So Why the Bird?

You have, no doubt, noticed that my profile picture is obviously not me, though I might be skinny and do have legs somewhat like the guy in the picture. So why that picture?

I am decidedly not an expert on native American culture, but it is my understanding that there is, among many tribes, a process for male youths of finding their “totem” animal...an animal who somehow “chooses” the youth and is his spirit brother in some sense. As I said, I'm no expert in this, but you might already guess where this narrative is heading. 

I grew up in South Florida, but until I was in college I was almost totally oblivious to the richness of the natural world which surrounded me. I guess I might have noted that there were some really big birds around, and of course I was aware that most of the wildlife either bit your with teeth and jaws large enough to rip you apart, or, at whatever size, injected you with poisons that at a minimum were very painful or, at worst, could be fatal. I was always amazed that the residents of a nest of fire ants you might have stepped on unknowingly could somehow all crawl undetected along your leg from your ankle to your crotch and then, on some signal, all chomp down at once, leaving you dancing around and swatting at yourself like St. Vitus!

I was always an “odd man out” as a kid...I guess maybe I still am. By high school I realized that there weren't many people who wanted to be around me...and most of those who did were girls. Unfortunately that was not an opportunity for me as my physical characteristics, intellectual strength, and caustic humor combined with an inability to read any sort of “signals” left me with many female “friends” but not many chances for romance.

As for male friends? Not macho, awkward at sports, and smarter than 90% of the guys, so you can guess there was not much connection there. I was not totally a loner, but sure had a feeling there was something “wrong” with me. 

Greynolds Park in North Miami became a refuge of sorts for me in High School. There are trails through a forest of what I think are Virginia Pines, covered in soft blankets of needles. The trail in particular I have in mind paralleled an inlet of a lake or lagoon which anchored the park.

There was an island in that lagoon which had become a huge rookery for multiple species of water birds I later came to appreciate as an amazing and beautiful part of what I think of as “the Real Florida.” The rookery was mainly claimed by a raucous group of American Egrets, but the park also hosted a variety of other egrets and herons. By the time I was a college student I had come to be able to identify, observe, and be mesmerized by Florida wildlife, and on any visits back after I moved west I always tried to work in a canoe trip on some glorious “black water” river with my sister and her husband.

But on this particular walk in Greynolds I was on the trail I noted above, just sort of quietly walking with my head down. I am not aware of any thoughts which were bothering me, but I'm sure there was some tension or another from which I was seeking respite by breathing in a bit of nature.

And then it happened. I somehow startled one of the birds, even though it flew from behind me and I did not see it coming. As it passed its right wing brushed my head. I don't recall being especially startled, but I was certainly impressed, as the wing...and the bird to which it was attached, seemed huge. Yet the touch was soft, and almost ephemeral. All I was aware of was wingspan of several feet, a dusky blue-grey color, and long legs streaming out behind and under it. 

I had no idea at the time what it was.

Fast forward to whenever it was that I “discovered” what had been around me all the time...the subtle but incredible beauty of Florida and its wildlife, most especially its birds. I got into “bird watching” because so many of them were four feet tall and pretty easy to identify. And one of the most magnificent is the Great Blue Heron. These birds can be found quite literally over a vast part of the world, but Florida is home to hundreds if not thousands of them, along with many other exotic avian species.

It did not take much to realize that the bird who had somehow physically contacted me when I was 16 or so was a Great Blue. 

I'm not a believer in myths of any kind, religious or otherwise. But I do respect those who have such beliefs, as long as they don't spill over into negative energy towards others who do not share them. So the fact that this bird actually had touched my head would, I think, qualify as a clear sign that the Great Blue Heron had chosen me to be a spirit brother. And maybe, just maybe, through flipped race cars, changed flight arrangements which saved my life on 9/11, and all the medical potential disasters I have lived through, that spirit really has been with me to protect me. Certainly I am not about to question, and am perfectly willing to accept respectfully.

Stately and Beautiful
And Always Watchful

The X6

Don't get me wrong. I love my 77 GS 750...the best overall bike I've owned. In fact I have enjoyed all four Suzukis from my past...and, oddly, two of the four “other” bikes I've had which I did not care for were Kawasakis.

