Who let the dogs out?

Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out into the midday sun, but it is here that one often finds that moment of truth when he is reminded of his own mortality and the limits of time. It is how one chooses to move forward that makes all the difference!

Transcript

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Welcome to the Being There Podcast. Stories from the Road, where we keep the rubber side down. These are stories written by my father, Gene McCalmott. Commentary by his son, me, John McCalmott. This is episode 13. Who Let the Dogs Out? Written August 27, 2003. Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out into the midday sun, but it is here that one often finds that moment of truth when he is reminded of his own mortality and the limits of time. It is how one chooses to move forward that makes all of the difference. This is Who Let the Dogs Out? We headed out fourteen thirty one in the ninety nine degree heat of a Texas sun on an August afternoon. Before we could clear Cedar Park, sweat was dripping down my nose from my helmet liner. But I had a grin on my face that wouldn't stop. I've always been partial to twins and thumpers. I suppose it's because that's what I had when I first started riding. I've also been partial to lighter bikes, which offered stunning performance despite their light weight. I really like the Honda NT six hundred fifty Hawk, for example. It was nimble, powerful for a six hundred and fifty, and loaded with amazing technology. My new BMW F six hundred fifty GSA was like that. It stirred something in me that occasionally needed a swift kick in the butt to come to the surface. We cleared Jonestown and headed towards Lago Vista, on a road usually clear of traffic. Jerry leaned way into the sweeping corners with me close behind. The graceful way he handled the beauty he was riding was inspiring. His lanky frame seemed to fit the bike in a way that suggested it had been made especially for him. Jerry has always been hard to fit. His long legs made almost any machine uncomfortable and his long arms forced a cramped riding posture that made for short stints between rest stops. Only the first edition of the Triumph Spread seemed to work, and even that was a compromise. But this BMW K twelve hundred GT was an exception. It fit, in fact, it fit almost everywhere. That we should both have new bikes at the same time from the same manufacturer was highly improbable. That they should be so completely different in purpose was predictable. That two guys should be out in the nonday sun when others found more prudent ways to stay inside was well lunacy. But what sweet madness. We hit the first cattle guard out of Lago Vista and turned our bikes toward the downhill exit into the hill country. Jerry disappeared past the low water bridge, heading up the hill. I slipped the six hundred fifty into fourth and spun the engine past five thousand RPM, hitting the power band. As I crossed the bridge the front forks compressed and then on rebound lightened the front end. The front wheel lifted from the pavement as the bike pulled up the hill like a tractor on steroids. My mouth fell open as I sucked in air and screamed Yeha. I flaked the light machine into the tight left hander in hot pursuit. I often caught sight of Jerry over the next few miles, but I had the distant sensation that I was passing pockets of compressed ye haws mixed with tips of turbulence from the K twelve hundred fairing. Yehaws are well like that. They swirl in the air like frothy bubbles in a freshly stirred cup of good coffee. When you pass through one, you feel it more than you hear it. Eventually we came upon slower traffic, as is often the case on fourteen thirty one, but we knew that more pristine roads awaited further west, when the temperatures got cooler in the coming weeks, so we laid back and enjoyed the ride. We stopped at a local Marble Falls eatery and ordered the two biggest iced teas we could get. We sat in a cool spot next to the window overlooking the parking lot. The new bikes gleamed and sparkled in the hot glare of the Texas sun. I could just make out the slightest suggestion of a grin in the body panels surrounding the front headlamps. I was having fun in a big way. It reminded me of when I was a kid with a new toy. Of course, that was exactly the situation. For an Arissa, we fantasized about the next trip out into the hill country with childlike exuberance. We knew from past experience that autumn in Texas would present some of the best riding weather the state could offer. Big Bend would be an easy day's ride if the fancy struck us. The mountain passes of Colorado beckoned us north, and even the long trick through Amarillo seemed almost manageable. It was about that time that reality came calling. That little parental voice in my head reminded me that business and family obligations wouldn't allow me to put all the miles on I wanted. I hear that voice from time to time. Don't go riding, you have other things to do. You can't take the time away from work. You'd better Oh, it's the opposite of screw it. I'm going riding. You can't make time away from work. You'd better it's the opposite of screw it, I'm going riding that my inner child finds so compelling. Somewhere in the chaos must lay a rational answer. It is, however, sobering to realize that there are more years behind me than in front. If not now, then when? I'm not sure how to answer that, but if I can find some balance in it all, then surely there will be time enough. But now on this day at this moment it was time to play. We fired up the bikes and headed out fourteen thirty one into the brilliant sun. My helmet filled with the song Who Let the Dogs Out Woof Woof Woof Woof Woof. Who let the dogs out. I twisted the throttle to the stop and watched the pavement disappear beneath the front wheel. I couldn't breathe. Only if I could just stop grinning. Oh yeah, it's those times that we do stop listening to that voice in our head that tells us all of the things that we have on our to-do list and just go out and enjoy ourselves. It's difficult. I'm in that part of my life right now where the to-do list is just so incredibly long, and it never quite seems to get done. Recently, my best friend David came over and helped me repair some bar stools for an upcoming party we have for my daughter's graduation. Yes, a graduation party with a very, very long to-do list. And on that day, my buddy Dave said, John, when was the last time you took a day off? And I said, Um, can't remember. He said, Why don't you go in that wine cell of yours and pull out a bottle and let's just sit here and drink and talk? That was putting a smile on my face, much like my dad's on his hot afternoon riding with his best friend, Jerry. We all need that in our life. We all crave that. It is that part of what makes life worth living. Yes, we do have to do the to-do list, but sometimes that inner child is right. When it says, screw it, I'm going writing. If this stirs your soul like it stirs mine, and you enjoyed today's episode, be sure to subscribe and follow the podcast so you don't miss future readings and commentary. All written material featured in this podcast is the original work of my father and used with his permission. The thoughts and opinions I share are my own. This recording is for personal listening only. My voice lightness and performance are protected and may not be recorded, reproduced, or used in any form of AI training, cloning, or synthetic replication without my explicit written consent. Thanks again for being here. Until next time, keep the rubber side down and save travels.