Horror for Horror’s sake: Not

Having just watched the original Frankenstein and The Bride of Frankenstein I realized great horror is timeless. More importantly the tales of the undead shed light upon the human condition, our humanity or lack of it. Ironically enough, the Frankenstein monster turns out to be more human than its creator or any of us for that matter.

Great horror does more than just frighten and entertain the reader. It should also enlighten. I have written four extremely dark and gruesome novels, all with truckloads of gore and imagery that is hard to shake. But is that the story? No, far from it. All of my writing has a firm foundation in friendship, honor and the golden rule. Do unto others as you would have them do for you. Without it the story falls apart. My protagonists are not pillars of society, but rather part of the evil that writhes through the pages. They eat, burp, shit, doubt themselves and basically have all the frailties of everyman. The antagonist, my monster, is more the darker side of humanity than some slime dripping creature with insane teeth. Greed, ignorance, envy, power and hatred are far more haunting than what lurks beneath your bed.

The horror hits home when the reader sees himself reflected in evil. We all have a little of it in us and once you get a glimpse, a certain morbid curiosity compels you to keep reading. Like a zit in the morning mirror, you have to look close, taking in the disgusting details before the final squeeze. Splat! Yes, we are that freaky as people.

My characters are human thrust in to a super human situation. It is who we are, not what, that makes the leap of believability of my novels that much easier. Of course it doesn’t hurt that first few pages set a cruel hook and you won’t be released until the final pages are finished. The pace is wicked and action non-stop and gore, over the top. But it is not horror for horror’s sake. The violence and blood-drenched scenes serve a purpose. But remove them and you’ve torn the heart out of the work. It is the nature of the beast.

The readers of horror novels are probably the best judge of what works and what doesn’t. Thus far the ‘anoxic zone’ series and my new breakaway novel, ‘Out of Stone,’ have received the nod of approval from readers and reviewers around the world. I will admit to being criticized a few times for excessive violence and the use of disturbing imagery. I stand guilty on all accounts. Only the readers can sentence me for what I have done. At this point I can live with the verdict. They would like some more.

Tired of pablum horror? Sink your teeth in to something that might bite back!
Check out the links below.

www.promotehorror.com/2013/04/out-of-stone.html

 http://www.blackwaterbooks.com

Aloha john g

OUT OF STONE: Reviews and feedback

 

With my latest novel Out of Stone in print for the last few months, fans and professional reviewers are having their say about it. Though not one to pat myself on the back, I have to say I’m pretty stoked about what is being said.

Nick Buchan, from Australia, wrote an excellent review – check it out at: 

www.nickbuchan.com/horror/out-of-stone-john-g-rees

Out of Stone was the first independently published book Nick took the time to critique. I’m happy to say he wasn’t disappointed.

 

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  Yes, Out of Stone is perhaps my darkest work yet. My father-in-law, Jack, had a rough time with it. Okay – he’s 80 plus years old and not exactly my demographic, but disturbing prose and imagery knows no age limit.

  Having built a strong group of readers with my first three novels, it was with some trepidation in getting the fourth out there. My writing pushes the envelope and you never know if you’ve gone too far.

  Out of Stone is also my second book that has a woman as the main protagonist. Halocline was the first. In fact, a character that we meet in Halocline is the lead in Out of Stone. Funny how things work out. Though related to the ‘anoxic zone’ series, Out of Stone is a stand alone novel. It is not necessary to read the previous novels to appreciate this one. But it does help and you will get a few more of the jokes and inside dish.

  When writing Out of Stone, it seemed, at the time, to be a lighter work. Less violence, drug use, coffee, and cigarettes does not mean less of a story. Oh, there is more than enough of the above to satisfy anyone, but I really tap into the darkness on this one and that’s when it gets freaky. In an attempt to lessen the rampant gore, I found pathways into the fiendish nature that lies within us all. When you see a little of yourself in the evil I have created, that means I have done my job. Having your mind blown is more frightening than having your head blown off.

  With the first edition of Out Of Stone available in paperback and all of the e-pubs, we at Black Water Books can take a breath, but only one because the work of writing and publishing is never-ending. With reviews coming in, we will be doing a second edition in the next few months, incorporating some comments into the cover and, having found a few errors in the first edition, re-editing the novel. It happens. No one is perfect and my readers deserve the best I can deliver.

