REMC Manager's Column for the
September 1996 Electric Consumer Magazine

How I spent my
summer vacation

Samples averaged almost three hundred miles a day on a fifteen year old bike with a few basic provisions such as a tent, a bedroll and a backseat stuffed with clothes.

Eleven states in eleven days.

This wasn't supposed to be a magazine column.

Three thousand and thirty miles (counting the Connecticut to Long Island ferry).

It wasn't supposed to be business-related in any way.

Old friends, new friends, out-laws and in-laws.

In fact, this was supposed to be the ultimate getaway for me where I leave the office and the real world behind and not think about anything but my own little selfish needs and wants and whatevers. This was the trip I had been promising myself since I was a teenager. Just me and my 1981 Honda CB750 Custom motorcycle with the wind in my hair and the bugs in my teeth.

The first day out, in a rain storm, Samples dropped his bike in loose gravel and broke the windshield, resulting in substantially increased turbulence and bugs for the entire trip.

However, somewhere along the line I started learning stuff about distance biking that kept reminding me of principles I need to apply at the office. I resisted the thought process at first, not wanting to corrupt the purity of the ride, but eventually things started sticking like gnats on sunglasses and I actually started taking notes.

To really grasp some of the two-wheeled wisdom you are about to read, you probably need to understand that we have been dealing with some new and different solutions to some new and different problems facing the REMC. We've been working on creating unique partnerships, looking at radically modifying old relationships, and trying to accept an attitude where change represents opportunities instead of obstacles. It's hard to just up and leave all that romantic stuff behind. Besides, there's not much else to do on a cycle at sixty miles an hour besides think.

You'll have to forgive the obscurity of some of these little lessons. Telling the complete stories would take this whole magazine, but I will try to be as clear as possible. Also, finding myself going by the Ed Sullivan theater the day I started taking notes for this column almost inspired me to make this a Lettermanesque Top Ten list, which leads me to my first homily:

9. Just because everyone does it, doesn't mean you have to. Like doing Top Ten lists, or driving 75 mph in a rain storm.

8. Know when to get off the highway. If everyone else is doing 75 in the rain, and they can't stop any better than you, what's likely to happen if you slow down to 45? Sometimes the exit is the lessor of the evils.

7. Know your friends. And family. Visit the in-laws without your spouse. Visit places and people you haven't seen in twenty years to remind yourself where you've been.

6. Know your enemies. When you realize that "where you've been" is now harvesting pot instead of corn, get the #$@%! out before the shooting begins.

5. You've got to have power. But more importantly, you've got to know when to use it and when to let off the throttle. Acceleration is critical when changing lanes in Brooklyn, but easing off the gas probably saved my life when my eighteen-wheeler NASCAR partner tried to take a 55 mph curve at about 80 and rolled over in my lane, catching fire not 30 feet from my chickening-out front tire.

4. Be flexible. It's the serendipities, and usually the ones resulting from busted schemes, that really make the trip worth it. Don't get stressed when the plans don't happen, just work at the new options.

3. Don't let the bugs dry. This was an ugly lesson at first, but I got used to it. When small creatures get deposited on your glasses or visor at high speed, wipe them off quickly or they get real tough to remove. They distract your vision and make the road harder to see. Use a rag if one is handy, but be willing to use your bare hands and get your fingernails dirty if necessary.

2. Be thankful for the scary times. Even though sunshine and blue skies are more pleasant, the real sense of accomplishment comes from surviving the rains and sleeping in the rest stops.

1. Don't give-in to critics. In the weeks before I left I was told my bike was too old and too small; I was too old and too big; the trip was too long; the nights were too cold; the idea was too nuts; the gain was too little; and on and on. The people who told me this were all people who had never tried what I was trying the way I was trying it. However, from a factual standpoint they may have been correct, except for the part about what was to gain. While there was risk, what I experienced and learned about myself can never be taken away, and most of them will never have the opportunity to understand. That doesn't make me special, just fortunate.