Civil War: Events of August 1863

August 1st: Admiral David Porter assumed command of Federal naval forces on the Mississippi River.  That same day, Union forces began a sustained bombardment of entrenchments surrounding the vital port of Charleston.

On that same day, Union General Frederick Steele launched the Little Rock campaign, to capture the Arkansas capital.

The next day, Lee's retreat from Gettysburg, and Meade's less-than-enthusiastic pursuit ended with both lines stabilized on either side of the Rappahannock River.

On August 5th, President Lincoln sent a letter to Nathaniel Banks stating that he would never return a negro freed under the Emancipation Proclamation to slavery.

Three days later, on the 8th, General Lee, in response to the Confederate defeat at Gettysburg, submits his resignation to President Jefferson Davis.  Davis refuses to allow his best General to leave the fight.

Adrift and Alone

Earth from the rings of Saturn

From NASA Cassini spacecraft

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Written portion only, except quoted sections

“Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us.

On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of,

where every human being who ever was, lived out their lives.

The aggregate of our joy and suffering,

thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines. 

Every hunter and forager, every hero and coward,

every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child,

inventor and explorer, every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there

-on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam."

--Dr. Carl Sagan

"The Pale Blue Dot"

We look around every day and see crowds.  Cities alive with bustling humans going about their business.  Freeways jammed with cars, trucks, and motorcycles, always going somewhere.  Even outside the urban areas, it's still a crowded place, chockablock with trees, plants, animals, and insects.  We tend to think of earth as a place running out of space.

Then something happens.  A picture, always worth a thousand words, appears before us, tapping that sense of awe within and putting the percolating details of life in proper perspective.

This week, NASA leaked the very first pictures of Earth taken by the Cassini space probe, currently orbiting the ringed planet Saturn.  At first you don't see it.  Then, you do.  A small bluish speck glowing by reflected sunlight against the empty backdrop of the universe.  Your mouth falls open just a bit; maybe you take an involuntary gasp. 

Astronauts and Cosmonauts have all talked about that magical moment of perspective when they first see their home planet from space.  Suddenly, a world and its people once thought of as being bisected and divided by borders and boundaries is seen, not as a collection of geopolitical states and races, but as one organism, fragile and alone, hanging in a vast ocean of...nothing.

It is a humbling thing to behold.  We, as a human race, tend to think highly of ourselves, of our place in the universe.  To be fair, there are those of us who do produce large splashes in our particular pond.  But we have always considered us to be favored by creation, what- or whom-ever the author.  In our early history, earth was thought to be at the center of the universe, that the sun orbited around us instead of the other way around.  When Copernicus first proposed the idea of a sun-centered system, he was brutalized by the religious authorities of the day, who thought he was somehow insulting God.

The truth is that the earth and her teeming billions are but one planet in an otherwise unremarkable solar system floating around the galaxy, not close to the busy center, but shunted off to the side.  Even our galaxy, vast and seemingly crowded with hundreds of billions of stars is but one of hundreds of billions floating throughout the known universe. 

Favorite Rides: Fort Valley Loop

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph Couey

Maps from Microsoft Streets and Trips,

and Google Maps

 

 

160 miles

3 hours

US29, US211, US11, Edinburg Gap Rd., Ft. Valley Rd., VA55, VA626.

 

This enjoyable jaunt takes in some beautiful Virginia countryside with a couple of history lessons thrown in.

 

This run starts in the parking lot of the Manassas National Battlefield Park visitors center.  This large park is the site of two major engagements during the Civil War.  In July 1861, public pressure was strong for a march to Richmond, the Confederate capital, to quickly end the war.  Union Commander Irvin McDowell pleaded for more time to train his very green troops and officers, but the political pressure overcame his objections and he was forced into battle. 

 

It was expected, by the public at least, to be an easy victory.  People from Washington came out with baskets to picnic on the battlefield and watch the fight.  But it turned into a bloody rout.  McDowell's orders were poorly executed by his untrained officers and after a heroic stand by an unknown VMI Colonel named Thomas Jackson, hereafter known as "Stonewall," the Union troops were routed.  Throwing aside their weapons the fled for Washington, along with the terrified civilians.

 

A little over a year later, in August 1862, Robert E. Lee was on the offensive.  He sent Jackson's Corps on a wide flanking march to capture the Union supply depot at Manassas Junction.  After two inconclusive engagements, Jackson dug in on a ridge.  Convinced he had Stonewall trapped, Union Commander John Pope committed most of his troops on a direct assault against Jackson.  Unknown to Pope, however, another corps of Southern troops under James Longstreet broke through at Thoroughfare Gap, marched to the battlefield and hit Pope's forces in a massive flanking attack.  Pope's army was crushed, the remnants sent into retreat.  This time, the Union troops didn't flee all the way to Washington, but collected themselves at Centreville.  It was a disastrous defeat just the same.

 

Leaving the visitor's center, turn right on Sudley Road and go up to the US29 intersection, by the Stone House.  Turn left and head west.  After about 18 miles, you'll have to navigate some heavy traffic through Warrenton.  Look for the turnoff to US 211 and take it.

Favorite Rides: The Winelander Run

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

 

For six great years, I hosted a two day motorcycle ride which I called "The Winelander Run."  The route started in Kingdom City, MO and ran through Fulton, Columbia, Rocheport, Jefferson City, Hermann, and ending up in Hannibal on Sunday. It was a great run, and a great weekend with fun had by all who attended.  This was the Ride Brief I provided to the riders before we started.