  As this is being written, new reviews have popped up on Amazon.

www.amazon.com/Out-Stone-john-g-rees/product-reviews/0983192073/

Each touched on different aspects of the novel; all of them positive and a few so ‘spot on’ it is scary. These should help inspire you to pick up a copy and the story itself won’t let you put the book down. It is that good!

  Again thanks to everyone who helped to make Out of Stone a nightmarish reality.

  The only way to really understand what I’m saying is to read the book.

  Check it out at www.blackwaterbooks.com/Out_Of_Stone.html

Aloha, john g

 

 

 

Cooking with Blood…

ImageWell, all right. We at Black Water Books are pretty stoked after receiving several reviews on my new novel, Out Of Stone. It seems I’ve done it again with phrases like, ’where does he get this stuff?’ and ‘Couldn’t put the book down…’. Plus my favorite, ‘You’re a sick f*ck john g.’ If you have read any of my previous works I’m sure you would agree.

Out Of Stone begins with a brief introduction of our main character, Sechra. A skeleton version of her backstory reacquaints with her twenty years later.

With the stage set and your mind already a bit twisted by her childhood experiences the tale plunges into the macabre tapestry of her destiny. Legends of ancient Romania and allegoricals far more recent are woven into the fabric. The threads of the lives of others, the why and how’s are sewn into the background of our understanding.

Of course, as happens in most of my work there is a shadowed history lesson too. The dark ages of Eastern Europe are about as bleak a time for mankind as it gets. Yes we get to go there and live for a while. This trip is strange yet familiar. Man’s in humanity to his fellow man are timeless. Be thankful it’s only a book.

As books go this one rips and you’ll be turning the pages as fast as you can eat it up. It has been brought to my attention that there are a few minor editing issues. Reading a raw manuscript it’s not. Out Of Stone is neither under done nor over cooked. I consider Out Of Stone seared. Burnt on the outside and bloody on the inside. Personally I’d bring a knife and fork. Enjoy the feast!!!

Available online at www.blackwaterbooks.com/Out_Of_Stone.html
Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/Out-Stone-john-g-rees/dp/0983192073
and other fine places!

‘Out Of Stone’ Rocks!

Out Of Stone by john g rees
Out Of Stone by john g rees

My new book ‘Out of Stone’ continues the saga of the epic ‘anoxic zone’ series. Twenty years have gone by since we last met Karuna and were introduced to the child Sechra. Jake and Johnny have left the scene along with their arch nemesis, Vlad Tepes III. To say they took evil with them would be a lie. You cannot battle against darkness and expect to win.

History will not repeat itself within these pages. You, my dear reader, deserve far better than that. Tepes is just a pawn in evil’s chess game. The game is young, with more disturbing, more powerful pieces yet to move. ‘Out Of Stone’ is one of those moves.

Two supporting characters in ‘Halocline’ have been forced into play. Whether by chance or fate, it is hard to say, but for Sechra and Karuna the game turns exceptionally ugly.

Sechra’s innocence was torn from her at an early age. In a moment of hatred, desperation, and fear she opened her little soul story to the breath of darkness. Unknown to Sechra and those she loved this darkness, this evil directed her, guiding her to become a master sculptor. After a series of frightening and unsettling experiences, Sechra must take a treacherous journey by motorcycle deep into the mountains of the Transylvanian Alps. A dark fate awaits her.

Karuna, in her love for the child she raised, must reach passed the darkness within her own soul if she wishes to save Sechra from a fate worse than death. Sometimes love is not enough.

‘Out of Stone’ is a challenging, disturbing search to discover what will happen when Sechra finishes her final sculpture!

Enjoy!

OUT OF STONE: the New Novel

Having spread my soul wide open to the cutting edge of the editor, endured the ruthless attack on the manuscript, I have survived. A little shredded perhaps, humbled to be certain, yet more or less intact. My new editor, Martin Coffee, did an excellent job cleaning up some horrendous grammar (you want a real horror story you should see my uncorrected proofs – now that’s scary), kept the characters where they belong, righted my wrongs, and got most of the jokes. You can always tell whether someone is really reading your story or just correcting. Not put off by the vulgarity and some of the over the top graphic descriptions, Martin Coffee read it. He also liked the story, a lot!  So much so it has inspired him to read my previous works. ‘Right on, Martin!’

