Fall from Grace ( or should that be The Ungraceful Fall)

Surrealistically reflecting back over the last several days from the unlikely perspective of a hospital bed at Gulf Coast Hospital, I relive the instant that delivered me to this destination.

After an extremely long day of work, I decided to install a new ceiling fan that I'd had for some time in my family room with 18' ceilings. Although late, it seemed opportune, as my good friend Ric offered a hand. Contending with a high vaulted ceiling in a fairly small room, the location of the installation proved to be some challenge. Having no step ladder with the proper reach, we managed to maneuver a 22' extension ladder into position wedging it safely between the wall and the ascent in the ceiling. After shutting off power to the breaker supplying power to the fan, I climbed the ladder with ratchet screwdriver and flashlight while Ric provided both stabilization and sound advice from the ground. I easily removed the screws holding the assembly into the bracket and disconnected the wire nuts with my left hand while balancing the unit with my right. I managed to slip all of the hardware into my pocket and shift myself into place to facilitate the descent of the ladder when I suddenly lost my balance, allowing the fan to slip and fall toward me. The fan blades hit my face, slashing from nose to left temple. I fell approximately 12' after that sudden impact knocked me backward off the ladder and I, for a split second, landed on the shoulders of my friend Ric. I caromed off him and within milliseconds, the fan caught Ric square in the right arm, then hit the floor. I somersaulted off of Ric's shoulders and slammed the back of my head and my right shoulder into the fan on the ground. As Ric struggled to maintain his balance, he planted his left foot firmly on my chest.

I came to, seconds later, sitting on the ground wondering where I was. Ric attempted to rush me to the emergency room but as I became cognitive and more aware of my surroundings, I delayed him for a few minutes. Blood poured from the back of my head and face but my only pain emanated from my left chest. For a brief second, I felt that I had suffered a heart attack as I clasped my chest and gasped for air. At this point I did not realize that one of my four broken ribs had punctured my lung causing a partial collapse and the difficulty breathing.

I gathered myself together, anticipating a hospital stay, so I removed my contact lenses and jewelry, and located my spectacles and insurance card. Rather than calling for an ambulance, I texted my friend Beverly, who arrived quickly to whisk both Ric and I to Gulf Coast Hospital's Emergency Department.

After 10 hours in emergency, both x-rays and CT scans of face, head and chest, I was diagnosed with lacerated head requiring 14 staples, lacerated face requiring stitches and super glue, broken clavicle, four broken ribs, punctured and collapsed lung (pneumothorax) and contusion on the back of the damaged lung. Ric suffered a severely bruised arm, possibly broken, and was sent home in a sling. I was quickly admitted to MCU and spent the next five days there.

For the first two days, I could barely move, only able to slowly hobble to the bathroom in excruciating pain. I felt that the entire nursing staff at Gulf Coast Hospital performed in exemplary fashion ensuring that my basic needs were met and that my pain was kept at a somewhat manageable level.

I enjoyed the company of some rather unusual room mates during my stay; a young man experiencing shoulder replacement, a depressed man who overdosed on sleeping pills, and an elderly gent with 24 children, suffering kidney failure and experiencing some rather entertaining hallucinations. One night he envisioned himself outside "chillin", eating soul food with his son, then running through a hospital Halloween party naked, and another night he told his visitors from the church that he had sex with a 26 year old nurse.

The pulmonary specialist ordered x-rays of my lungs each morning and finally on the fifth day determined that my lung puncture had healed and I was able to go home. Beverly, and daughter Chelsea snatched me from the hospital and drove me home, grabbing my many prescriptions from Walgreen's on the way.

Now, it seems like every day I feel just a little bit better but it looks like it will be some time around Christmas before I'm putting around on the Harley again.

I would like to thank the MCU staff at Gulf Coast Hospital including Sarah, Shelly, James, Lynn, Veronica, Linsey, Lisa, Gina, Winsome, and Jackie and my transporters Johnny and James who gave me a ride to Radiology every morning. Thanks and God Bless all of you!