 

Winelander Run

Welcome to the Annual Winelander Run!  I am very happy to have you along today and hope your ride will be enjoyable.  First, a few rules for safety and fun enhancement:

 

1.  Fill your tank before the ride starts and at all designated fuel stops.

2. When possible, use the approved staggered method of riding.  Don’t ride directly behind the bike in front of you.  On twisty roads, however, stretch the spacing out and use as much as the road as you need.   

3.  No passing. That is, maintain your position in the group through out the ride.

4.  After the ride has started, please don’t leave the group unless you suffer a breakdown or a medical problem.

5. Each person on the ride is responsible for the rider behind him when making turns.  If you have lost sight of the rider in front of you, continue straight ahead, assuming that he will wait for you at the next turn or change in route number.

6.  While in the curves, ride at a pace that is comfortable for you. When you come out of a curve, use the straightaway to catch up.

7. Do not tailgate.  However, in congested areas, keep the formation tightened up and staggered as much as you safely can as you approach traffic signals so that the group moves through the light as a unit.

 

Now a few notes about the route.

 

1.  This is “critter country” that we’re riding through.  We shouldn’t see many deer during the day, but there are plenty of dogs, cats, raccoons, skunks, foxes, etc., so be alert.  Also, the great Missouri turtle migration starts about this time, so watch for little helmets with legs and avoid them.

2.  There are places where you will see me slow down a bit.  Some are curves where there is always a spray of gravel around.  There are other places where I have often seen deer cross in the past, so if you see me slow down and begin to scan the roadsides, there’s a good reason.

3.  If you need to stop for gas or to pump bilges (an old Navy term) give three long beeps on your horn and I’ll pull over at the next available spot.  We will take breaks about every 60 minutes or so.  The travel distance to Hermann on this route should be about 190 miles.   I have scheduled the fuel stops within a mileage range that should not present a problem.  

 

 Here’s the route for Saturday (220 miles, 5 hours):

 

 

Favorite Rides: Southwest Sojourn

 

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

 

Alamogordo, New Mexico to Tombstone, Arizona

330 miles, about 6 hours

US70, I-10, NM80, AZ80

 

There's something special about the Southwest.  It's hard for people from the more forested regions of the United States to see the inherent beauty within the harsh and unforgiving terrain of the desert.

 

This ride starts in the city of Alamogordo, New Mexico, nestled at the foot of the Sacramento Mountains.  To the west lies the Tularosa Basin which humans inhabited some 11,000 years ago. The city was established in 1898 when the El Paso and Northeastern Railroad extended their line into the area.  The name, Alamogordo, which means "large cottonwood," was inspired by the presence of a grove of the hardy trees.  From the 1940s on, Holloman Air Force Base was the site of aerospace work, including rocket sleds and high-altitude balloon flights.  The two chimpanzees who flew in space, Ham and Enos, were trained here.  That tradition carries on with the New Mexico Museum of Space History.

 

Heading west on US70, you cross the basin and the Rio Grand Rift.  To the north, the forbidding desert called Jornada del Muerto, Journey of the Dead, points your attention to the Trinity site, where the first atomic bomb was detonated.

 

Writer's Block: The Dam of Creativity

From Henry Harvey Books.com

 

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Written Content Only.

 

Every writer, whether accomplished Pulitzer laureate or casual blogger knows intimately the frustration of sitting in front of the computer (or pad and paper) burning with the desire to put words to paper, but cursed with a stubbornly blank brain. It is the curse of this art. One can never predict its onset, but you can almost guarantee a visit from this demon at that moment when a deadline is staring you in the face.

 

There are two basic types of writer's block.  One involves having that juicy idea trying to push it's way out of the brain.  The other is that complete blank best articulated by that oh-so-familiar Windows alert:  "Error 404:  File not found."

According to recent research, there is a part of the brain called the corpus callosum.  This connects the two lobes of the brain, and is thicker in the brains of people who are creative types. The thicker the corpus callosum, the more effective the brain is at synchronizing activities, therefore enhancing the ability to be creative.  Supposedly, the corpus callosum is always the same size.  But every writer will swear on a stack of thesauruses that there are times when the lobal bridge drops its gates completely.

 

For a writer to be successful, it will be necessary to develop strategies to overcome the block.

 

A tour of the Internet turned up dozens of ideas on how to get past the block. I chose the ones I felt were more realistically effective.

 

The first step (and the most important) is to recognize that moment when that virtual cube of granite thunks down upon your desk.  There will always be those moments when a writer searches frantically for a particular word or turn of phrase to best illustrate the point being made.  These are ephemeral momentary interruptions.  But when the ideas come to a halt, or the mind goes completely blank, it's time to act.

 

Don't panic.  Tying your brain up in stressful knots is not likely to help.

 

Get caffeinated.  While I'm the last one to endorse using chemicals to poke the brain, there are times when a cup of coffee or can of soda provides just enough of a spark to light the fires once again.  Also, you might consider having a snack, since low blood sugar and hunger fatigue are notoriously deleterious to creativity.

 

If there is a "have-to-do" intruding on your conscience, go take care of it. Vacuum, put a load in the wash, run the errand, take care of those guilt trips and free yourself.

A Reservoir of Memories Found on a Humid Summer's Night

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

 

After a long and coolish spring, summer has finally arrived here in Northern Virginia.  For the next week or so, temperatures will soar into the mid- to upper-90s with humidity levels for which the word "oppressive" seems utterly inadequate.  There's no real surprise here, just a grim sense that the inevitable has finally arrived.