  Receiving your edited manuscript back comes with a frightening thrill. Incorporating the changes and editorial suggestions brings the work into its full dimension, cleans it up, and in general makes the novel ready for you to read. Editing is a milestone in the publishing process. It is the end of one phase and the beginning of another.

With this publication we are pursuing some of the tricks used by the big publishers. Advance copies of the novel have been sent to top horror reviewers in the country, Colleen Wanglund and Jeff Padget. These folk know good horror when they see it and they won’t let some palsy imitation sneak through. For me they are an acid test that could wind up in my face, because they tell it like it is. I hold confident. Their reviews will be part of our promotional package and be published in the book with their permission.

The story line holds, the action intense, character development full, and enough blood and mayhem to make one of my readers, R, miss some sleep. She can no longer read the story before bed. I like. R is vastly intelligent and highly critical and will have no qualms about giving me shock treatment if I have pulled any punches. R will also have her thoughts about the story published along with Colleen Wanglund and Jeff Padget.

Very soon the manuscript will be sent to Danil Mugaliev for final formatting into book form, for both hard copy and e-editions. We have worked with him on anoxic zone, Halocline, and Black Tide and look forward to his expertise and suggestions. It was his idea to use the syringes for chapter separation in anoxic zone. A very clever man.

Speaking of, we will also be using Mohamed Sadath for our cover design as well this time. His creativity on all three covers of the previous books has been outstanding. He’ll have his work cut out for him this time.

Front cover design, title, back cover, bio, publish, easy, right? Yeah, right. It’s a challenge and a half to get a professional looking product out there. As a self-publisher, you do all of these things yourself. Of course you have to farm out some of the work. You cannot edit yourself. That’s a given. Formatting and cover anyone can do, but if you want it great, get a pro. Your limitations are few, budget and imagination. Hell, I just wrote a book so the imagination is there. The budget is what it is. We do the best we can with what we have.

The working title of the new novel was Sechra, Tears of Stone. It works. It’s a great title. Unfortunately, Tears of Stone, has been used to death, literally, figuratively and any other way you can imagine. So it gets round filed. After due consideration and googling every stoned combination of words, the publication title will be ‘OUT OF STONE‘. The significance of the title will come clear when you are reading .

Black Water Books hopes to have hard copies and e-editions available in early 2013.

Not using any song lyrics this time should hasten the process a bit, haha. Sorry, it’s an inside joke but I’m sure some old British rocker might consider my comments (on using a couple of his song lines) slanderous.

We are very excited about getting, OUT OF STONE, on the way to being a published work.

If you haven’t read my previous works, get ready!

THE FOURTH NOVEL: Into The Depths Of Hell

The initial edit completed as well as the follow-up rewrite for my new novel; working title –Tears of Stone –and is now being formatted to send to my editor and readers. Having sailed into uncharted waters with my first three books, anoxic zone, Halocline, and Black Tide, and setting new standards for gore and violence, the fourth could to be no less than a horrific ride into the gaping mouth of hell.

Tears of Stone(working title) revolves around a young character we meet in Halocline. Twenty years have passed since the revolution that created a free country. Freed from the yoke of Megacorp and a tyrannical, cruel and insane despot, the country grew and prospered. Slavery and slaughter during the revolution however left the country with nationwide epidemic of PTSD. Most dealt with it. A few unfortunately, did not. This opened the gates of hell once again. A metaphor, for they had actually never really been closed.

Our protagonist, against the odds, survived the barbarically horrendous revolution, at which she had a front row seat. What was witnessed in those early years hardened the tender areas of youth. The seeds of hatred fell upon the fertile soil of her mind, giving her strength to endure the madness.

In a twist of fate the girl is saved from the nightmare her young life had become, but not before her hatred had taken root. Her life on the run from the madness of the revolution was replaced with one of privilege, education and art. Through her art, the girl turned woman, and was able to relieve herself of some of the memories life had bequeathed her. Notoriety and fame would come from her ability to carve stone, touching her life, changing it forever.