Half a Century

How many times has an opportunity presented itself, and although you basked in the thought or concept for a brief moment, you relegated it to another part of your mind and continued forward without altering life's typical routine? Then after several days or even possibly many years, you pause, reflect, look back and with regret, take another moment to contemplate.......what if?

I, as most others, have allowed this to happen many more times than I would choose to admit. But recently, I allowed the seed of an opportunistic, once in a lifetime cognitive idea to germinate, stretch delicately in seemingly infertile soil, take root, and yes, blossom into reality!

Please roll the film back to the spring of this year. Under the unimaginable weight of severe depression, created from living as the reluctant participant in an ugly divorce proceeding, I filtered through a small garage collection of material possessions, knowing that most must be sold to satisfy a sundry of court orders. Knowing somewhere deep down in my spirit, that life defines itself not by the toys one possesses but rather the time and the people you spend it with, I felt little sentiment toward things until I removed the cover and dusted off my 1961 Harley-Davidson panhead FLH. For those not in the know, "Panhead" was a moniker bestowed upon the Harley engine, by it's loyal customer base, manufactured from 1948 until 1965, basically because the heads very much resemble upside down kitchen pans. Kick starting reigned as the only way to turn over these beautiful beasts until the first Electra Glide in 1965.

As I carefully detailed the relic, my mind slowly wandered. This incredibly engineered steel sculpture left the assembly line in 1961, the same year that I was conceived in Atlantic City and then subsequently delivered in October to two wonderful, yet incredibly scared parents standing by in an undisclosed semi-rural village in West Virgina. (I do see identity theft as a real threat!)

And then my mind started to drift .......what if I rode my 50 year old bike.......... to Daytona for Biketoberfest........... on my 50th birthday............., the same year that my 50 year old wife had decided to dump me? Normally a thought of this type would enter my mind, dance around for a short song or two, and then quickly exit through the frontal lobe. But no ...... this time it grabbed a seat, shot out a root and planted itself undeservedly at the top of a very long "to do" list.

I immediately activated this thought by not only planning the ride but also exploiting the opportunity to bring family and friends together for a party of sorts. I arranged for a rental in Ormond Beach large enough to accommodate the kids and grandkids, and sent Facebook invitations to close friends, and made phone calls to my technologically challenged loved ones.


The months flew past and the special day approached quickly. I performed minor maintenance on the faithful panhead to ensure the smoothest possible journey. I loaded my 2007 Patriot Edition Harley Ultra Classic, as well as a week's worth of gear into my enclosed single bike trailer and connected it to my 2004 Chevy Suburban, the only cage that I own.
The 11th fell on a Tuesday so my other riding partners were unable to accompany me and had to join the party during the weekend. My favorite riding partner, Randy, fell victim to stroke the prior week and spent the week in a hospital bed at Lee Memorial's Rehabilitation Hospital rather than astride his Road Glide. I will write more of this in a separate story devoted exclusively to Randy. My dear friend Beverly, having never driven a trailer, deftly piloted the chase vehicle and ensured that my modern bike made it to Daytona and that I encountered no serious mishaps along the way.
After a late start due to additional packing and mechanical checks, I kicked the beast, Beverly cranked the ignition on the Suburban and we headed north. We travelled I-75 to SR-80, then north on SR-31 to Arcadia. We caught US-17 in Arcadia after stopping for fuel and headed toward I-4 in Orlando. The Orlando traffic on I-4 proved the most tenuous portion of the journey. Navigating a 50 year old motorcycle through the Disney madness and continual rush hour insanity wore a little on the nerves but never wiped the huge smile from my face. Once through Orlando, we stopped close to Sanford for more fuel and a short rest. I also repaired the left mirror which had rattled completely off but I was fortunate enough to catch.


I mounted the iron horse once more for the final leg to Daytona/Ormond Beach. Unsure as to whether it was the cylinders heating up or my leg wearing out but each time I stopped the bike, it became increasingly more difficult to kick over to start.


I felt an incredible rush and felt like my smile would rip my face in two, as I roared past the International Speedway, then over the bridge into Daytona Beach. I've ridden this exact ride too many times to count but this time I felt a real sense of satisfaction and accomplishment.