 

I'm no stranger to this kind of weather.  After all, I grew up in Missouri where this kind of weather is an every day occurrence between the last week in May and the second week in September.  I will admit, however, that seven years spent in the mountains of western Pennsylvania (four, and only four, 90-degree days in that span) has spoiled me.  And last summer around here, as it was for most of the country, was a scorcher.  So while I've started to acclimate again, I still don't have to like it.

 

It's not so bad if you are dressed properly and you have a day when you won't have to be anyplace where a sweaty body is not completely out of place.  However, if you have a job where a coat and tie is still the de rigueur uniform of the day, then weather of this type is a confounded nuisance.  It's terribly difficult to project that cool professional appearance if you look (and feel) like a wet malodorous dishrag.

 

Humidity is a natural consequence of the season, except in the desert.  Shifting weather patterns keep the cool Arctic air locked up far to the north while opening the door to the moisture-laden air mass from the Caribbean.  It is helped along by the contribution of plants and trees which emit not only oxygen but large amounts of water vapor. 

 

I've always disliked this kind of weather, but having dropped 178 pounds in the last five or so years, I can tolerate it much better than before.  I do make adjustments.  Instead of running five miles per day, I power walk 3 to 4 miles, while wearing a camelback reservoir and sunscreen.  Why not exercise inside you ask?  Because, I reply, I hate treadmills even more that humidity.

 

Still, there are aspects of this season to which I've come to a point of reconciliation.

 

Riding a motorcycle in these conditions adds to the already-abundant hazards on the road.  During the day, there is the risk of becoming overheated and dehydrated.  This is especially true if the rider is caught in a traffic jam where sitting in place for an extended period of time exposes one to not only the discomforts of the atmosphere, but the reflected heat from the pavement and the waves of thermal energy emanating from the cars and trucks around the bike.  At night, the sun is gone, but the soupy atmosphere retains much of the heat of the day.  In addition, critters are very active, so the odds of striking a deer, even in the city, are very high.

Favorite Rides: Virginia Byways

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Virginia Byways

US50, Snickersville Turnpike,
VA7, Blue Ridge Mtn. Rd., US17,
VA55, Middleburg. 
70 miles

Virginia encases a lot of history, from the first settlements, The Revolution, War of 1812, Civil War, and on into the modern era.  While many sites are well-known and well-marked, others require sojourns off the main routes onto those quaint country lanes that existed, some as Indian trails, for hundreds of years.

 

West of the busy ‘burbs of Fairfax and Chantilly is an enjoyable loop that has become one of my favorites, and only partly because it’s so close to home. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Heading west on US 50, the transition from city to country overtakes you.  Before you realize it, the forest of newly-built homes and townhouses recedes in the rear view to be replaced by rolling hills, bucolic countryside, and the vast picturesque horse farms that have earned this part of Virginia the descriptor “Hunt Country.”  The first checkpoint is the town of Aldie.  

 

Aldie was established in 1765 when the Mercer brothers established a mill.  It was a natural location, in a gap between Catoctin Mountain to the north and Bull Run Mountain to the south.  It was on the main road between Winchester and Alexandria.  A post office arrived in 1811 and seven years later the Snickersville Turnpike was opened.  In the run-up to the Battle of Gettysburg, a series of skirmishes were fought here between Union cavalry and Mosby’s Rangers, screening the move of Rebel forces into Maryland and eventually Pennsylvania.

 

Favorite Rides: Der Weinstrasse

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

The Weinstrasse

Jefferson City, MO – St. Charles, MO
140 miles, mainly US 50, Routes 100 and 94

 

When the words “Missouri Wine Country” are spoken, most people react with a blank stare, and if they’re from Napa, California, outright derision.  But as John Adams once remarked, “Facts are stubborn things.”  And the facts are these.  

 

German settlers arrived in the area around 1801.  The soil was rich, but the abundant hills in the area made agriculture difficult, but proved to ideal for viticulture.  The first commercial grapes were grown prior to 1850.  Napa got its start about 10 years later.  Up till Prohibition, Missouri was actually the second largest wine producer in the United States.  When the 21^st Amendment was ratified, the vintner industry throughout the U.S. was pretty much destroyed.  It wasn’t until the 1960s that the industry began to rebuild itself.

 

The Federal Government, recognizing the rebirth and vibrancy of American vintners, in 1983 began to establish American Viticultural Areas.  The first one was in Missouri, not California.

 

Start this trek in Missouri’s capital city, Jefferson City, the only American capitol city not on an interstate highway.  Head east on US 50 for just under 15 miles to the town of Loose Creek.  There you take a left on County Route A. 

The next 6.5 miles is sheer motorcycle joy.  Route A has several deeply-dished right-angle turns, most of which have excellent visibility all the way through.  Hazards here include critters and farm vehicles.  Route A ends as you coast down a steep hill into Bonnots Mill.  It’s a quiet town, somewhat quaint, lying along the Osage River, which parallels the Missouri River just before joining the Big Muddy just east of town.  If you want a meal (and it’s after 3:00 p.m.) Johnny Mac’s Bar and Grill fills the bill.  Known for their barbecue, the rest of the menu, while unremarkable, is all good, tasty stuff.  If you just need a cool drink, there’s a grocery store with a large and inviting veranda owned by some of the friendliest people you’ll ever meet.

