I sent the Toppenish post in a bit of a hurry. So here a couple of bits that happened there, and before. The post is named after the town in Northern WA in which I landed this late afternoon.

Cool Toppenish Store

I was tempted in this store, entirely empty of customers. But I can’t add luggage.

My Density

When it comes to reading between the lines, and sometimes just reading the lines themselves, I often don’t get it. Particularly when I’m enthusiastic about an idea.

The man on the left attends to the Toppenish murals office. Copies of all murals hang there, framed on the wall. He knows the history of the effort, and loves to explain it. One item he explained was that they are trying to add QR codes to each mural, which when scanned reveals the mural’s history and significance.

“It’s a slow process,” he regrets, “We may have about 25% done in a month or two. It’s very slow, getting finances and all.”

After leaving his office, walking through town I have a fantastic idea. Why not contact the local High School, and create a Senior project where students create the Web sites, and affix the QR codes?

Luck has it that I run into a mural under restoration (the other two photos above). Painstaking work, on which I commiserate, and they happily answer my questions. About the varnish, for instance. It’s to last 50 years. One of the restaurateurs has me feel the smoothness of the wall. Then the tone gets testier:

“Except that the last time the mural was restored, they used the wrong colors. That’s because a person who was unqualified to hire an artist hired an unqualified artist.”

Clearly, a story there, which I do not try to surface further. So I happily lurch onwards with my High School idea. The atmosphere instantly turns frigid. Both artists turn their backs to me, and continue their work. One spits back to me over her shoulder:

“The history of each mural is well known and available. We want to make some money.”

The conversation is clearly over. And here my density:

“She makes no sense,” I’m thinking, “these High School kids can surely include a Donate button on the Web site, or anything else that would lead to public financial support.”

I’m tempted to explain to the painters that kids these days can surprise you with their abilities. But the wall between the artists and me is too solid, and I move on.

Only a full day later I finally understand: It is they who want to do the QR code job, and get paid for it. So my happy proposition was anathema to them, and they did not want that idea to go any further. At all. Certainly not to the murals committee. So obvious, once you think about it.

Dissed at the Gas Station

At this point I’m protective of my 1997 BMW K12. You know how in a relationship the power distribution between the partners changes after an infidelity that is repaired, but remembered? It takes years to be truly out of the dog house.

So I am insulted on behalf of my K12 when a man at a gas station asks:

“What size tank you got?”

“I think it’s 5 gallons.”

I’m at a disadvantage in this man-to-man exchange here already, because I sure should know my hog’s fuel capacity. I’m even more cowed, because earlier in the trip another guy asked whether my bike is air our liquid cooled. This question is particularly loaded, because BMW motorcycle owners are partitioned into two religious sub denominations: Airheads and Oilheads. When I bought my bike I knew all these details. But heck, it’s been years, and I’ve had other items on my mind. Life moves on, you know.

But here I am sitting in that silence about my tank size. “I think it’s 5 gallons?” How could I say it that way? And sure enough:

“That’s all?” the guy sneers.

“Well,” I stutter, vaguely working on a comeback like:

“At 40 mph that’s a 200 mile range; that’s plenty.”

But I’m too flustered to do the arithmetic in the moment, and I never get to put forth this range defense, because right then the pump handle clicks to a stop.

“It’s full already?” the man is incredulous.

Yes, guy, I have premature ejaculation problems. Happy now?

We part on formal terms.

Power Dream

During the very first session of a Stanford writing course the instructor laid some ground rules:

“Dreams are ever interesting only to the dreamer, not to readers.”

Which gives me pause around relating the following dream to you. I experienced it the day after I learned that the R1150 has no reverse gear, and that I will stay true to my K12. You know the story from my earlier post. I dare tell you this dream against my writing instructor’s advice, because (a) my therapist would be proud of me for this dream, and (b) it had real world consequences on this very day.

In this dream I had written a scathing article in the Harvard Business Review journal. In it I explained that for years now BMW motorcycle’s model innovations in the F, R, and K series have been incremental at best.

If BMW’s motorcycle division is to survive, I argued, they need to develop a new series from the molecular level up. The principle, I explained, was simple. Hire material scientists, and develop a polymer that is light, yet strong enough to serve as an engine block, and easy to work into pistons.

The mission of this new BMW motorcycle development effort was clear: a bike with the power of the current top K1600 touring machine, but at 250lbs, and a reverse gear, for Christ’s sake.

In this dream I received a call from top BMW management. They loved the article and its clear vision. I was asked to interrupt my current trip, temporarily park my bike, and fly to headquarters. There, I was asked to return from retirement to assemble and lead a team along the line of my article. Money no object. I would be protected from sniping by the existing F/K/R division heads.

I agree, and promise to start once my current bike tour is done.

“No,” the VP insists, “you need to start tomorrow, and present the project to leadership on Monday.”

I consult with a friend, who warns:

“If you let him [the VP] get away with curtailing your tour, he’ll jerk you around for the duration of your employment at BMW.”

And this, in my dream, is how I fashion my response to the VP:

“I will finish my tour. I will then return to build the team. Meanwhile, I advise you to retreat into this unoccupied conference room, and rage.”

Which he does. The employees who witness the scene admire my courage as they listen to him scream, and turn over chairs. And as they watch me catch my plane back to where I left the bike, I have a sense that I found my first team members right there. I’ll just need some material scientists. When I’m done with my tour.

And here the promised impact on real life, if a time-unbounded motorcycle tour counts as real life:

See, when I arrived at today’s Quality Inn I asked the receptionist where the quite rooms were.

“Those would be the ones upstairs”

“I’d like a quiet room please, bed size is immaterial”

The room she hands me is on the first floor, facing straight onto the arrival area of the parking lot. Beyond it, the pool. Given that after a day in heavy riding gear at 102F I like to ‘run free’ in my hotel accommodations, this room was not only going to be noisy, but I would need to keep the curtains closed at all times.

My pre-dream self attempted to write thIs room assignment off to bad luck. But the dreamer returned to the lobby, and consulted with the receptionist. I didn’t tell her to go rage in the laundry room. But I made my desires clear. Now see the room key card on the left above…

Next, I ordered a Whopper, a shake, a slice of chocolate cake, and a large Diet Coke from Burger King via Doordash. The reviews warned that drinks were repeatedly missing in deliveries. So I was prepared. Indeed, the Coke was missing. Ok, I admit that some pre-dreamer broke through when he explained:

“They just hand me the order, and I am not allowed to mess with it.”

“I see, so this really isn’t your fault then, is it?”

Giving up on my coke, I provided him with an (optionally) sub-table $5 in cash, in addition to the $8 I’d included in the online order.

“This is a very good tip. Which is why I will go back, and get that coke. The problem has happened before, particularly with Burger King. And it’s just not right.”

Sure enough, some time later: see photo on right.

Yes, I agree, not exactly according to dream. But I did get the Coke!

Most All I Need I Have

I told you this would be a potpourri of a post. Just want to mention that so far, a week and a half into the trip I only forgot one item: A USB A-or-C to Micro-USB cable. OK, I bought one at Walmart. Not a perfect score. BUT: I remembered:

A tingle and swelling on my upper lip. A stop on the freeway for the first dose. A second dose the next day in the hotel. The virus is back asleep. So proud of myself.