But...in terms of sheer joy the best of the best was the X6. A post on a recent auction of a Kawasaki H2 750 on Bring a Trailer triggered my thoughts for this post. The H1 and H2 were nicknamed “The Window Maker” as they were brutally quick in a straight line but lacked any sort of real capability to turn or stop. The term “scary fast” applies.

Here's the comment that got me thinking:

“I had a 250cc 2 stroke Suzuki X6 “Hustler” with a 6 speed transmission in my late ‘teens. Very fast little bike, I could keep up with (and sometimes pass) the Triumphs and BSAs for a city block or so, when they just ran away from me. I lusted after the H2 triple a guy in my town had. That bike just seemed so exotic, so noisy and in-your-face fast that I just HAD to get one.

Cooler heads prevailed after I scared myself once too often on my X6. A lightweight 2 stroke motorcycle, even one with 250cc, is not a thing a teenager should have.”

But it was an X6 which got me back into two wheeled vehicles...though it belonged to my Grad student roommate and not me. And I was only a year past my teens myself at the time, though it was another year or two before I actually owned one (and why, oh why did I trade it for that gawdawful Kawi 350 triple?). I was no more than a year or less out of my own teens before riding and eventually owning one...and though I did not realize it at the time, my own learning curve about motorized two wheelers was already deep enough, and my maturity refined and established well enough, so that the bike was a pure joy which never scared me.

As related elsewhere in this blog, Dick Saltzman had a 64 Corvette Stingray convertible I lusted after, which he would often let me drive if I washed it for him, as he preferred the X6 for daily commutes to and from class. I could not figure that out, as I had ridden on the back a couple of times and was less than thrilled...and even a bit frightened.

I had not been on a motorized two-wheeler in years, and the idea of leaning into turns was intimidating at first. I did learn to trust Dick and the physics eventually. But riding on the back of a bike is just not the same experience as...riding.

So, one day, Dick offered to let me ride solo if I cleaned (was it the bike or the car? Don't recall). In those days Florida did not have a separate license endorsement for motorcycles. So a person could just jump on and go. While that might make little sense in terms of personal safety, at least the only person likely to suffer from lack of experience of judgment was the rider...unlike the fact that even today a 60 year old who never drove anything bigger than a Honda Civic can jump into a 40 foot, 26,000 pound motorhome and go with no certification or training required!

But I digress. I rode out to a large and ancient sinkhole outside of Gainesville called “The Devil's Millhopper”....sort of a reverse mountain as first you hiked down to a flat bottom where you could often find fossilized sharks teeth in the foliage and rocks, before climbing back out. But the road to it was two lane country and often totally empty of other traffic, as it was for this first ride.

I took it easy until I got some familiarity with the controls and responses in terms of handling, brakes, and power. Once I got to that empty road I stopped on the pavement. Making sure there was no other car, or bike (with or without motor), I wound on the throttle and dropped the clutch.

Holy crap! While the front wheel stayed firmly planted on the pavement, the first three gears came as quickly as I could move my hands and feet, and my butt slipped to the rear of the seat as the X6 threatened to come out from under me. It was all I could do to hang on. At 145 pounds soaking wet I was getting all the acceleration out of this little beast it was capable of...0 to 30 in 1.3 seconds, 6 flat to 60, and the next thing I knew the speedometer was reading 100 and I was absolutely breathless. And though the brakes were drums they were more than adequate to shut things down before I ran completely out of road. 

I was totally hooked. But a new X6 was $749 and I settled instead for a one year old Yamaha 305...while not up to the specs of the X6 it had more power than anything I had driven or ridden, and was more than adequate as a first learner. And eventually I did, perhaps two years out, get my X6. By then, and drawing on my early learning about how to stay alive on two wheels from way back in Junior High , I was more than capable of managing the X6 safely while not giving anything up in terms of enthusiasm. 

They ain't $749 anymore

I still yearn for the light weight and instant response of the bike. I love the GS and would not want to part with it, but a 500+ pound 1970s four stroke is just not the same animal as the light and lithe little beast that I still believe was the best 250 ever made.

One day?....