Favorite Rides: Arizona Mountains and Canyons

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Arizona Mountains and Canyons

Route 89/89A
Start: Congress, AZ
End: Flagstaff, AZ
Miles: 130

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

People who think of Arizona as being the exclusive home to sandy desert are woefully uninformed.  This route, first ridden by me on a 5000-mile sojourn through the Southwest, starts in the desert northwest of Phoenix.  The first challenge is a collection of twisties known locally as the Yarnell Hill.  Unfortunately, riders aren’t the only ones who know about this.  Law enforcement, undoubtedly drawn by the high number of motorcycle accidents, patrol this stretch heavily.  It’s still twisty enough, however, to have fun at the legal limit.  The road flattens and straightens until just past Wilhoit.  You begin to ascend, bending and twisting as you go.  Things get interesting as you cross Copper Creek.  The turns get tighter as you get into the mountains.  Then things ease off as you coast into Prescott (pronounced “Prescutt”).  Continuing north, you take Route 89A as it splits off towards the east.  After a few miles of flat desert, you begin to ascend again towards Jerome.  The road, following the mountains, begins to twist and coil again.  This gets a bit hairy, since there are places where guardrails should be, but aren’t. Shoulders are narrow, if they exist at all, and prone to patches of gravel and chunks of rock.

 

You enter the historic mining town of Jerome on Clark Street, which narrows down considerably.  The street descends into the downtown area via a number of tight hairpins.  This area is reminiscent of San Francisco’s Lombard Street.  The town is interesting and worth a short visit.  Leaving Jerome, the road gives you one more good switchback before straightening out as you descend into Cottonwood.  After some more time in the desert, you glide into Sedona, the jewel of Arizona.  Dramatic buttes jut into the skyline going into town.  This is a tourist area, so watch for traffic not watching you.  Sedona is filled with art galleries and energy vortices (no, I don’t know what they are) and is an interesting and entertaining place to spend some time.

 

Civil War: Events of July 1863

The pivotal Battle of Gettysburg opened on July 1st as 2,500 Union cavalry led by John Buford fought a delaying action against 20,000 Confederates under Henry Heth.  Buford, using the high volume of fire provided by the cavalry carbine (12 shots per minute versus 1-2 for a musket) and two ridges northwest of the town, successfully fought a delaying action, allowing time for John Reynold's 1st Corps to arrive and deploy.  They were soon joined by Oliver Howard's 11th Corps.  But four strong Rebel forces joined Heth. When Robert Rodes' and Jubal Early's divisions attacked from the northeast, turning Howard's flank, the 11th Corps, as they did at Chancellorsville two months earlier, broke and ran.  Reynold's had been killed by a sniper and command had passed to Abner Doubleday, who did a commendable job.  But with 11th Corps' collapse, 1st Corps' flank was left hanging and Doubleday was forced to withdraw into the town.  As the Union troops took possession of Cemetary and Culp's Hills south of the town, General Winfield Hancock, sent by Meade after Reynold's death, took command.  Lee provided discretionary orders to Richard Ewell to take Cemetary Hill, but Ewell, citing exhausted troops, declined.  It proved to be a missed opportunity that turned the battle.

The second day, July 2nd, saw Union forces deployed in a fish hook-shaped defensive line defined by the two hills in the north with the shank running south along Cemetary Ridge to two round-topped hills in the south.  During the day, more Union forces arrived, five corps altogether and were deployed along the top of the ridge.  This was the high ground that Buford saw on June 30th, that he predicted would determine the result of the battle.  The Confederate battle plan was to attack both flanks, but delays were incurred as James Longstreet waited for more troops to arrive.  During this delay, Union General Dan Sickles, a political power from New York City, decided that the assigned position for his 2nd Corps was unsatisfactory.  Without telling Meade, Sickles ordered his men off the ridge and down into the valley, anchoring on a field of massive boulders named Devil's Den.  By the time Meade found out and ordered Sickles to redeploy, Longstreet had finally commenced his attack.  He was able to turn the flank of the 2nd Corps.  Union troops held the hills in the north and thanks to timely decisions by Gouvenor Warren, and heroic stands by the 1st Minnesota and 20th Maine, among others, the rebel surge in the south was turned back.  Meanwhile, Jeb Stuart, acting on an extraordinarily liberal interpretation of Lee's orders, had embarked on another glory ride, seeking to ride around the Union army as he had done once before.  Therefore the job of intelligence collection which cavalry was supposed to be doing was not done, leaving Lee in the dark about enemy forces.

On July 3rd, Lee opened his final attack with a massive artillery barrage that lasted for nearly two hours.  The din from the 170 Confederate cannon and the counter-battery fire from Union artillery was said to have been heard as far away as Pittsburgh.  However, the barrage failed in it's intent, to drive Union artillery away and blast a hole in the center of the Union line.  12,000 Confederate troops, led by General George Pickett moved out of the tree line and advanced across a mile of open field, bisected by a double fence line along the Emmitsburg Road.  The southerner's, keeping tight disciplined lines, marched bravely into a blizzard of shot and shell from Union artillery in front and on either flank, and two corps of infantry ensconced behind a protective stone wall.  Despite the bad odds, incredibly the Rebel troops actually pierced the Union line.  Hancock's close friend, Confederate General Louis Armistead, was mortally wounded inside the Union line, minutes before Hancock himself was wounded.  But Lee had committed all his troops to the attack and had no reserves with which to exploit the breakthrough.  Union reserves, ordered into the line, pushed the Confederates back.  Lee lost almost 60% of his attacking force.  While this fight was ongoing, Jeb Stuart's cavalry, finally back from their ride, attempted a pincer attack towards the back side of the Union position.  His troopers were met by a numerically inferior Union cavalry force that, despite their low numbers, ferociously charged and engaged Stuart, resulting in a rare southern defeat.  One of the officers leading that Union charge was one George Armstrong Custer.  That night, with his army in shambles, Lee made the decision to withdraw southward.  Lee's invasion of the North was over.