As her talent blossomed so did the darkness that so early in life reached out for her. The hatred, anguish, and horror at seeing her family and community brutally tortured, slain, and placed in chains, wanted to live amongst men. This thing, this hatred, this evil would use the girl it bonded with so long ago to bring it to life.

The first few pages set the hook of the story. Then, until the end, we get deep into our characters’ heads to understand the nightmare their lives have become. More than one antagonist exerts pressure on the tale. Hatred, evil, greed, revenge, are my usual nemeses. Once again they rear their ugly heads to wreak havoc on mankind, being truly the sources of all that ails us. Our tale takes us on a ride into the macabre, literally. If you have read my previous works you know how wild things can get. And they do get a tad outré. Not to disappoint my readers, the action and intensity is up to par. My wife, Mara, after doing the initial read, aside from being grossed out, said that ‘this may be the best thing you’ve written.’ I’m good with that, because she is right. Though Tears Of Stone is a stand alone read, the story is related to anoxic zone, Halocline and Black Tide, therefore reading one of the previous will shed some light on a few of the inside jokes and characters. Hold on as I take you where few readers have gone before.

The Wheel Turns : Decompressed

Before leaving on what turned out to be an epic journey, of both an outer and inner nature, I finished my fourth novel. The working title is ‘Tears of Stone.’ That title however has been overworked to death. I had hoped to complete it so my wife, Mara, could read the manuscript while I was motorcycle riding.

It always comes as a surprise to finish an idea in written form. You can tell when the end is near, 100 pages, 50 pages, but when it comes – WOW!!! Suddenly the writing is over and the rush of a ‘high’ is on; a somewhat sublime rush that is. Sure there are details that need attention, there always are, but they do not spoil the moment. Having the novel completed emptied the mind of worry, allowing the call of the road to come in loud and clear. That and the excitement of what Mara would say about the story when I returned. A month later I got the green light. After a rough edit the manuscript is ready for a rewrite, which I am doing now.

The tale revolves around a character you meet in Halocline, my second novel. Her story takes place twenty years after the revolution. She is now a grown woman with her own savage history and dark destiny to contend with. In dealing with horrific memories of childhood, that assault her constantly, an artist was born. Her art was a cathartic to relieve the conscious mind of the cruel and hideous visions.

As therapy the art worked in a psychiatric kind of way, creating what appeared to be a normal, though somewhat driven, personality. The unconscious mind, however, has a way of undoing the neat little knots we tie things up with. Life began to unravel when she finished the last piece for an exhibition.

Hell was just about to be unborn through her art.

It is a rather twisted little story about hate, revenge, ignorance, greed and the little things you never see that go on right behind the eyes. You just never know what someone is actually thinking. Trust me, most of the time you don’t want to know either.

You have to dig deep to come up with a tale like this. Although related to the previous novels, it is also a stand alone read. Of course, reading the first three novels is recommended as they are as ‘rip your throat out’ as it gets and… you’ll get a few more of the inside jokes. Like the others – anoxic zone, Halocline and Black Tide, you are grabbed on page one and ripped through a ride of terror and the macabre that will leave you gasping at the end… and wanting more. From the coast of Romania on the Black Sea, to Istanbul and the Transylvanian and Carpathian mountains, a journey into the darker parts of our minds and souls is about to be published.

Actually it will be a few more months until we print. Worth the wait to be sure and a chance to catch up on your reading. It’s back to work for me. When you call yourself a writer you better be doing just that. A little concentration, a little discipline and a lot of being able to sit there for hours at a time, waiting for blood to flood the page as you try to contain it, turning the crimson flow to words. And tuning out the unimportant distractions, aka, the cell is off. That’s what voice mail is for. Running with the ball for as long as you can each time you get it. But mostly it’s just doing your best that makes all the difference. It’s that ‘your best’ part of the equation that makes anything possible.

When you are doing your best there is always time to help others do it, too, but that’s another blog.

Aloha!

The Wheel Turns – 2012 X-Country Ride: Frying our Way across the West at a Blistering Pace.

