June 01, 2005

The Lone Rider

Country Route 223 Carrol County Arkansas

"Hoku, we forgot to bring the coffee stuff, we need to go out for breakfast this morning..."

Treason, Sacrilige, Blasphemy, and spousal abuse... to forget the coffee, but I was ready to get up. The bed I had slept on was so soft that I felt like my rear was resting on the floor all night. I will likely require disc fusion once this stint here is done... So I grabbed clothes out of my unpacked suitcase, dressed and bounded out to the car.

Grumpy, grumpy grumpy, that is how I have been feeling these past few days. Im not sure if it was moving to the new rental, or if it was the finality of the closing of the Hawaii time of my life...or just female emotional stuff. Snappy and irritable, I have not been a nice person...

We first tried to eat at the local country club, but the chairs were tinier than an airline seat and I didnt fit in one of them. So we left and started driving. There are not a lot of coffee shops here. Which surprises me. Where do all of these retirees hang out? I dont know..

After a bit of a drive we spotted a place named ubiqutiously labled "Coffee Shop". I groaned inwardly. " another smoke filled room...Yuck..." I miss the smoke free dining rooms and public spaces of Hawaii and California. Right now Arkansas is trying a voluntary program to encourage business to ban smoking in their establishments. But weary of provoking Woody, who has been really long suffering this week, I said nothing, and walked in.

As expected, a clown was smoking at the first table by the door. Smoking and Non Smoking areas were separted by airspace and not a wall...uggh. Woody and I made for the booth furthest away from the smoke zone.

We settled down and opened the menu. The prices floor me... 1 egg, two slices of toast, hash browns 1.50... Coffee .75 cents... Like stepping back in time... Woody and I order and look around.

Lots of people, working people... not so much staff, so it keeps costs down. But its clean enough, and the coffee soothed my nerves and settled my stomach, priming it for the pain pill for my aching back...

As I began my inner griping, a man slid gracefully into the little booth accross from us. Slender of medium height, with long, for this region, curly grey hair with hints of golden blond at the ends. Dressed in a tee shirt, with the sleaves torn out, faded jeans and biker boots, hair, clothes and boots worn but clean. He had a lightly lined face with a crooked smile and snapping eyes that dared you to guess his age. Almost like he defied age... and his looks reminded me of a friend I have long lost touch with, that played the drums and loved country music and would have felt right at home in this place...

"Hope you dont mind my comming over here to this far corner of the room, and invading your space... its sort of my usual spot. I cant take the smoking in here but its good and cheap." The waitress was right over and asked if he wanted the usual and had a special mug different than our standard issue full of hot coffee for him. He took the mug with a "thanks darlin', you are way too good to me and the usual is fine..."

As she moved off, we three shared a smile and he reached accross the aisle and said in regional dialect ... "Mname's Ron, You havent been in here before, not when Ive been here which is pretty often,to the point of having my own cup," as he tapped on his mug... "Where y'all from?"

Woody, who has never met a stranger, held out his had and gave his name and introduced me, and told Ron that we were from the Big Island of Hawaii... and that we were moving here to Arkansas...

"Ha-why-ee" Ron drawled... "Always wanted to go there myself, but havent gone... moving here? tell me why you would come here and do a thing like that?"


So we told him our story. He kept smiling and shaking his head..." I cant believe you people... You leave Cali you go to Ha-why-ee, then you pack up and just show up here not knowing a soul, on a friends word...You must trust this friend...You are the bravest people I have ever met I think...or the craziest!"

I started to laugh, grumpiness forgotten, then encouraged him to go there for a vacation, as its really not as expensive as one would think... I added that there is a big Biker culture there as it is the only Island that you can bike around. There are major clubs like "Hawaiian Iron" and "Puna Koa" . They hang out and do a lot of rides for charity ect..

Ron chuckled, looked out the window at his motorcycle and said "Well, I am retired now, and on a pension from the factory that I worked at for 30 years... All I did was work, then go ride when I could, been all over. Bought my place, saved a bit, never married of course, just never met anyone that wanted to marry me. No family really, not anymore, and now that I have this lung problem I cant see myself tying someone down to this...

Woody went on to ask about the kind of work he did. Worked for Union Carbide Glad bag plant. Made plactic bags... Fumes, over work, and poor conditions led to Ron's health deterioration, The plant was sold from one owner to the next and negotions and inflation have erroded the buying power of Ron's stipend. Ron's meger 500.00 a month pension pays for utilities, taxes and gas for his bike. He gets food stamps and in a few years he can trade his pension for Social Security. He maintains his 20 year old Harley Davidson, his only transportation from his little cabin out in the country to town... He was a vet, served in the army in Vietnam , and VA takes care of his health care.


As we listened to Ron's story, I was touched by his joy of life. There seemed to be no sense of anger or bitterness...nothing like " the company took my health ect" His only regrets were the roads not taken and how if he had a chance to do it all again he have gone to a place "Where he could ride all year long..., and the weather stayed warmer..." "But," he interjected "there is no place on earth like Arkansas, for pure beauty year round..."

We dived into our food and it was pretty good. I looked out at the motorcycle. Its chrome, like old silver, had a warm gleam, not shiny, with Southwest style conchos embossed on the straightpipes. This spoke to me of a time when he Ron could afford a bit of extravagance,this sort of metal work is not cheap. The rest of his gear was worn leather, not the shiny black leather that was so popular in the islands, but dusty tanned saddle leather bags and fringe hanging from the handle bars. The seat, battered,patched and worn, showing many many miles of use, many raods traveled and sights seen...

We walked out together, this aging Road Warrior, and two acolytes, newcommers to living out of a saddlebag. We said "see ya's" and Ron mounted up and roared off into the day. We boarded my Aka Nui, our sleek little car and rolled off, glad for the example of the Lone Rider. Make the most of the journey, for you never know where the road will take you...