Civil War: Events of June 1863

On June 1st, Union General Ambrose Burnside ordered the Chicago Tribune to cease publication because of the newspaper's vitriolic anti-Lincoln writings.  President Lincoln, on the 4th, suggested lifting the ban, and Secretary of War Edwin Stanton orders Burnside to lift the ban.

Robert E. Lee broke camp near Fredericksburg, VA and began moving his army westward towards the Shenandoah Valley.

On June 7th, Confederate General John Walker led a force in an attempt to break Union supply in an attempt to break the siege of Vicksburg, resulting in the Battle of Milliken's Bend.  The force, although initially successful, was met by black Union troops who fought the Rebels to a standstill, and when supported by fire from two Union gunboats, forced the Rebels to withdraw.

Two days later, Union General Alfred Pleasanton met Confederate General Jeb Stuart in what was the largest cavalry battle on American soil at Brandy Station.  For the first time in the war, Stuart, the flamboyant Virginia cavalier, was surprised not once, but twice during the battle.  Stuart could have been decisively defeated, but Pleasonton, maneuvering with great caution, failed to take advantage of his opportunities and at the end of the day, his force, although outnumbering his opponents, retired from the field.

June 11th saw the beginning of Morgan's Raid, a Confederate cavalry incursion of Kentucky, Ohio, and Indiana.

As the Army of Northern Virginia moved north on it's invasion of the North, the Union garrison at the strategically important Winchester, VA lay in their path.  Waiting too long to act, the Union commander, Robert Milroy, was surrounded by Rebel forces under Richard Ewell.  In the ensuing attack, all of the approximately 6000 Bluecoats were either killed or captured.  The way into Pennsylvania lay open.

Cooperstown and the Fulfillment of a Childhood Dream

The Babe

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

I have always been cursed by that nomadic condition popularly referred to as "itchy feet," meaning every so often a feeling of irresistable restlessness overcomes my sense of duty and responsibility.  The only cure for this condition is a road trip.  On a motorcycle.

For the last several weeks, I have been flipping through road atlases and trying out various destinations on Google Maps.  I had initially decided to ride the Blue Ridge Parkway down to its Cherokee, NC terminus, then a quick trip over to ride the Dragon at Deal's Gap and home.  Two problems arose.  First of all, time.  Such a sojourn would require, if done right, at least 5 days.  That means five nights in a motel, five days worth of meals, and five days (and 1,200 miles) on a motorcycle.  In the past this hasn't presented much of a problem.  Things have changed.

Due to Lap Band surgery and a lot of effort I've lost 176 pounds over the past several years.  Thank you.  While I'm delighted at the results, I still have about 40 pounds to go before I get to what the Doctor says should be my ideal weight, so now is not the time to rest on my laurels.  The lost tonnage has left me with a surfeit of skin, which when I sit down naturally bunches up like an off-the-rack suit.  I can tolerate most seats, but for some reason, the deeply-dished cruiser seat on my Vulcan 900 is particularly painful after only a couple of hours.  Plus, the old man's curse (prostate) is beginning to take effect, forcing me into restrooms at frequent intervals.  Adding those two limitations together, I could only hope to endure 5 or 6 hours in the saddle, translating to less than 300 miles per day.  I had planned to take such a trip while my wife was visiting her family in Hawaii, but there is a lot of rain forecast for the entire eastern side of the country for the time she will be gone.

Faced with those hurdles, I scaled back my plans a bit and thought more about a shorter trip. 

One evening, I was listening to an internet broadcast of my favorite team, the woeful, hapless, helpless and eternally frustrating Kansas City Royals.  My mind was drifting a bit, and I thought about how I had always wanted to visit the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY.  Checking the distance on Google Maps, I saw that it was about 375 miles, one way from Northern Virginia.  I made the decision right there.  I was going to the Hall.

My Day in History

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

 

In checking some history-related websites, it would seem I share my birthday with some interesting events from the past.

 

1430 - Joan of Arc captured by the Burgundians.

1609 – Ratification of the second charter of Virginia

1701 – The famous pirate Captain William Kidd hung for murder

1788 – South Carolina ratifies the U.S. constitution, becoming the 8^th state.

1829 – The Accordion was patented.

1846 – Mexico declares war on the U.S.

1873 – The Northwest Mounted Police, which became Canada’s famed RCMP was established.

1911 – New York public library was dedicated.

1934 – Italy’s most prominent anti-mafia judge, Giovanni Falcone, his wife and security detail were killed by a bomb.

1995 – Java is born.

1998 – The Good Friday Accords were accepted by referendum in Northern Ireland, bringing an end to the violence referred to as "The Troubles."

 There were some noteworthy people who also were born on May 23:

1052 – Philip I of France

1848 – Otto Lilienthal, German aviation pioneer.

1883 - Douglas Fairbanks, American actor.

1910 – Scatman Crothers,  famous American singer and dancer.

1910 – Artie Shaw, legendary swing band leader.

1928 – Rosemary Clooney

1933 – Joan Collins

1934 – Robert Moog, inventor of the Moog synthesizer.

1944 – John Newcombe, Australian tennis player.

1950 – Martin McGuinness, Irish Republican activist and insurgent.

1956 – Buck Showalter, baseball manager.

1958 – Mitch Albom, author.

1958 - Drew Carey

1974 – Ken Jennings, he of "Jeopardy" fame.



Another Year Older, Another Year...