Never one to make Kale wait unduly, we broke camp. Unfortunately my one cup of coffee was finished. I would have to deal on my own. With an altered plan of attack, we hit the road with a mission; get me back in one piece. Backtracking thirty miles got us to US25 south. We booked it, eating up the cool of the hot morning. At 85 mph, the pace was still slow. Huge pickups blasted passed us. You could only guess at the speed. The high plains began to roll more and the surface of the road, excellent. A few herds of cows and bison went by in a blur of speed. The bikes held tight. After a leisurely pace across the country, they finally had a chance to run. High speed, well not high speed, but really fast, sweepers, rights, lefts, rises and dips. I think we all enjoyed the experience.

We spent the night in Casper. A short day for us that allowed for some time to watch the Olympics and hydrate in the cool of a hotel room. Ahead was a big stop. Independence Rock. The outcropping of stone got its name from the early pioneers who arrived at this point in their journey on July Fourth. A portion of the original trail is has been saved. A bridge crosses it for viewing and imagination. The rock itself is a massive blunt of stone rising from the floor of the plains with nothing around except the sage, gophers and distant mountain range that was appropriately out of place.

As the pioneers must have been thankful for making it this far, so was I. Even more thankful to have such a good friend and riding partner as Kale. There are only a few who enjoy long hours of riding everyday. Six to eight is tops for most folk and more than enough for anyone. We are the exception. Considering the next few days ahead…

Through the Green Mountains, Whiskey Peak and down to our old friend Interstate 80. After a lunch that was best left forgotten, we did on 80 what 80 was made for, making time. The heat pressed down on you like one of those weights they put on bacon to keep it flat. There was just no escaping it. Water, lots of it, and don’t let it get to you.

If you want to think, the road gives you plenty of time to do it. You have to remain alert enough to ride and keep the mind active, somehow. For one stretch of road I sang ‘ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall’ until reaching the next fuel stop.  A little crazy I will admit, but whatever it takes to stay on the ball is what it takes. The day rolled on relentlessly, waves of heat warping the road, melting reality. Everything you saw had that Dali look to it, like wax sagging in the heat. Kale looked like a lava light, his helmet that big glob that’s just about to break free. A turn signal, a rest area, shade and cold water. Whoo, that was close!

From here on out it would be one’s ability to endure that would make the difference. It’s just heat. Stay hydrated, iced down, and don’t lose your cool. You can endure longer if you keep your head. Lose it and it’s over.

Mountain ranges loomed ahead. The thought of cool alpine air gave you something to look forward to. We pulled off for gas and supplies in Park City, Utah. The drop in temperature was a mere five degrees. There would be no relief as we dropped down into the Salt Lake valley. The pancake flat land stretched far beyond the horizon. The famous salt flats are but a small, brilliant stretch of this level plain.

We gassed again at the beginning of Bonneville Salt Flats, watered up and iced down. This last push of the day was going to be brutal. At least the sun was still high in the sky and not burning holes through your eyes. The bright glare of reflected sun off the salt crystal however made up for what would have been a small relief. Thoughts of being out on the flats without water or shade were not happy ones. Having mentioned the flats in one of my books it was nice to see memory served well when describing them. The white hot flash of an arc welder would give you an idea of the brilliance of the land. There were no plumes of salt grit rising from the raceway at the western end of the flat. The rooster tails of racing cars or motorcycles would shoot high off the rear tires describing its path across the flats. There were no tails today. It must be the heat I thought. They would race in the early day before everything melts or in the evening after it solidifies again.

The mountains on the western edge seemed to be dripping into the valley. There was no respite from the heat but there was Wendover, Utah. A border town half in Utah, half in Nevada. We spent the night in a hotel on the Utah side for the quiet. Step over the state line and its casinoville. Tonight was the last night of the trip. The moon was full as it was the day we left. Though not home yet we were coming full circle. Unbeknownst to me at the time tomorrow would be the final exam, testing all the skills we gained over the course of the last month and push us to the limit.

Next: California bound. 620 miles of Hell and Irony.

The Wheel Turns – 2012 X-Country Ride: North and West, Into the Fires of Hell, the Badlands

After a night of sleeping through a classic mid-western thunderstorm, we woke to the evidence of its passing. Trees, already damaged by bug infestations, had toppled during the night with a few crossing the driveway. Nobody was going anywhere for a while. Large branches, like so much straw, were strewn about the open yard and gardens. It had that disaster look about it but no damage to the home or out buildings. It could have been worse.

