how the boys had a good time.  “I wonder at times if this service is worth it, then you reminded me why I do it,” he said, “that your boys had a good day made it good for me.” We laughed about it later, but it really was true.  The priorities were met.  Everyone came back healthy and whole, the overall expense of the day wasn’t excessive and we had a great time with pictures to prove it! Don’t miss a chance to visit one of Oklahoma’s hidden gems – Little Sahara at Waynoka, Oklahoma.