Copyright ©2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Today is my birthday.

58 years ago on a muggy Tennessee morning, my parents rushed to the Henry County Hospital in Paris where around 5 a.m., I made my appearance.  My Mom told me I was 7 pounds 6 ounces of barrel-chested noise and would make a career out of ruining her dresses by barfing on her shoulder.

I must have had an unremarkable early childhood, since very few anecdotes ever survived those years.  One, however, was probably typical.

We were in church and I was being restless and noisy -- I think I was about 3 or 4 -- and having pushed Mom and the other church goers to the limits of their patience, she picked me up and took me out.  When I realized that justice was about to be administered, I yelled out -- in the middle of the sermon no less -- "Mommy, don't 'pank me!  I be good!"

She later described it as the single most mortifying moment she ever experienced in church.

58 years.  I never ever thought I could be this old.  When I was in my 20's I knew men who were in their 50's and 60's and they seemed to me to be...well, ancient.  But that's how it is when you're a young man.  You are invincible and will be forever strong and vital.  Bob Seger's song "Like a Rock" is a perfect expression of those halcyon years...

"Stood there bold

Sweatin' in the sun

I felt like a million

Felt like Number One

The height of summer

I'd never felt that strong

Like a rock.

I was eighteen

Didn't have a care

Workin' for peanuts

Not a dime to spare

And I was lean and solid everywhere

Like a rock."

This morning, as I eased into wakefulness, I thought about the past.  Through my mind rolled memories of decisions I should have made and those I shouldn't have; the choices that defined the path of what has become my life.  That's the way it is, though.  When we're young, we always look to the future.  Beyond a certain age, we think more and more about our past.  There are regrets, to be sure.  But from the standpoint of this stormy Northern Virginia morning, I found it hard to imagine, or even desire a different fate.

Wisdom is the combination of bad choices and their consequences.  It's accumulation is rarely without pain.  What have I learned from this life of mine?

The "So What?" of Being Happy

From natcom.org

Copyright ©2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Written content only

Consider these two different conversations:

"Hey, how are you?"

"Great! Couldn't be better!"

"Super! See you later!"

Or...

"Hey, how are you?"

"Not good. My life has really gone south."

"Come on. Let me buy you a cup of coffee."

"Thanks."

Human beings are prey for the roller coaster ride that constitutes our emotions. We can either be joyous, or sad, or living one of those grey days where one floats noncommitally inbetween.

We get brief glimpses of each other's lives during those moments we are thrown together to share a common space for a short time, usually an elevator ride. Occasionally, I take the time to scan the faces I see, trying to gage their mood. I do this surreptitously, and never regularly. Staring at a stranger in in an elevator, after all, is guaranteed to creep that person out. I'm also inclined tro listen to the conversations around me. I'm amazed at just how empty and hollow such exchanges can be. We ask "How are you?" without a shred of any real intent of wanting to know. We answer those vacant inquiries with equally vacant responses. We ask and answer to be polite, not to care.

But there are those other conversations, like the second one I outlined above. Not everyone is going to respond with that kind of compassion. Usually, it's a "sorry about that" tossed back with the inflection that really communicates the message "It sucks to be you."

We like to hear good news. But it is the bad news that really seems to grab our attentions.

Nuts and Bolts and the Future of Medicine

Luke and his trusted physician.

From Redfordfilms.com

 

Copyright ©2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Written content only.

 

 

My mind can at times be a rather strange place. It can be a space where random thoughts seem to sail out of nowhere to bounce off the walls before disappearing into the unknown.  To normal people, this can be a bit distracting.  For a writer, it's an invaluable creative tool.

 

It was a dark and stormy night.  No, really.  A slow-moving low pressure center had brought a week's worth of rain to this part of Virginia.  As a result, the motorcycle stayed indoors while my SUV got a week's worth of driving exercise.  I had finished work and was on the way home around midnight.  The traffic was thankfully light, so my mind began to free-associate.  Thoughts flew by, some fully-formed, others mere unidentifiable pixels.  At one point, a rather robust idea presented itself, one worthy of exploration and contemplation.

 

Star Wars has grown beyond mere entertainment to become a cultural icon.  The impact of George Lucas' cinematic tome has expanded to global proportions.  An interesting measuring stick of that influence lies in the number of people, world-wide, who claim to be adherents to the Jedi religion.  According to British census figures, Jedi-ism is now the leading alternative religion, and the 7th largest religion in the U.K.  Australia boasts as many as 70,000 adherents.  New Zealand reports some 53,000 claimants.

 

I don't know if this was what George had in mind when he penned the trilogy.

 

As I have written previously, I've always held a fascination with space and the possibilities of space travel, so things like Star Wars and Star Trek have long held a warm place in my memory banks.  But on that rainy night in Northern Virginia, a cogent thought brought forth a new realization.

 

Walking a Battlefield

Walking in the path of Pickett at Gettysburg

 

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Except quoted portions.,

 

"It was here.

The battlefield was here.

The Carthaginians defending the city were attacked

by three Roman legions.

The Carthaginians were proud and brave, but they couldn't hold.

They were massacred.

Arab women stripped them of their tunics, and their swords and lances.

The soldiers lay naked in the sun.

Two thousand years ago.

I was here."

--From the movie "Patton"

 

In what was one of the spookier moments from the classic biopic of General George S. Patton, Jr., the General stands on what was an ancient battlefield and describes what happened from the perspective of an eyewitness.  Whether such a battle ever really happened, or this was another one of the theatrical performances Patton had a penchant for, or even if the entire scene was a Hollywood creation isn't really clear.  What is clear, however, is the effect the spectre of battle had on him.