These types of storms do little to alleviate the drought conditions. Though everyone is grateful for the water, the drop in ambient temperature and temporary fire hazard reduction, most of the water just runs off. The ground is just too dry to accept it when dumped all at once. There is generally more damage than benefit as evidenced by the work crews hard at it to clear the roads and high wires.

The work of cleaning up was one of those chores that give gratification at the cost of a little elbow grease. Good neighbors making the rounds of checking on their neighbors after the storm lent a hand in the effort. You gotta admire those young strong farm boys and the work ethic that comes along with them.

We took an extra day to put things in order before answering the call of the road. Kale’s mom and dad helped once again with the loading of the bikes with love and the best of lunches. This is one of my favorite places on the mainland and hope to have done it some wee small justice for its beauty and the people who live there.

US 30 got us across Indiana, Illinois and the Mississippi. Across central Iowa to Omaha, Nebraska. Falling barns that were remembered from previous tours were gone. Not due to development, but time. Others are taking their places, yet there was always something peculiar about the old ones. The wheel turns. Iowa was an oven on preheat.

A cool night at the Cobbler Inn, we always stop at the Cobbler when in the hood, helped to prepare us for the extreme temps that waited in South Dakota. Well rested, hydrated – though personally I could go for another six cups of coffee – we seized the day early, heading north along the Missouri River. Today would be a Sioux – Sioux run. Get to Sioux City, Iowa; keep going until Sioux Falls, South Dakota, keep going some more!

We had ridden far enough, reaching the surface of the sun. The term ‘hot’ no longer applied. One small mom and pop gas station asked that I pay for the ice that was put in water bottles and bandana. The bill was gladly paid. Ice doesn’t just appear. From then on I asked at each stop whether there was a charge for the ice. That’s how thankful you can be for something we take for granted. Without the cooling, hard can easily be turned into miserable and I knew that going there wouldn’t serve. There was too just much mindful enjoyment to be had in the miles ahead. The intense heat was taking its toll. How much longer it could be tolerated was a good question. Kale asked often, ‘How ya doing?’ There were times I wasn’t sure. As long as the riding skills aren’t compromised, there is a good chance you have a few more miles in you, if you want it. Then again there is no shame in calling it a day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The word ‘spectacular’ doesn’t go far enough for the sites and sounds of the country. The high plains of South Dakota are no exception. The expansive ‘barren’ landscape stretches the imagination to grasp its size. ‘Barren’ is a relative term. Let’s say it was barren of concrete, man-made stuff. The plains themselves are quite alive, if you look. It was an endless undulating dun brown landscape strewn with tumbleweeds and sage. A place where a run to a big box store is an all day affair. Abandoned wrecks and vehicles dot the hills, their patina of rust a few shades different than the surroundings. They look more like art than garbage and serve as a pleasant distraction to the endless road.

After hours of being mesmerized by the high plains, they suddenly start to break up into an unnavigable riot of small canyons and steep peaks more barren than the plains. We reached the Badlands. Flashes of Sissy Spacek and Martin Sheen from the movie ’Badlands’ reel across the brain. The film catches some of it, but until you are standing in the middle of the eroded landscape do you really get a feel for the land.

Like the Arikaree Breaks in western Kansas, no doubt the Indians used the Badlands to elude their enemies. It was also sacred ground for the Sioux. For them this place was the heart of their heartland. We respected the beliefs and tread lightly on hallowed ground, leaving no trace. Do believe the underside of my chin had road rash from hanging my mouth open in awe of the scenery.

The campgrounds for the Badlands National Park is situated in a valley surrounded by the ragged peaks of eroded sedimentary rock. Perfect, keeping the people impact limited to a couple of low outcroppings. There are trails for hiking. Due to the fragile environment and dangerous slippery slopes it’s best advised to stay to the trails. Quiet, clean, potable water, bikers and bathrooms, what more could you want?

At midnight the roadway was still dumping its heat and over 100 degrees. It would not cool much before dawn.

Next: Cool mountain riding, molten roads.

