I Was a Karaoke God Last Night

I went back and looked at the calendar to try and figure out the exact night that my mormon friend took me to karaoke for the first time. I think it was September 13. She asked me to go with her and she's such a fun gal, I couldn't refuse. I reluctantly agreed to actually participate by singing at least one song, but I told her I would mostly be there to clap for her. I was nervous of course. I think the first song I sang was "If I Only Had a Brain" from "The Wizard of Oz", and that's mainly because I know all the words. We sang Helen Reddy's "I Am Woman" as a duet. We laughed and had such an incredible time. One of the most memorable performances was from some white guy who got up and sang "When Doves Cry" while two girls danced for him over on the side. It was like an improv comedy act. We laughed so hard that night. I could not believe how great a time I had. I was hooked from that night. I told a bunch of people from work about it. I couldn't stop talking about it for a week at least.

The following week, I went back. None of my friends were interested in going, so I went alone. I think I sang FIVE songs that night. And I realized that the more preposterous the song choice, the better. Johnny Cash and Elvis…..those are predictable song choices for me. But a week or two later, I realized Jackson Five and Prince songs are way funnier for a guy like me. I've sung a Jay Z song ("99 Problems") even. I thought Biz Markie's "Just a Friend" was off the charts, but I got blank stares from that particular crowd….likely just because it's such an strangely peculiar song.

I thought I had hit an all-time high when I sang "Kiss" by Prince a few weeks ago. I figured "THAT one is going down in the books." But last night I was a karaoke god. I sang "Roxanne" by the Police. I can hit those high notes like a champ. When I finished, the DJ said, "That, ladies and gentleman, is why I have been doing karaoke every weekend for the last ten years." I got a couple high fives on my way back to my seat. The guy at the table next to me turned and shook my hand and told me how great I did. I heard the next fella go onstage and say, "How can I be expected to follow THAT?"

A little while later, a good singer got up and sang "Georgia on my mind." I was feeling ballsy and decided to get out of my comfort zone even more. I noticed three women sitting alone and so I went and asked if any of them wanted to dance with me. Dana took me up on the offer. A slow dance. A bit later, her friend Laura asked me what kind of dance moves I had and so I busted out my best Running Man, which I have mastered, by the way! I asked if I could sit with them and by that point I was being called up on stage to sing my next song: Pat Benetar's "We Belong". I told Dana she had to be my muse for the performance. I gave it hell. She was dancing around me and hugging on me….all whilst I was singing. Then, about midway through - at a sort of crescendo in the song - Dana ripped my pearly button snap shirt completely open. And I mean all the way open. So there I am singing Pat Benetar, bare-chested in front of a room full of strangers. I didn't skip a beat. By then it had turned into a duet, though I was doing most of the heavy lifting as no one else seems quite as comfortable SCREAMING into the microphone. That's one of my strengths; I project.

By the way, bear in mind that this is all done WITHOUT the aid of any amount of alcoholic beverages. All stone sober. Though it may help that other people are drinking.

I stayed until at least 1:30am last night. On the way home, reflecting back on an overall kick ass weekend that contained a lot of social activity, I thought sincerely, "My life can't get much better than this." Sure, in theory it COULD. But last night, I was convinced that nothing could have made my life any better than it was at that moment. Getting out, meeting people, making my own fun, finding people to connect with, finding people to have fun with, breaching my comfort zone, getting out of my head, laughing my ass off.... Living well.

Skeen Family

My grandfather was in the Navy in the second World War. When he was fortunate enough to return home, he married my grandmother and bought a tract of rock-strewn land in East Tennessee. They started a family there in Rocky Valley, and it all began with my mom around 1949. They had five daughters in all. Luckily the camera was rolling, at least for about five or six years back in the early Sixties.

The Skeen Family / Ratatat "Cherry" from Douglas Kivett on Vimeo.

A Good Used Shirt

I am a whore for the open road. I did a whirlwind tour into Arkansas just two weeks ago. But the weatherman was calling for beautiful, unseasonably mild weather this past weekend. So off to Arkansas I went again.

I left at 7am on Saturday. It's late July so I went out with a t-shirt and a mesh riding jacket. Within 10 miles or so, I realized I had made a mistake. The temp was hovering around 60 degrees. It was overcast and I was freezing my ass off. But I thought it would burn off and I would warm up fast. So I toughed it out….just waiting for the thaw. No such luck. By mile 100, I had made a pass through Nevada, MO, looking for any open thrift stores. At a gas station, I stuffed my coat (mostly the arms) with paper towels from the bathroom. This impromptu insulation (a trick John taught me) helped a little, but it didn't solve the problem. I caught myself scanning the side of the highway for exploded luggage.….perhaps I could scavenge a shirt for myself the way vultures clean up roadkill. I didn't want to go into a Wal-Mart because I had my tank bag with me. I was even considering propositioning summer travelers for spare clothing - with the promise of returning the item by mail on Monday morning. I kept thinking, "This is Saturday; surely someone will be having a yard sale once I get off the highway." I was happy as a clam when I rounded the corner in Sarcoxie, MO and spied this little oasis.

