For eleven months I would parlay the winding trails of Cambodia’s Quang Tri Province, remaining sightless just off their perimeters, all the while observing movement and transportation of supplies and equipment of the Soviets along with their assistance to the Cambodian rebels. While “in country”, I  was to garner information for recon purposes. When out in the bush, administering to my assignments I would often marvel at the motorcycle and accompanying sidecars traversing the highlands, taking Russian field generals to various supply depots, and criss-crossing adjacent vectors in that Southeastern Asian hellhole. For those eleven months, it was bittersweet at its worst, falling in love with a machine that cavorted Soviet leaders who were eventually marked for erasure, by hidden snipers and our honed marksmanship. The distinct whirr of the air-cooled, four-stroke, flat twin cylinder engines would notify us of their imminent arrival, prompting me to seek cover either in the tallest of trees or well hidden in the brush at subterranean levels. Nevertheless, I fell in love with those cycles and yearned to learn more about the Russian Ural. I knew that if I made it stateside, one day I would possess one of these beauties. And here we are, almost forty years later, and Robin and I are adorning a replica of that original M72. Today its called the M70 and is based on the Retro model. It is painted in olive drab, the sidecar has a machine gun mount and its tonneau cover is made of canvas similar to the one used on the M72. Just like the M72 it also includes a spare wheel and shovel. The tear drop gas tank is decorated with a replica of the first factory badge (circa 1956). The motorcycle features a tractor style seat and luggage rack on the rear fender.

The Ural story begins in 1939, during the USSR’s pre-World War II planning against the German Third Reich. Josef Stalin ordered the military to prepare all areas of operation, including the ground forces that would defend the Russian motherland. The M72 was essentially a copy of a BMW R71, the best sidecar motorcycle of the time. A rugged, all terrain motorcycle, capable of carrying three people and heavy loads, was ideal for mobile troops. Five units were covertly purchased through intermediaries in neutral Sweden and smuggled to Russia. Soviet engineers in Moscow busily dismantled the BMWs. The first M72′s built by the Irbit Factory in the Ural mountains outside Siberia and were sent to the front lines in February of 1942 and were used by the troops in the Battle of Stalingrad.   Over the course of World War II, 9,799 M-72 motorcycles were delivered to the front for reconnaissance detachments and mobile troops.  In the late 1950s,  the Irbit Motorcycle Works (IMZ) began to build Urals for domestic, civilian consumption. The popularity of the outfits grew steadily among Russians, and in the 1960s, the plant was turned over to full non-military production.

This story of the history of the Russian Ural is all true. What is not is the bullshit that I conjured up at the onset of this post to draw your attention. This motorcycle actually belongs to Dawn, whose in-laws live at the end of the river road that Robin and I walk each day on a saunter to points north on the Suwanee River. Dawn was kind enough to allow us to experience the feel of this machine and snapped a photo of us for posterity. I hope you enjoyed this entry.

]]> http://www.gypsylarry.com/2012/01/russian-dream-come-late/feed/ 0 http://www.gypsylarry.com/2012/01/new-years-eve/ http://www.gypsylarry.com/2012/01/new-years-eve/#comments Mon, 02 Jan 2012 12:57:58 +0000 larry http://www.gypsylarry.com/?p=2597 Continue reading »]]>

We spent some time today making acquaintances with new neighbors. The park is full for the holday weekend but I”m sure by Monday we’ll be two of a handful of visitors remaining. We began our daily walking routine, and then mounted and installed Robin’s new depth finder, a Christmas gift from Ryan and Carolyn. The task took a bit longer than planned as wires needed to be threaded and guided and the massive conglomerationf of more wires under the dash sent my  ming reeling. By mid afternoon, the cover was off the boat and we were backing it into the Suwanee. A mere two cranks of the ignition and she fired right up. Time for the inaugural trip to the pool. The days’a itinery revolved around a private dinner party being hosted by Jerry and Barb. By five thirty, 21 of us trekked to the clubhouse they had rented. We were served family style pork tenderloin, mashed potatoes, green beans, a salad of asparagus and tomatoes, and dinner rolls. All of this was topped with strawberry ladened pudding. What a meal and a great time was had by all. The camaraderie only added to the zest of this fine supper. Some of us topped the evening off with a late night swim in the pool. It was great to see the heat rising from the water, creating is own eerie smoke on the water. The feeling was almost surreal, bobbing in an outdoor pool, well into the evening, on the last day of the year. Not something we could even fathom for most of our lives lived in the mid-Atlantic states. We all resiged to our respective rigs to watch the ball drop and ring in the New Year in our own way.

