Morning Meanderings.

Blog #22

Lawrence Rinehart

Readers of this blog know that I ride a bicycle, mostly in the mornings over an almost nine mile route in the suburb where I reside. It’s my main source of exercise these days.

Nine miles doesn’t sound like much, but there are several significant incline challenges. I ride on neighborhood streets, city bike paths, and sidewalks where the road is too dangerous for bicycle traffic. It is a thriving, growing community, with a lot of pass through traffic that is fast and often heavy, even at 6:30 am.

I start early enough that I need a bright LED headlight and back flashing red light.
I have close calls with cars that don’t see me (or don’t care) every day, mostly at intersections, where I usually stick to the crosswalk. People on their way to work do not see bicycles.

If I weren’t expecting drivers to NOT notice my fluorescent clothing and bright lights, I would have been hit long ago, but I ride the bicycle like I ride the motorcycle, expecting drivers to be preoccupied with other things.

One of my favorite memes says something like: “Bicycle riders expect everyone else to look out for their safety. Motorcycle riders expect everyone else to try to kill them.” This is truer than you know, unless you ride a motorcycle. No kidding. The secret to surviving bicycling and motorcycling is to expect car drivers to be bad, distracted drivers.

A few times this year, while riding motorcycles on rural roads, we’ve come upon a group of bicyclists on high end road bicycles with the requisite spandex riding suits. They ride in a pack of 8-12 riders. The pack not only takes the entire lane, but they accordion into the oncoming lane when we try to pass them. I’m talking two lane country roads. These riders are usually traveling about 10 MPH.

It’s a special kind of negligent arrogance since common sense and The Ohio Revised Code states clearly that bicyclists are to ride as far to the right side of the road as is “practicable,” the only time I’ve ever seen that word used in a sentence. My motorcycle group is always extremely courteous to bicyclists, but these arrogant city riders make it tough. I can’t imagine that country boys in pick up trucks, who ride those roads a lot faster than us, are nearly as considerate.

Anyway, this is one occurring topic of thought on my morning rides as I try to not get killed crossing intersections.

My Retirement Job.
Another topic of thought during this weeks rides has been my quest for the perfect part time job.
I’ve written before about my blessed law enforcement career, a far richer career than I ever deserved: Six years as a patrol officer, sergeant and lieutenant. Six years as a deputy police chief and the last 15 years as a police chief of a Columbus suburb. That’s a long run as a police chief, especially for a Hession-American, white, heterosexual male; not exactly today’s sought after demographic for police chief. On top of that, before I ever became a chief, I completed my undergraduate AND graduate (MBA) degree, all why working as a cop and at the expense of the suburb where I reside. More than I ever deserved and I do feel indebted to the suburb.

I realize that God has already blessed me so richly that I should never complain about anything in my life. I should never hunger for more than I have; the perfect wife who supports my pursuit of any goal or passion, and a great family and home. Throw in my 2021 Harley Davidson Road Glide Limited and I blush. More than I ever deserved.

But here I am, still seeking purposeful, meaningful part time employment that provides the few extra dollars we need to do the things we want to do.

I wrote in my last book, “Backroads, Buffoonery, & Breakthroughs in Leadership,” a detailed description of my retirement gathering. It was a small, low-key event. I invited people who had been instrumental in my career. My intent was to thank them for their help, support and guidance over the years. (No coffee table is complete without a copy of this book).

I invited the police chief of the suburb where I live. We’ve known each other since we served as patrol officers together. He brought his mayor, who I’d not previously met, along with his current safety director and his agency’s honor guard. Long story short, that Chief turned the ceremony into one of the most meaningful ceremonies of my life to date, a better send off than most deserving people ever experience.

The mayor spoke briefly and I have since come to respect her as a very strong, good municipal mayor and leader. Towards the end of the ceremony I stated that I’d be looking for a part time job. The mayor stood up and said she would hire me. I was overjoyed.

It took some months, but I was eventually hired as an Emergency Management consultant acting as the city’s part time Emergency Management Director. In a few months, at the beginning of the next budget year, I was to become a part time employee with the authority of the mayors office as the emergency management Director, a great opportunity for me. As I watch the horrid death and destruction in Maui I’m reminded of the critical importance of emergency management preparedness. I wanted to contribute to that preparedness.

I am reminded of the words of my point of contact at the county emergency management and homeland security office, “Understand that no one cares about emergency management until there is a community wide emergency. Then they all care, but the time for preparing is gone.” Again, I think of those in Maui who have lost everything. Emergency management is all about determining the potential hazards, mitigating the pain and suffering of said hazard, preparing for the day the hazard may come, and preparing to recover. This has to happen months and years before the incident, not the day of the event.