I bought the first thing I laid hands on, which took all of ten seconds to locate. The lady only wanted a quarter for the long sleeve shirt I picked out. But I gave her a dollar and told her it was worth way more than 25 cents to me. I jokingly asked her if it cost a hundred dollars. She clearly didn't understand the law of supply and demand. I exposed my bare chest to her for a dollar, and then I was back on the road.



This time I went through Kingston, Ponca, Mt Sherman, Low Gap (where I hit that deer), Jasper and then to Mt Judea. I did the phenomenal part of 123 that we all love. But then I took the lower leg of 123 as well. I had to turn around and come back since that's the opposite direction of Mountain View. But that gave me the chance to hit it in both directions. Then 16 over to Marshall. I took 27 to Harriet and then on to Mountain View. We bypass 27 most times, but that is one kick ass stretch of road. I think we quit taking that route because of all the logging trucks, but it has been resurfaced and is quite the roller coaster. I took a handful of roads this time that I haven't taken in a while and I was pleasantly surprised by each one. It added some nice variety. I even hit Push Mountain Road before I arrived at Jack's Resort for dinner. Hush puppies with tartar sauce, pinto beans, and a baked potato. $4 for dinner.

I checked in at the Dogwood motel by 7:30pm. 525 miles for the first day. I took a shower and then headed to the town square at around 9pm. I took in a few hours of wonderful bluegrass and folk music. Great music as always. Quite a big turnout. I left close to midnight and I spotted this small group of folks still going at it. There was a young girl all of probably 9 years old singing Bill Monroe's "Blue Moon Over Kentucky". What a sight…..on a lonesome Arkansas street corner at midnight on Saturday night. Doesn't get much better than that.

Sunday was more of the same. I had to hit hwy9 before I left town. Then up 14 to Push Mountain Road for another up and down pass. Then on to Yellville. At this point, I know the ferry boat schedule, so I planned my arrival accordingly. That's where I got that nice pic of my bike with Bull Shoals lake in the background. I boarded the ferry boat with a full length camper. That was a first. He took up the whole length of the right side of the ferry. I talked for a while to the guy pulling the camper. Nice fella. We impressed each other with our complete and thorough knowledge of every town and road in that area. I passed him half an hour later in a corner on 125. I could see through the corner, but I'm sure I looked like a total squid coming around him in a sweeper, leaned over, with my hand raised in a friendly wave. Speaking of passes, I have decided that passes are most enjoyable when you don't have to slow down at all for them. In other words, if you're hauling balls (correction - hauling ball) and you come up on a driver and you overtake them at your current speed (fast) without ever having to break or even really accelerate…..those are the nice ones. I made a couple of those on 125. Timing has to be just right, but it's fun when it works out that way.
The rest of Sunday was pretty much just getting home. the last 160 or so miles is just slab. I stopped at an old abandoned building in Chadwick and happened to luck up and find some nice ripe blackberries. That was a unique treat. It's fun when you can tear up the corners and put down a lot of miles, but you still find time to stop and pick some blackberries along the way.

About 80 miles from KC, I stopped at Taco Bell for an early dinner. Mental acuity begins to lag by that point in the weekend and it's nice to stop and recoup and wait for a second wind. That's where I took this cool pic of my hand. I wanted to document how my throttle hand blisters are becoming calluses. But then I realized that I could see the blurred image of my Rex in the background and I liked the photo even more.

I finished out the weekend with about 950 miles done. I was home by 6:30pm Sunday evening. There is no moral to this story. I like riding and I had a free weekend. Joe B gave me some sound advice when I told him I was considering going back to Arkansas this weekend: "Do it."

991 miles in 36 hours.

Deciding to go to Arkansas alone on my motorcycle is tough. I worry a little about how I will deal with mishaps or mechanical problems without my crew there to “save my life” as Neal so elegantly puts it. But I do it from time to time because I know that bumps in the road are part of the journey - better cherished if not avoided. I don’t know how much I “cherished” hitting that deer a year and a half ago, but such is life.

