I Turned 31 Years Old This Past Week

And my brother was back in the ICU again. It's not the first time in the six years since his brain hemmorrhage, but it never gets easy on everyone.

 

Times like this also serve to punctuate the enduring lesson and life decision I've made in honor of my brother:

 

 

My fate's not going to find me sitting around waiting for it.

It's going to have to chase me down or meet me head on.

Dendrochronology

- tree-ring dating is the scientific method of dating based on the analysis of patterns of tree rings, also known as growth rings. (via Wikipedia.org)

I like things that last. They become a sign of dependability, and involuntarily, become a living chronicle of one's ownership of them.

Take for example my car above - my 1998 Mazda 626 I've long dubbed Champagne for its color, which was inherently more appealing than the color's official name (driftwood). It was not my first car, and it isn't the last or latest of vehicles I've owned, but it is the one that I've held the longest ownership of. I didn't even purchase or pick it out myself; as with a lot of things in my youth, the car was a hand-me-down from my brother who used to own it, up until he finished his Naval service and bought himself his dream car (2000 Honda Prelude Type SH). But I did make it my own, and even through burning out its first transmission and replacing it, the car has yet to leave me stranded on the side of the road. Ever.

Over 200,000 miles of my life are proudly displayed in its odometer. And still counting.

If memory serves me correctly, the two photos above of the same car were taken around a decade apart. That means I'm barely out of my teens and into my 20's in the photo on top, and now out of my 20's and into my 30's in the photo on the bottom.

A lot can be surmised just by looking at my car's growth rings between the two photos. The car has looked its best, and every year only serves to add some more wear and tear. But each and every one of them is simply a growth ring - it's tree-ring - to remind me time and time again of what we've gone through.

I'm not a car guy by any means, and truth be told, all the modifications I did to my car early on in my ownership of it were more "foibles of my youth" rather than a testament to being a car-afficionado. But how can you not appreciate an otherwise inanimate object that has literally AND figuratively carried you and your family for most of your life?

Champagne has more than paid for herself, and if the day were to come that I can no longer drive her, I will be heartbroken but understandably proud of how far she has carried me through. However, if she treks on for perhaps another decade, perhaps another quarter of a million miles, long enough for me to perhaps teach my daughter how to drive for the very first time...

...I would truly be at a loss for words then of how grateful I'll be of this car's dependability and perpetual service.

Speaking of California...

Between Saturday and Sunday this past weekend:

Hike the Central Coast one afternoon, snowboard the Sierras twenty four hours later. I'm not a California-snob by any means, but I do love California. :)

America the Beautiful, California the Breath-Taking

Europe gets a number of motorcycles that America will never see, and they also have roads that as a motorcyclist, can make you feel like you're winding through heaven on Earth. However, you are subject to the fickle European weather, marked by copious amounts of rain and cold throughout the year. A bit of generalization? Maybe, but not too far off I would imagine. Couple that with their tiered licensing system that has you work your way up to the motorcycle of your desires, and it comes to light how good we have it in this side of the planet.

Not every motorcyclist can find paradise like this for their backyard.

As a motorcyclist, I really firmly believe that if you reside in Northern California, then you're home. Virtually year-round of riding available through some of the most gorgeous sceneries in varieties of landscapes; from the ethereal Pacific coastline, through dense Redwood forests, and into the rolling hills of the valleys. And as ill-advised we may have of a licensing system, and the fact that any kid can go into a motorcycle dealer and buy the best and fastest motorcycle available for road use, there is no limit to how and when we can live the life that a motorcyclist only dreams of.

That we can have a choice between toys like these without restriction...
the rest of the world can only be so lucky.

When you're living any motorcyclist's dream life, you never really dream of living anywhere else. :)