I remembered the great work the last EM Director did, retired Brigadier General (maybe MG) Jim Williams, I was excited and ready to follow in his footsteps. I liked the idea of contributing to the EM readiness of our city government and of our community. It was all in my wheelhouse and I was ready.

But, the major suburban city government is a very big bureaucracy with a lot of employees and daily issues. To be effective in her job, the mayor is forced to turn over the day to day operation (and the small fish issues) to her staff aka the civil service leaders and managers; people who are not nearly as impressed with my experience as I am. I’m a small fish issue.

The authority of the mayors office as the city’s EM director is gone. I’ll remain the non employee, consultant and I now report to the part time employee safety director, a great guy and accomplished man in his own right, AND the city’s full time Risk Management & Safety Administer. I’m not familiar with that title or job description, but I’m betting she is very qualified and experienced.

I’ve spent a lot of my career waiting for approval from a cautious, somewhat disinterested bureaucratic chain of command. I’m hoping I’m not in that situation again. Time will tell. Maybe I can transfer to one of those morning mowing jobs with the parks department. Those guys seem happy and those big bat wing mowers look very exciting.

A Great Book.
In my apparently continuing quest for the perfect part time job, I turned back to a great book that I read a year before I retired, “Know your Why: Finding and Fulfilling your Calling in Life.” I’ve only re-read about 20% of the book (kindle) and it’s killing me with questions like this:

“What are your passions? What dreams do you long to see fulfilled? What makes your life worth living? In effect, what is the main driver of your life, your calling?”

Come on! Most people go to their grave without even contemplating these questions, much less coming up with real answers.

This is the question at the core of the book and it’s really got me to thinking:““WHAT DO YOU WANT?” These are the first words Jesus spoke in John’s gospel (John 1:38).”
The book is packed full of thought provoking, self awareness provoking writing.

Again, the things I think on while riding the bicycle.

My Ride Home.
My last blog was about my solo motorcycle ride to St. Mary’s, Georgia, about 800 miles. The family time in St. Mary’s was great. My father in law’s birthday celebration was excellent. A good time was had by all. Very soon it was time for me to ride home.

I pulled out at 7am, Thursday morning with the plan to make it more than halfway before holing up for the night in a motel. I needed to be home by Saturday for my beautiful, super smart, granddaughter’s wedding. But there was a flaw in my plan.

By the timeI was more than half way, if I were to hole up I would need to kill 3-4 hours in the motel before I could even consider going to sleep. I felt good, had good levels of Cracker Barrel catfish, caffeine and oxygen, so I continued on.

Normally I’m good for about 500 miles in a day before I get sore and angry. 400 miles is better. But on this rare occasion I felt good well after 500 miles. The sky’s were clear, the bike was running like a beast with all systems at full function, and the view was incredible. Up through Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and into beautiful Virginia I went. Just me and whatever radio station my scan function could find. It was hot, but incredible. The West Virginia Turnpike was a real pleasure as I leaned that hog over and shot by the mini vans. (Mini vans are the scourge of the open road IMHO.)

It was great even when I got behind a semi truck hauling hogs. In 90 degree temps, I smelled it before I saw it. I was reminded of the great lyrics of C.W. McCall’s “Convoy.” (I love that song.)

“Was the dark of the moon on the sixth of June
In a Kenworth pullin’ logs
Cab-over Pete with a reefer on
And a Jimmy haulin’ hogs.”

“Ah, breaker, Pig Pen, this here’s the Duck. And, you wanna back off them hogs? Yeah, 10-4, ’bout five mile or so. Ten, roger. Them hogs is gettin’ in-tense up here.”

The classics never go out of style. But I digress. About 200 miles from home I knew I’d try to run it on in. I also knew I was pressing my luck, but just a few days from my 64th birthday I decided to see if I had it in me. Of course, on Route 33, just before I hit I-270, probably 30 minutes from home, with heavy traffic, the rain hit. Every biker’s been there, at that point you run it on in, rain gear be damned, and I did. I negotiated the slow moving mini vans, the drivers clearly never having driven in moderate rain before, and made it to my garage.

12 1/2 hours, 793 miles, and hours of conversation with the Lord, I was home. I did meet another guy at a West Virginia gas station, gave him a Gideon’s Bible wrapped in a 20 dollar bill and prayed over him, still operating in the inspiration of Pastor Ana’s biker Sunday message. Some say, “he’ll probably buy drugs with the money.” I figure that’s between him and the Lord and I don’t give it another thought.

So, thanks to God, the ride was incredible. Just writing about it makes me wish I was on the road right now. It was a truly grand adventure.

This is the stuff that goes through my mind during my 9 mile bike ride while dodging cars, mostly mini vans.