We maneuvered through the typical Daytona mix of bikes, trucks, and cars - my 50 year old ass upon the seat of the 50 year old Harley FLH, followed by my closest friend, who many times I think is actually my guardian angel! We hung a left on Atlantic Ave., passed Main Street, to the southern border of Ormond Beach, and on to the 4 bedroom vacation rental that we would call home for the next week.



I posed for a couple of quick photos but craved water due to dehydration and a restful nap. Although the classic lines of Harley-Davidsons has changed little over the past 50-75 years, I can certainly attest to the fact that there have been many features added to increase rider comfort. The 250 mile trek on the antique beauty took it's toll on my old bones. A ride of that length on my 2007 Ultra Classic is like a "blink of an eye" but on the old panhead I felt like I'd "been ridden hard and put away wet".



After a short nap and shower, We showered, dressed and met my father and step-mother, who had arrived the previous day at T.G.I.Fridays for a quiet little birthday dinner.


My brother Tom arrived later that evening from southern Illinois, piloting his monstrous full ton GMC pick-up with his 2002 Heritage Softail tethered comfortably in the back. We sat up and talked for a short while but headed off to sleep since we had both encountered quite an exhausting day of travel.

The next morning we awoke, downed some coffee, unloaded the bikes and headed to some of Daytona's most notorious places since neither Tom or Beverly had been to Biketoberfest before. We paraded down Main Street with the rest of the exhibitionists, stopped by the Speedway only to watch them setting up for the upcoming events, then out Tomoka Farms Road to the infamous Cabbage Patch, home of cole slaw wrestling and some of biking's greatest debauchery.
It was an incredible pleasure riding side by side with my brother Tom, the first time as adults that we had an opportunity to do so. I only wished that Dad could have joined us but he has yet to take on the hobby that eventually becomes a lifestyle.


We rode back to the house to grab the Suburban to pick up my friend Ronna, who travelled all of the way from Maple Falls, Washington, from the airport. After getting her settled at the house, we allowed Ronna an opportunity to nap and continued with the riding around Volusia County, Florida. Ronna joined us after resting and we continued our layed back meandering day enjoying family, friends, and Florida sunshine as well as an occasional beer or two.



My best friend, Ric, from Fort Myers and my sister, Mary Beth from North Carolina, both arrived the following day so it became increasingly difficult to maintain activities as one group so at times were all together and other times splintered but all enjoyed the Biketoberfest activities.

The actual "birthday party" occurred on Saturday. We were joined by two daughters, Chelsea and Arielle, two grandsons, Ryley and Landon, and Arielle's beau Paul. I felt completely overwhelmed surrounded by family and friends, those who genuinely love me and expect nothing in return. I wished that my two other children as well as the other seven grandchildren could have attended but they were prevented by extenuating circumstances. The highlight of the night involved my sister, Mary Beth, who created a movie highlighting the events of my life. When the lights were turned back on, both Chelsea and I had tears running down our faces.

.

Everyone departed for home the next day except for Beverly, Ronna, and I. We spent one more quiet day in Daytona, dined at Bubba Gump's Shrimp House, cleaned the rental, and left the next day, I astride my 2007 Harley with the antiques in the trailer, and Beverly, who dropped Ronna off at the airport, in the Suburban.



Thanks very much to all that helped make my 50th birthday such a memorable experience, those that attended physically and those that were only there in spirit. God Bless you all!

Repairing Outlook.pst File

I may appear and act the computer geek but in reality I comprehend little about what actually makes the little machines tick and actually only see them as a necessary evil or a tool required to get the job done, no different than a drill or a screwdriver. With little money and deadlines to face, I do however, occasionally find myself forced into a situation where I must don the hat of computer repairman. One such situation occured 5 days ago.

Apparently, several devious little slimy hackers (they should be lined up and shot) determined that they would unleash a new trojan virus timed simultaneuosly with a Flash update issued by Adobe. Although armed with a very sophisticated anti-viral program, I still happened to be the lucky recipient of this brand new infestation prior to it's discovery and subsequent fix by all makers of virus fighting software.