 

I've always been a kind of amateur historian.  I enjoy looking back into the past in the attempt to learn more about the events that shaped their future, which became my present.  In that research, I've tried to not only glean the dry facts of dates, names, places, and events, but to somehow use my admittedly overactive imagination to try to place myself in the shoes, boots, or sandals of the participants.  Previous visits to places like Pearl Harbor, Nagasaki, and other historical sites have made that effort easier by becoming familiar with the actual landscape where such events took place.  One of my favorite scenes from the movie "National Treasure" is when the protagonists bring the purloined Declaration of Independence to Philadelphia, unrolling the ancient document inside Independence Hall.  At one point, Nicholas Cage's character takes a breath and says, "The last time this document was here, it was being signed." 

 

Moving to Virginia has brought many of our nation's significant historical sites to within a day's drive of our home.  In recent years, my interest in the Civil War has inspired trips to battlefield sights in Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia.  The first trip was a day-long visit to Gettysburg.  I hadn't really studied the battle, so the tour didn't have much of an impact.  However, by the second trip, I had read several books and articles and had reached the level of knowledge where I could stand on Little Round Top and pretty much recount the entire three days of the battle.

 

One can read about the action on the third day, commonly called Pickett's Charge, how Lee ordered a mass assault on the center of the Union line, hoping that the previous days battles on either flank had weakened the Union forces.  In actuality, the Union lines along Cemetary ridge had been reinforced with troops, and fortified with a lot of artillery.  So when Pickett led his men out of the trees along Seminary ridge and up that long slope, they were subjected to massive cannonades and the concentrated fire of the Union troops safely ensconced behind a protective stone wall.  The amazing thing is that the charge was nearly successful.  Despite massive casualties, the Southerners broke the line in the center.  But the Union commander, Hancock, had reserves to contain and reject the breakthrough. Lee, having committed all of his available troops, had no reserves to exploit the break.  The Southern units were decimated, and Lee, having lost the battle, pulled out that night and fled for the safety of Virginia.

 

That Drug Called "Running"

From Navyrunning.com

Copyright 2013 © by Ralph Couey

Written content only

One morning last June, I awoke from my slumbers somehow imbued with a particularly striking sense of motivation bordering on compulsion.  Somehow during the nighttime hours, my brain had been rewired.  I knew it was time to start moving.

The night before had been fairly typical.  I returned home from work just after midnight, removed and hung up my motorcycle gear, and went upstairs.  After my customary bowl of fat-free sugar-free pudding (Yeah, yeah I know.  Why bother?), I went to bed.  Maybe there was something in that particular batch of pudding, or perhaps it was a culmination of the latent restlessness I had been feeling.  I had just finished six months of hard physical therapy, relieving some unbelievably sharp and relentless pain.  Coinciding with that event was a visit with my cardiologist who, after my last heart incident, had pronounced me ready to undertake physical exercise.

Whatever it was hit me like a linebacker on that warm and muggy morning.  I packed some workout clothes and went to work early, hitting the gym on my arrival.

That first few weeks was fairly simple, walking on a treadmill.  I started with one mile, then increased to two, then three.  Once there, I began to drop in periods of running, beginning with one minute, then 3, then 5, and so on until I was able to go non-stop for 20 minutes.  This was all done inside, of course, since the summer of 2012 was singularly hot.  But in September the temperatures finally broke, the humidity dropped off, and I took my show to the open road.

Baseball and My Childhood Memories

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph Couey

Written content only.

Pictures culled from the Internet, mostly MLB, Topps, and various media outlets.

My memories of childhood, now five decades in the rear-view mirror, have become a jumble of disjointed snippets; moments of one day or another that for some reason stubbornly remain locked in some seldom-used cluster of neurons.  Looking back, I catch glimpses of the American west going by outside the windows of a 1964 Ford Falcon.  At some point, we must have had a picnic or two, although I don't think I could tell you where they happened.  It's frustrating that so many of those good memories seem to exist only in partial images, the edges heavily pixilated, while others seem to have disappeared for good.

But the memories that remain most vivid are those which revolved around baseball.

I left the game for a number of years for various reasons.  My favorite team, the Royals, haven't been competitive in almost 30 years.  Players around the league jumped teams so often that it was hard to keep rosters straight in my mind.  Baseball became, at least in my mind, a business instead of a game.

In the last couple of years, however, I find that more and more, I'm coming back.  I'm much more apt to look for a game on TV and watch, even if only for a few innings.

But the game has changed, of that there can be no denying.  The basics are still there, as "Nuke" LaLoosh from "Bull Durham" once opined, "It's a simple game,  You throw the ball, you catch the ball, you hit the ball.  Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose.  Sometimes, it rains."

The change I see the most is the uniforms, at least how they're worn.  In the 1960's the players wore flannel, instead of cool, ventilated double-knits.  I don't care how tough the modern ballplayer thinks he is, but if you trotted out onto the field under a blazing sun and in oppressive humidity in St. Louis in July and played a double header wearing those flannel suits, you were the man.  The other thing I miss is the old white socks and stirrups.  Today, of course, players mostly wear the pants long and baggy, with the back of the cuff hooked on one of the heel spikes.  I'm sorry, call me an old fud, but that looks way too...well...sloppy to me.