I left Kansas City early Saturday morning at around 6:30am. I was in Eureka Springs by 11am. I made great time, and from there I knew it was ALL TWISTIES for the rest of the day. I made my way down hwy-23 and took hwy-16 east. I hit some “side road attractions” along the way, including doing a pass up and down hwy-123. I stopped a guy on a Ducati for a “bear report” before making my run on hwy-123. No cops, but by that point the sky had become overcast and I knew there would be deer out. Sure enough, I saw 2 or 3 deer in the middle of the day. Same thing for hwy-16 as I was heading over to Marshall. But that forced me to stay off the gas in the straights and to be aggressively scanning for wildlife.

I made it to Mountain View by 5pm, which was my goal. I didn’t want to be riding at dusk. I checked into the Dogwood Motel, took a shower, and then headed out to Jack’s Resort for dinner. It was 6:30pm by then and still overcast and nearing dusk. But even with the deck stacked against me, I couldn’t help but hit hwy-9 since I was right there at the turn off. My cards showed 20, but... “Hit me again, dealer.” A nice fun pass up and down Nine before my dinner of pinto beans and hush puppies at Jack's.


I headed back into town after dinner and enjoyed some nice folk music down in the town square. Beautiful weather and it being a Saturday night meant there was a pretty good turnout for the music. I absolutely love the music scene there. The town gets good money for the festivals it holds and the Folk Center pumps a lot of that back into folk music classes for the kids in the community. It's great to see kids no bigger than a guitar playing the fiddle and playing it well. One highlight of the evening was getting to hear a rendition of Dolly Parton's "Mule Skinner Blues", a song I have liked for years.


Sunday was more of the same. I had breakfast in town and was on the road by 8:30am. I hit hwy-9 one more time on my way out of town. Then hwy-14 to Yellville (hitting Push Mountain Road along the way) and on to the ferry boat. I backtracked and enjoyed hwy-160 in Missouri because Neal and I had discovered in May how nice that road is. Then I hit hwy-125 three times before I called it quits. Hwy-125 is the last great road, so I had to make it last. Easily one of THE best roads in the area and hands-down the best road I have found in Missouri.

The last 160 or so miles is just pure slab. I called it the dentist's chair. You climb up in the chair and go to your happy place. You make small talk with a guy who has his fist in your mouth and you just try to get through it so you can go to work later and not break down crying. It's unpleasant but has to get done. I hate slab.

NOTEABLE: 991 miles in 36 hours. I referenced my map exactly ZERO times. That's how well I know those roads down there. Zero contact with law enforcement. It kicked all kinds of ass. I hit ALL the best roads: hwy9, hwy123, hwy341, hwy125 and a lot of other good ones in between. I had a little bit of a "body hangover" Monday morning, but this bender was worth it.

The RidicuLoop

I installed the braided brake lines and clutch line this week. The weather was perfect and the bike too, so I decided to plan a ridiculous loop (The "Ridiculoop") up north of the city to explore some of the alphabet roads around here. Alphabet roads being Missouri state highways with letters instead of numbers.
With the exception of one small road that I was unable to find, I managed to stick to the route completely....even when the pavement ended and turned to gravel. I maybe dealt with 5 or 7 miles of gravel over two stretches of road. I have to say I really enjoy painstakingly coming up with a good route by pouring over Google Maps. Taping the route to the tank is badass for some reason. And I like trying to navigate it to the letter.
I was rewarded with a decent number of twisties. Not anything near as good as Arkansas, but it'll do in a pinch. 217 miles for the day. No incidents or contact with law enforcement. I'm approaching 53k on the odometer.
Forgive the quality of the pics as they were taken with my crappy cell phone.
As for the last pic.....I just held my breath and prayed it wouldn't slip out of first gear while I snapped a photo.

That's a Cold Ass Honkey

This is another one of those blog posts that pretty much writes itself. I heard this song for the first time a week or so ago. Actually, someone told me about it before I heard it. They said it reminded them of yours truly because most of my close friends know I'm a hard core, to the max, balls to the wall, rock-out-with-my-cock-out thrift store junkie. I'm a Lieutenant Colonel in the Salvation Army. I've been hitting thrift stores since I was in high school. Shoes, boots, pants, wool socks, t-shirts, thermal long johns, dress shirts, the coat I'm wearing this winter. All of it bought at thrift stores. I even have a couple pairs of high dollar boxer briefs I bought at a thrift store; they looked BRAND NEW. So anyway, back to the song. I pulled up the video tonight and the first thing I noticed is that the dude is riding a SCOOTER. No, not quite a Footbike, but dang close. And then at one point in the song, he mentions buying a broken keyboard, which I did just this year. Watch video and see support photos. The shirt in the photo of me below (holding the keyboard)....people love that shirt. Pic doesn't do it justice. Strangers approach me to tell me how great that shirt is. And yes, bought at a thrift store just this year. Oh yeah....Brooke Shields poster in the background? I've owned that since the mid nineties. Thrift store find.