All icons disappeared from my desktop and I stared at a screen with an infinte number of windows opening claiming that I had encountered a hard drive failure. I shut the machine down and re-booted in safe mode and attempted a system restore to an earlier date but this particlar virus also erased my system restore dates and I later noticed that the longer my machine stayed on, the more files the virus erased. Fortunately I had a gazillion high resolution photos and the virus first slowly waddled through the deletion of those massive photo gigabytes.

I shut the machine down once more and in a very intense "blonde moment" decided that I would re-install windows. In hindsight I now realize that this should have wiped out the contents of my computer leaving me with no old files. Fortunately again, the virus created "hidden" files and moved all of my data to them and then re-installed a very corrupted version of Windows right over where it had been previously. So I now had a computer that would not operate with files that I could not see.

I then threw the laptop into the saddlebag of my bike and headed to see my friend Bernie, a true geek, and proprieter of Metro Electronics, a business that exists for people like me who are inclined to take simple problems and make them worse. Bernie removed the hard drive, isolated the virus, removed it and put my machine back together. He then discovered that my data still existed, although in hidden files, and showed me where to locate it. I packed my gear back up and headed home facing the overwhelming prospect of now restoring this Dell Notebook and all of it's data to a condition in which I could once again use it as the tool it's intended to be.

I encountered little trouble copying the data from the damaged machine to an external hard drive so that I could re-format my C: drive until i attempted to copy the most important file of all, my 11 gigabyte Outlook.pst file. This file contained my calendar and schedule, my contacts and years and years worth of email.

I learned two extremely important lessons that day:

1) Office 2003 cannot handle Outlook files that are larger than 2G without automatically corrupting them.

2) FAT 32 storage devices cannot handle file sizes larger than 4G

I realized that FAT 32 problem after several attempts to copy to the external drive with that particular storage method and hours of searching Google. After switching to a different external drive with NTFS storage method, I then realized that the file was corrupt. It would not copy because I continued to receive a "cyclic redundancy error" which apparently means that the data being copied does not precisely match the original bit for bit so the process shuts down. That when, after more googling, I realized that outlook.pst files over 2G are corrupt and in need of repair.

Here are some steps to try if you are faced with a similar problem:

1) First try to copy the file from a command prompt using the dos command XCOPY. This did not work for me and I still received the cyclic redundancy error.

2) Outlook 2003 contains a hidden repair program called SCANPST. Search your computer ensuring that hidden files are included to find the location of this .exe file. Run this on your outlook.pst file and it will attempt a repair. After running the repair the first time, I still received the cyclic redundancy error and it would not copy.

3) Run CHKDSK on your entire C: drive. This will take some time but it will find storage errors in the outlook.pst file and correct them.

4) Run SCANPST again

5) Run CHKDSK again

6) My file had now been repaired and I was able to copy it to the NTFS formatted external hard drive.

I then proceeeded to reformat my hard drive, reinstall Windows and all of my programs then reload the data. I did, however, rename my old outlook.pst file and let Office start a new smaller one. I have the old information if I need it but I also now have a smaller, much more manageable file that is not corrupt.

Bumbershoot Prep Part 5 - Kore Ionz

From what I'm able to gather, Kore Ionz will be the only reggae band performing this year at Bumbershoot. Personally, I enjoy sitting in the grass, feeling the warmth of the sun, breathing clean fresh air, and chilling to the island sounds so I was hoping to see a fuller reggae line-up, with possibly the likes of Slightly Stoopid with Don Carlos or Rebelution.

Local Seattle boys, Kore Ionz, offer up a fairly clean, unblemished and unvarnished form of reggae. They stay fairly true to the genre although the Pacific island influence is quite prominent, which makes sense considering leader and singer-songwriter, Daniel Pak, hails from Hawaii.

It's hard to imagine a reaggae band from Seattle, better know as the rainy city or birthplace of grunge, but believe me, this young group of talented artists really delivers.

Enjoy the band performing Save Me live in the studio at Seattle's KEXP

Bumbershoot Prep 4 - Trombone Shorty

My next featured artist, Troy Andrews, better know as Trombone Shorty, is an amazing young trombonist who feels as comfortable jamming with the likes of U2 and Lenny Kravitz as he does performing with his unique blend of jazz, funk, rock, hip-hop and rap with own band, Orleans Avenue. Andrews describes his music as "SupaFunkRock". Guitar super-star Jeff Beck has taken quite a fondness for Trombone Shorty and they have played together at several festivals this year. Perhaps we will have the opportunity to experience the rare guest appearance by Mr. Beck? I will certainly keep my eyes peeled and ears alert.