Everyday I make little choices. Some days they’re a bit more difficult. Periodically, they become major choices that have a greater impact on our lives with the risks and consequences being more severe. In fact, I’m always ranting to my children that as we grow older the most difficult aspect of our lives are the decisions and choices we have to make. As life gets more complicated, our choices become more gut-wrenching. And we make our choices, but then our choices as well, makes us. And we always look back, wondering what if. Should I have done this, should I have done that. And I’m reminded of the quote I learned years ago that regrets are better earned for the things that we did than for those that we never attempted to do. This thought process always causes introspection on my part. And as learned as I have become over the years, the wisdom borne of experience, I still find choices being as difficult as ever. And the wonder causes concern on how I have lived my life. There are still a few days that I contemplate our choice to become fulltime RVers, vaccillating to and fro and always coming to the same conclusion. Which brings me to an article penned some time ago by Bronnie Ware. Bronnie is an Austrailian writer and song composer, former nurse and caregiver who provides inspiration to countless numbers. For many years, she had worked in palliative care. Most of her patients were those who had gone home to die. She was with them for the last weeks of their lives.  People grow a lot when they are faced with their own mortality. Never  underestimate someone’s capacity for growth. When Bronnie would question her patients about any regrets they had or anything they would do differently, common themes surface over and over again. I would like to share with you their most common five:

1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.

This was the most common regret of all. When people realize that their life is almost over and look back clearly on it, it is easy to see how many dreams have gone unfulfilled. Most people had not honored even a half of their dreams and had to die knowing that it was due to choices they had made, or not made.  It is very important to try and honor at least some of your dreams along the way. From the moment that you lose your health, it is too late. Health brings a freedom very few realize, until you no longer have it.

 2. I wish I didn’t work so hard.

This came from every male patient that she nursed. They missed their children’s youth and their partner’s companionship. Women also spoke of this regret. But as most were from an older generation, many of the female patients had not been breadwinners. All of the men deeply regretted spending so much of their lives on the treadmill of a work existence.  By simplifying your lifestyle and making conscious choices along the way, it is possible to not need the income that you think you do. And by creating more space in your life, you become happier and more open to new opportunities, ones more suited to your new lifestyle.

 3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.

Many people suppress their feelings in order to keep peace with others. As a result, they settle for a mediocre existence and never became who they were truly capable of becoming. Many developed illnesses relating to the bitterness and resentment they carried as a result.  We cannot control the reactions of others. However, although people may initially react when you change the way you are by speaking honestly, in the end it raises the relationship to a whole new and healthier level. Either that or it releases the unhealthy relationship from your life. Either way, you win.

 4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.

Often they would not truly realize the full benefits of old friends until their dying weeks and it was not always possible to track them down. Many had become so caught up in their own lives that they had let golden friendships slip by over the years. There were many deep regrets about not giving friendships the time and effort that they deserved. Everyone misses their friends when they are dying.  It is common for anyone in a busy lifestyle to let friendships slip. But when you are faced with your approaching death, the physical details of life fall away. People do want to get their financial affairs in order if possible. But it is not money or status that holds the true importance for them. They want to get things in order more for the benefit of those they love. Usually though, they are too ill and weary to ever manage this task. It is all comes down to love and relationships in the end. That is all that remains in the final weeks, love and relationships.

 5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.

This is a surprisingly common one. Many do not realize until the end that happiness is a choice. They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habits. The so-called ‘comfort’ of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives. Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content. When deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again.

I have had my own regrets and I have second thoughts too numerous to count. But in the end, without the aforementioned knowledge, so far I’m not doing to poorly on my choices.  Life IS a choice. And it is YOUR life. Choose consciously, choose wisely, choose honestly, but choose happiness.

I was more than impressed with the presentation. This, of course, was all gratis and free of charge to these vets who have served us so well from Vietnam to Afghanistan. Their arrival was greeted by a Scottish Highland clad bagpiper. Their departure some five hours later was sent with well wishes, hugs, and lightened hearts by every volunteer, workamper, and personnel involved in this momentous event. Governmental regulations prevents me from showing photos of the vets as they are residents of a hospital but no such rules pertained to my crew of wonderful ladies.

Today’s Fun Fact: In 1827 a new word and concept entered the American language–restaurant. It was in that year that two Swiss-born brothers Giovannia and Pietro DelMonico operated a coffee and pastry shop in the Battery district of NYC.Their enterprise was somewhat successful when in 1831 they invited nephew, Lorenzo, to join them. Though just 19 and with no catering experience, Lorenzo was born to culinary greatness. He did none of the cooking, but he did buy the food and made a point of arriving before dawn at the city’s main market to acquire the best and freshest provisions, a practice now routine but at the time unheard of. He transformed DelMonico’s pastry shop into Americans premier restaurant, bringing a dimension of elegance to America dining that it had thereto fore lacked. And now, more people eat in restaurants than do at home.