The Wheel Turns – 2012 X-Country Ride: The Calm Before the Storm

This tired biker woke to the smell of the sea coming in through open windows. The breeze was chill and the morning sun had just crested the eastern horizon. Everyone else was still in bed. Time to figure out the coffee situation and have a few before the day kicks in. Normally on tour you get one big cup of joe in the morning and that’s it. A worthwhile sacrifice to stay hydrated. Anything beats bonking. But we weren’t riding today, or the next few for that matter. It was time to rest and recuperate in a 1924 beach house that hadn’t changed much since those days. Our hosts were generous. It was nice to see the Aloha spirit alive and well on the east coast. Good company and comfortable surroundings made the time pass all too quickly. It is perhaps the kindness I will remember most of all, and the lobster, of course!

We crossed Maine, clipped the corners of New Hampshire and Vermont, and dropped into Connecticut for the night at Black Rock State Park. Clean campsites amid the pines and ash were perfect for our needs. A thunderstorm that was the vanguard of some serious weather passed through in the night, cooling the temp and washing some seriously dirty equipment. The plan was to stop at Max BMW and have oil changes and a routine service. The BMW’s have more than two hundred thousand miles in them if you keep up on your oil changes. It was also not a bad way to spend a few hours surrounded as we were by some of the best bikes ever made.

Our destination was Baltimore, Maryland. It would be a push to make it by a reasonable dinnertime. We did. If it’s one thing the east has, it’s an incredible highway system. Tolls were paid and time was made. Our impromptu sunset tour through Baltimore was an eye opener on so many levels. A heavy inner city that is that is in desperate need of funding, to the gentrified neighborhoods around John Hopkins University. A mighty cross section of American lives and lifestyles existed here.

After some pub grub we got a hotel in the heart of downtown. The Oriole’s had a home game, won, and the locals were spilling out into the streets in celebration. It looked like a lot of fun but this biker needed rest.

Across Maryland into West Virginia, the low green mountains, and history. This was Civil War country. The pride in their history is evidenced by the preservation of the sites of skirmishes and battles. We stopped often to read the brass plaques and learn of the place’s moment in time. It was as humbling as it was awe-inspiring and not to be missed by anyone.

West Virginia and southern Ohio is also coal country. It showed. Tough to hide a chopped off mountaintop. And tougher yet to disguise the lives created and destroyed in the process. Never the less, the countryside was beautiful. One sight was the Rushing Wind Bikers’ Church in South Ohio. It was next door to the god of motorcycles, a Harley dealer. We wondered if they were open on Sundays. That night we camped along the Ohio River, as sweet a spot as you can think of. Another thunderstorm in the middle of the night was hinting at the weather to come.

We kicked it up a notch the next day to cross Ohio and returned to the farm in Valparaiso, Indiana. After lunch we were both eyeing the weather. It was a coin toss. Kale had already tossed his.

“Let’s suit up, we are going to be hitting some weather.”

I looked at they sky again thinking ‘no way.’ Long before this moment in the parking lot I had learned to follow his advice. Even though I had a couple of tours already over the years, he still had way more experience. The learning never ends.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No sooner had we pulled out of the parking lot, the first drops hit. By the time we rocked the throttle onto the highway entrance the thunderstorm was full on. Kale’s theory is that if you keep on going, you will punch through the other side of the storm. A little water never hurt anything. The theory holds, however there is one exception. If lightning bolts are dropping around you, forget it and get under an overpass or gas station awning and wait it out. You don’t want to be a rolling lightening rod! Chances are you will see some other bikers standing around talking story, so the time is not lost. And you get to meet some really good folk.

This is the way the rest of the day went. Most of the time we rode right through the storms, other times, talk story. On the final push, around sunset, we hit a mother of storms that threatened to stop us ten miles from the farm. No lightning, so we rolled on. Speed was dictated by weather conditions and the amount of water on the road. There was no punching through this time, just a never-ending down pour. No complaints here. We put our kickstands down in the dark and driving rain, grabbed a few necessities and headed for the mud room to dump the wet gear.

Home is where the heart is. It was good to be at a home away from home. The previous days had brought some wicked weather to northern Indiana and with more due in the very near future there would be plenty of storm damage clean up to pass the time.

Next: North and West, into the fires of hell, The Badlands