Here's a clip of Trombone Shorty and Orleans Avenue performing Something Beautiful.

Bumbershoot Prep 3 - Witchburn

I've discovered scheduling problem number one. It will prove difficult to pull myself away from the Caleb Klauder Country Band to enjoy the heavy metal riffs of Witchburn but somehow I must manage the logistics. The two acts perform within 15 minutes of each other. Although I've been a metal fan for years, I only recently discovered Witchburn, a high volume Seattle based group of heavy rockers, fronted by Jamie Nova, the former lead singer for the world renowned all female AC/DC tribute band, Hells Belles. The band describe themselves as "heavy, down-tuned, southern fried, whiskey soaked sabbra cadabra." I like that!

Before hearing Witchburn, I expected a mosh between Motley Crue, Led Zeppelin and AC/DC but what reached my ears was a revitalized, old school Ozzie and Black Sabbath sound but cleverly embellished by the soaring, chilling pipes of Jamie Nova. Few other voices are better suited to metal than Jamie's. She finds no problem hitting the piercing highs and you can feel the punch from deep down in her gut. This babe rocks!

Although the guitar solos lack the virtuostic flair of Yngwie or Eddie, the riffs are solid, catchy, and fresh. They stick in your head but there's none of the pop familiarity.

Enjoy the following clip of the band performing Stand Up and Be Counted.

Bumbershoot Prep Part 2

I've experienced considerable pleasure exposing myself to the various genres and artists that will be performing this year at Bumbershoot in Seattle. The next act I'd like to feature is the Caleb Klauder Country Band. Caleb stretches himself thin simultaneously working as the mandolinist for the Appalachian style bluegrass infused Foghorn Stringband and the zydeco flavored Cajun Country Revival, as well as serving as the front man for his own band, the Caleb Klauder Country Band. Caleb offers the time honored traditional country sound very reminiscent of Hank Williams or the Louvin Brothers presented with a very fresh and relevant vigor, quite a departure from the reformulated 1970's country rock that serves as the basis for today's modern country. There's a real purist sensibility created featuring mandolin, pedal steel, fiddle, guitar, and the incomparable sound of the upright bass. I close my eyes and envision my grandparents huddled around the radio on Saturday evening or a smoke filled, beer smelling honky-tonk with sawdust on the wooden floors where an occasional fight interupts the celebratious dancing as would be the case when you mix drinking and romance.

You may catch the Caleb Klauder Country Band, Saturday September 3rd, on the Bumbershoot Starbucks stage by the beer garden. If you miss this show you may find Caleb and his band performing all over the Pacific Northwest Labor Day weekend. He will be performing Thursday at Kruger's farm On Sauvie's Island near Portland, Friday at the Spare Room Lounge in Portland, Saturday at Bumbershoot, And Sunday at the Edison in Edison, Washington.

Listen to the YouTube link below of The Caleb Klauder Country Band performing New Shoes.

Bumbershoot Prep Part 1

Attempting a level of wisdom that I failed to possess when I attended this incredible music and arts festival in 2009, this weekend I decided to familiarize myself a bit more with the typically avant garde musical line-up. Bumbershoot features a vast array of talented musicians from practically every genre including country, rock, alternative, pop, rap/hip-hop, electronic dance, blues, R&B, world, classical, and reggae. So I must admit that I'm certainly not acquainted with many of the acts that will be performing Labor Day weekend.

So like any devoted music lover, I spent a considerable amount of time on iTunes this weekend and either browsed or downloaded music from over 120 different performers. So prior to departing for the rainy city, I'll attempt to feature as many musicians as possible. With readers this month in 18 different countries, perhaps this blog may help these acts gain exposure that they may not have had otherwise.