I thought I had better post this week’s happenings. Not that they’re much to speak of, but family and friends are wondering if all is OK once again as my daily posts have diminished to weekly. It’s  just the idea that staying put in one arena for much of the summer hasn’t allowed for enough excitement to stir you, the reader. For instance, mornings until Friday are composed of bicycling, a bit of weight-lifting, walking to the post office, and commiserating with other friends and workers here at the campground. Afternoons are spent either on the golf course or watching Xavier sleep, eat, and smile. I have to admit I never thought I would be the commonplace grandfather, doting on his every move. And I don’t think that point has come, yet, when I see that little lad smile, my heart melts and he could have the world if it were in my power. As of late, I’ve been playing golf with Erin, and with a few shared ideas and pointers she’s now outdriving me off the tee. This week she will hit from the men’s tees at my insistance. As always, she’s a natural athlete and I wonder where those genes come from. The second half of the week has us back at the cafe, although it’s still enjoyable enough that it’s almost not work, more of a social experience. If it weren’t for the terrazzo floors wearing on my aging hips and knees, it’s a duty that I could easily do daily. We’ve mastered the knack of preparation and now the daily routine is done almost instinctively. It must still be fun, for I have no idea where June and July have gone. And the growing number of new acquaintances and friendships make this life rich beyond accounting.

Oh, by the way we traded the Enclave this past week for a Chevy Avalanche. It feels good to be back in a truck once again. I must quit this fascination I have with purchasing vehicles. I counted them. This is the sixth one since we retired three years ago. Can I blame it on my arrested adolescence? I think not. Perhaps its my attention deficit disorder manifesting itself into high gear as I approach my seventh decade? Naw, I believe it’s because I’m never satisfied unless I have some quest to meet. Nevertheless, it’s damn fun, albeit an expensive penchant. And now to my bachelorhood. Robin began her second job today. That as baby-sitter grandmother. Carolyn had to go back to the office. There was no way “Momma G” was going to let her grandson go to day care. So she’s agreed to cover the duties a few days at the beginning of each week.  Maternal grandma Pat, wil commandeer the other two days for the new mother as she reluctantly trudges off to work. I’ll retrieve Robin on Wednesday evening from Jersey in time to ‘nest’, prior to stationing ourselves at the cafe on Thursdays. This experiment will be good for all of us. A bonding will form with Robin and Xavier that shall be priceless. Her eyes light up and I can see her burst with pride when he smiles at her.  It will also give her a chance to spend more time with both children across the Delaware. As for me, bachelorhood will give rise to mastering my mid irons, riding my bike, and spewing more bull amongst the campers.

Our daughter Erin and Carolyn’s brother Mike stood in as the proverbial godparents, and then the parents hosted both families to a festive luncheon at the Riverwinds Country Club on the Delaware River. By late afternoon we headed back to Lake In Wood as Erin was coming to enjoy the campground for a few days.

The precipitation has provided the impetus to render tax documents, tallying receipts, and prepping all the forms to send along with more money to Washington in expectation that they’ll use it again without our approval. Occasionally the skies will open and I’ll tend to our lettuce plants. We’ve also started basil from seeds but they don’t seem to be doing as well.as  We constructed a small greenhouse the other day and moved the plants in. The additional heat created by the plastic has worked to our advantage. It’s my thought that this tiny bit of gardening provides solace and a sense of creation. We have been doing some sort of gardening for our last thirty five years together. I  believe everything of virtue springs from the soil.

We have been entertained with squirrels everywhere we go. However, one particular sciuridae here at Yellow Jacket resort has been brazen enough to allow us to feed him. He scurries down the cypress trunks, lighting on the picnic table, nibbling at the crushed walnuts Robin has purchased for him at the local Walmart. He now looks for us on a daily basis,  braving to come closer and closer to our offerings.

Laundry and re-arrangement within the trailer has dotted the spaces in between tasks. We’re still finding things in storage that we don’t really need, and once again its give away time, lightening the load in our storage unit. But it was not all work the past two days. We did find time for relaxation and fun.

At each weeks end, ‘rivertales’ is held down at site #15,  the home of Dick and Carol. This is more than just cocktails near the river, so much more. There are approximately twenty of us that bring hors de’ ovres, appetizers, and spirits, to the camaraderie with a campfire providing the centerpiece.  We know each other, yet we are strangers who can create and spin stories to our liking. The intense encounters leave a fragrant pollen on the sills and eaves of our memory. We entertain one another for a couple of hours and then couple by couple we disipate into the darkenss, heading for our mobile cocoons, to begin our nightly rituals. We shall gather once again at twilight on Sunday. This time it will be in the clubhouse to watch the Steelers as they ascend the “stairway to Seven.”