But what I remember the most are the teams, and the players who called those cities home for nearly their entire careers.  There was stability on those teams. You could turn on the game, or go to the stadium knowing who was going to be on the field.  Of course it was the oppressive nature of the infamous Reserve Clause that created that stability -- and also vastly limited the same professional mobility for players that anybody else in private industry had.  Salaries were much lower.  I remember being surprised at the number of players who had to take part-time jobs in the off-season just to make ends meet.  So with the good, there was also some (invisible to me) bad.

In the early to mid-'60's, we lived in the Kansas City area, which meant suffering through season after miserable season with the Athletics.  Dressed vividly in Kelly green and gold uniforms, they consistantly finished at the bottom of the American League pile (no divisions back then).  Still, the team had players I enjoyed watching, like Dick Green, the marvelously smooth and wide-ranging second basemen.  Third basemen Ed Charles, centerfielder Rocky Colavito (at least for the one season he was there), first basemen Ken "Hawk" Harrelson, my favorite nickname, and Mike Hershberger, the right fielder with a cannon-like right arm. 

        The Rock...     

     
   ...and The Hawk

Lap Band Update - 15 Months Down a Rocky Road

                                            Old Me                                          Current Me

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph Couey

First off, I want to apologize to those readers who visited this blog to read about my experience with the Lap Band, post-surgery.  I went through some months of upheaval and change, which not only affected what had been regular reporting on this issue, but my ability to produce any essays.

I had the surgery in January of 2011.  My recovery and subsequent new life was uneventful, at least from a medical stand point.  Of course, I lost weight, as the stark difference between the two pictures above attests.  For the raw numbers, at my worst point prior to surgery, I had ballooned up to in excess of 390 pounds.  After yet another heart incident, I dropped about 35 pounds pretty much on my own, but gained back 10, then lost another 40.  Prior to the surgery, I was put on a "prove you want to really lose weight" diet which got me down to 320  Once I had the surgery, the weight fell off rapidly for the first 60 pounds or so.  Then, my world turned upside down.

My day job, an intelligence analyst with a small Justice Department unit went away when the agency was closed for budgetary reasons.  Fortunately, the Department stepped up big time and eventually I signed on with another DOJ organization which neccesitated a move from Pennsylvania to the Northern Virginia suburbs of Washington DC.   In the process, we sold our home in PA, taking a huge monetary bath in the transaction which pretty much wiped out our savings.  We moved into an extended stay motel in Virginia for a few months while we searched for a permanent place to live. 

That search involved looking at (by actual count) 73 properties, which were either too expensive, too old, or in need of way too much work.  We were shell-shocked by the prices of some of these places which could only have been described as dumps. 

So, we decided to buy into a new neighborhood of townhomes.  It was a good decision because (once we had adjusted our financial glasses) it was within our budget, we could get the features we wanted, and it was in an area that was experiencing significant growth.  That process, though, was fraught with tensions and stresses, as we learned quickly that we had to keep a close eye on what was going on at the site because the builders were "forgetting" to install and build things we had ordered. 

My new job was turning out to be a difficult one to digest and execute, and while they have been more than patient, dealing with the less-than-perfect results of my work in an arena where errors can be measured in human lives gave me many a sleepless night.

We had some family crises during this trial, with which I won't burden you here. 

This sequence of events left both of us stressed to the point of exhaustion.  I found that I was unconsciously going back to my old habits of stress eating.  Now, I didn't gain any weight back, mind you, I just wasn't losing it any more.  I got stuck bouncing between 245 and 250 pounds.  It was during this period that I developed an exquisitely painful pinched nerve in my back which left me unable to do much other than lay down.  I started taking liquid ibuprophen, but developed a sore spot in my "new" stomach. I underwent six months of difficult physical therapy before the pain eased to the point where I could begin to function again.

"The Sky is Falling! The Sky is Falling!"

The Chelyabinsk Surprise

From Pravda.ru

Copyright © 2013 by Ralph F. Couey

Written content only.

Earth has been visited lately, not by aliens in flying saucers, but rocks of varying sizes the appearance of which has caused quite a stir.  That earth gets hit is not really news.  Several thousand objects collide with our atmosphere each day, most the size of a grain of sand.  A few are larger, perhaps baseball-sized.  Once a week on average Earth receives a rock about the size of a house.  Most burn up in the atmosphere, the larger ones lighting up the sky.  The American Meteor Society website lists reports of fireballs happening virtually every day.  Damage from these is non-existent to slight.  But lately, it seems that the sky has gotten much busier.

March 22^nd, a rock estimated to be 3 feet wide lit up the skies over the eastern U.S., generating sighting reports from 13 states.  On the night of March 16^th, another fireball created by a rock of as-yet unknown size was seen over North and South Carolina, and Tennessee.  While all this was going on, Comet Pan-STARRS was painting its tail across our planet’s skies. 

Of course, everyone remembers the bomb over Chelyabinsk, Russia on February 15^th.  This 45-foot-wide rock exploded before hitting the ground, causing wide-spread damage and inflicting injuries on some 1,500 people.  This was the same day that an expected visitor, a 150-footer called DA14, passed just above our atmosphere, below the altitude of our communication satellites.  Scientists knew this one was coming, but the Chelyabinsk rock surprised everyone.

In the skies over Earth’s southern half, Pan-STARRS was accompanied by another cosmic snowball, Comet Lemmon.  But the real…um…”star” of the show will be Comet ISON, which is expected to become visible in late November, and is predicted to be the brightest comet seen by anyone alive today.  That’s exciting news.  The last visible comet to fly by was Hale-Bopp 15 years ago.  They’re rare events to be sure.  To have three visible to humans in one year is amazing.

There’s also a troubling aspect to be considered.