Today I'd like to feature Ray LaMontagne, an extremely talented singer/songwriter who is perhaps a little more well known than many of the other musicians performing this year. Ray's Grammy winning raspy vocals and captivating story telling speak for themselves. I've enjoyed listening to Ray while sitting poolside this afternoon. I would describe this music as New England flavored, country tinged, folk music much in the same vein as The Band, who began as Dylan's backup and later evolved into a world renowned act and one of the greatest influences on 1970's style country/blues rock.


Here is a YouTube video of Ray LaMontagne performing the gold album acheiving "Trouble", a video that speaks a million words.

Blahg, Blahg, Blahg !!!!

Well, I must admit, it's been quite some time, possibly even years since I've contributed anything at all to this blog. Had I been plaqued by the deepest, darkest of the terribly feared writer's block? No, I think not. Have I lived a life of extreme isolationism experiencing little to write about? Possibly, but still think not. I've enjoyed some journeys, suffered some pains, and encountered many things worth detailing in the written word.

Over the last two years I have experienced an avalanche of misfortunate events, some precipitated by poor behavior or faulty decision making on my part, and others where I have allowed myself to become a victim of my circumstances. All in all, I must accept the consequences for my actions and decisions and basicaly reap that which I have sown.

Will I cry over spilt milk or whine about the cards dealt me? No, I'm accepting my circumstances and suprisingly observing God utilizing the recent brokeness in me and surgically dealing with character flaws that I had previously been too weak to face. Possibly, one day I'll develop the courage to blog about these struggles so that others may benefit but for the time being, I wanted to jump "back in the saddle" and let my readers know that I will soon be decribing more adventurous motorcycle journeys, unheralded political activity, exciting music and art events, unusual and extreme acts of God, benefits of family, and anything else that strikes my fancy.

God Bless you all!

Cornerstone Festival 2009

I departed hot, humid Fort Myers after church on Sunday June 28th astride my trusty 2007 Harley-Davidson Ultra Classic Electra Glide bound for the Cornerstone Festival in Bushnell, Illinois. Surprisingly, I was able to pack a tent, sleeping bag, air mattress and air pillow in the right saddlebag and rain gear and leathers in the left. I packed all electronics including laptop, video camera, still camera, ipod and iphone into the tour pack as well as a 9mm Glock, just in case. I initially intended to blog of this adventure at least daily but that's proven to be a bit difficult while travelling several hundred miles per day on motorcyle and encountering slow or nonexistent internet in much of rural America.

Because of the late start, I only travelled about 400 miles that first day and found myself at a Hampton Inn in Tifton, Georgia. After baking in the hot Georgia/Florida sun for the entire afternoon, I figured a nice cold beer would certainly hit the spot so I walked next door to Chili's Restaurant only to find that I had landed in the only Sunday dry county in Georgia. Oh, well the chicken fajita wrap washed down just as well with water and I stayed a bit healthier.

I hit the road very early Monday morning and travelled about 550 miles before the saddle sores prevented me from riding any further. I landed at another Hampton Inn just off of I-24 in the very patriotic Army town of Clarksville, Tennessee. That day I found not only the beer that I had craved the day before but also some of the tastiest ribs that ever crossed my taste buds at the Golden Rule Bar-B-Q , which was located conveniently next to the hotel. The hard riding, ribs and one beer finished me off causing me to drift off to sleep no later than 8:30, which also caused me to rise very early at 4:00 AM. I hit the hotel fitness room, sauna and continental breakfast, then repacked my gear and hit the road again.

I found the day three ride extremely pleasant since it consisted of no interstate travel and instead rolled through beautiful Kentucky and Indiana farm country. After an abbreviated 200 mile ride, I pulled into the driveway of brother Tom in Robinson, Illinois and spent the evening visiiting with him and his lovely wife, Pat and two wonderful boys, Ethan and Spencer. Pat sent me off the following morning with a belly full of biscuits and gravy and I headed northwest to the festival.
I found day four another easy ride as I rode the back roads to Effingham, caught the interstate to just past Champaign then rural two lane for a hundred miles west to Bushnell, the home of Cornerstone Festival. After slipping and sliding on two miles of gravel road, I arrived at the back gate only to be informed that I must enter through the front, which meant two more miles of gravel and approximately 14 miles through two more rural towns. I finally arrived at the proper entrance and immediately began scouting for a camp site. Thousands of tents already jammed the property but I located a spot next to the HM tent where one of my favorites, The Showdown would be playing later that day. I parked the bike, quickly pitched the tent, and blew up the air mattress and pillow, before setting off on foot to orient myself to the site. I found the shower house, the food stands and was astonished to see at least 30 stages throughout the property with bands jamming away at each. After some type of veggie quesadilla, I caught The Showdown's entire set with video camera in hand.

As The Showdown ended, I raced about 3/4 of mile around the lake to the main stage to catch hard rocking Red, a band that reaches such a broad audience that they will also be at Buffalo Chips Campground in Sturgis next month.

I found sleeping that night extremely difficult, especially after realizing that the HM abbreviation for the tent that I was camping by stood for either Heavy Metal or Hard Music. Rather than fight it, around 1:00AM I stumbled over to C.H.O.P. (Cornerstone House of Prayer), a 24/7 prayer tent, manned during the entire festival with prayer warriors and worship leaders. During the three hours spent there, the Holy Spirit ministered to me in ways that I'd never quite experienced. God dealt with me one on one about unforgiveness in my heart and when I finally made my way back to the tent, I found planted in me a new God given love or agape in Greek, that I knew I must share with others. At 4:00AM, the music at the stages had ceased but my teenaged neighbors managed to find guitars, banjos and drums to serenade me until approximately 5:30. By then the sun began rising over the horizon and I decided to start the new day.

Interestingly enough, God utilized the agape in me almost immediately. I met a new friend, broken from years of abuse, addiction and lack of identity that needed much of that love. That morning, I attended a youth worship time with a very enthusiastic band and attended seminars most of the day on topics ranging from living in community, overseas missions and ministering to the GLBT (gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered) community, a conviction that God layed on me several weeks earlier. Those Holy Spirit moments that seem like coincidences never cease to amaze me.

That night I attended the concert that I most looked forward to, Brian "Head" Welch, former guitarist for multi-platinum selling KoRN who had rededicated his life to Christ a few years ago and left the world of sex, drugs and rock 'n roll to passionately pursue a relationship with Jesus. Head shared freely the struggles he suffered from alcohol and drug addiction, pornography and abusive behavior and gave thanks to the redemptive power of Jesus Christ, while completely rocking the house.

I spent another night wide awake listening to the folksy neighbors and arose early to hit the shower house while every one else still slept. A shower, cup of coffee, and the next thing I knew, I found myself serving breakfast to members of an A.A. meeting. I spent the best part of the day with my new friend Pam, attending four different worship times and many more seminars. No bands I desired to see were playing that night, internet service was non-existant, and this old man was stiff from trying to sleep in a tent for several nights so I packed everything up and headed to the of town of Macomb, where I found a car wash for the filthy bike and another Hampton Inn for my sore body. Thank God, because right after I checked in, the clouds opened and it poured down rain for almost 36 hours straight. Needless to say, I spent July 4th alone in that hotel waiting for the rain to slow enough to find a place for dinner. I did enjoy some excellent chicken wings at Buffalo Wild Wings, another beer, and hours of sound sleep.

The next morning, I wiped the rain off the bike, loaded my gear, and headed back toward my brothers house in Robinson. I enjoyed another night with his family then headed to Cary, North Carolina for a short visit with my sister, Mary Beth and her amazing family. I arrived approximately 3:00 in the afternoon, just in time to kick back with Mary Beth and sons Connor and Zach at the community pool. Husband Rob arrived late from work and we dined on shredded chicken barbecue and ice cream with fruit. The following morning, Rob took me for a brisk walk through the neighborhood "greenway" and I again packed my gear and hit the road.

After ten days, I seriously missed my lovely wife, Renee and the grandkids, Jada, Sariye, and Ryley so that day I won the "iron butt" award after logging 800 miles! I arrived home around 11:00 that night, greeted by the wife in a most wonderful way that I certainly should not decribe in my PG-rated blog.

Cornerstone 2009 will be forever etched in my memory as one of my life's truly unique experiences! God Bless!