Mahalo Oahu Aloha

Seeing how I am now getting to be an expert on "stupid things to do, that I always wanted to but now do it and blame it on middle age crazy", I decided not to stay in West Virginia for Thanksgiving this year. I have always wanted to visit Hawaii. Never actually had a specific island in mind, knowing eight island masses make up the gorgeous state. I hit a certain travel web site and ended up on the island of O'ahu.

Now the other islands have their charms I am sure. After spending a week on O'ahu, I can only imagine what the other islands have to offer. Certain, one charm would be the Big Island of Hawaii and its still active volcanoes. Of course this includes the islands of Mau'i, Moloka'i, Lana'i and Kaua'i, each one certain to be a paradise all it's own.

Middle aged crazy! A title I have now labeled the downhill portion of my life's ride or momentary lapses in logical judgement have caused me to do some pretty silly things since I passed the age of 45. But I now feel that making a trip to the 50th state was no lapse of judgement. It was possibly one of the best ideals I have ever had.




My arrival to the island of O'ahu was well anticipated, not only for the shear fact that I had never been there before but also for the one reason of being on a flight for 13 hours, nursing an excessively soar butt, lack of sleep and the unquenchable desire to stand upright. Listen, if your legs were as long as mine, confined in a seat designed for a 1o year old and seated third seat over near the window, you would know what I meant!

Sadly, my flight to the island ended close to 10 PM Hawaiian time, or 3 AM eastern standard time, a time zone my body was still stuck in, regardless of what my watch attempted to convince it of, so it was rather dark outside. I had wanted to be able to look out the plane window and see the approach of the island, thinking that would be a spectacular sight in its own. But was unable to fulfill. After all that time in flight, my buttocks cussing me since somewhere over Alabama,( I knew it was Alabama because the plane had a moving map on the LED display in front of me), I was just as tickled to see land, or lights!

Now, I know people have things that they do not wish to be placed in general baggage. I, myself had a laptop I didn't want crushed, so carried it on the plane with me. But I have a problem with those who carry rolling baggage that barely passes the airlines size limit on board. Taking time to shove, push, tamp, cuss, coerce, pound and all but take dynamite and attempt to blow it into the small overhead baggage compartment, thus causing me to stand in the cramped isle waiting, seemingly, with patience, which I lost after my first plane landed in Atlanta.

Their next incredible feat came when the plane landed at its destination. One by one, isle by isle, they take their time getting out of their seats and standing, always looking back to the end of the plane, as if hoping someone was taking their picture or simply be nosey. Stretching a bit, those who were under 5 foot tall, then proceeding to take their time, opening the overhead baggage compartment and gently removing their precious bag that they didn't want roughly handled by ground personnel. Yea, right!....Of course, my seat assignment always placed me near the back of the aircraft so I had to find a whole hell of a lot of patience. And yes, that is what I lost in Atlanta.

Thankful, extremely so, when I did manage to get off the plane, I proceeded to walk inside the terminal. Airport terminals are not designed for simplicity. They are designed to confuse simple minded people such as myself and to help those health minded ones keep their workout routines. It felt like it took almost as long to go from the landing terminal to the departure terminal as it did to actually fly from one place to the other. Once off the plane you take out your ticket, look at the next flight and find the monitor which told you about all the flights. See, very, very quickly, what the number of the terminal was where your next flight will be leaving and hope to God you know where you are going.

Honolulu International was not much different. But this time, I wasn't trying to hurry to my next departure terminal, just simply find where my suitcase was going to be haphazardly thrown out onto a carousel amidst thousands of other suitcases. The walkways from one place to another took the passenger outside the terminals. The cold weather I was accustomed to in West Virginia was absent when I got to Hawaii. A breeze was blowing, warm, but not to warm and the absence of humidity made me smile. Palm trees waving in the breeze, the sound of Hawaiian music playing on the intercom speakers, mhm, I was in Hawaii.

Once I found the area where my luggage was suppose to be returned to me, I huddled among the masses who also were waiting. I quickly found that, there were a thousand people standing there, and only 9 of them spoke anything resembling english, of which, I wasn't sure I was one of them.




Somewhere, working at the airport, someone knew me. They apparently had a grudge against me or had a sister I once dated or knew someone I dated. They knew my past and felt it was required by Hawaiian state law to make me pay for all my past mistakes in life. They knew me! So, here I stood, at the baggage carousel, waiting for my luggage. Luggage which was not coming down that weird contraption anytime soon apparently. But I was patient! Patient until I realized one key important thing. I didn't remember what color my suitcase was!! Oh here was a new problem. The stark realization of waiting for something which obviously already passed me by a dozen times and stupid old me, not realizing I may have let my suitcase pass me by...simply because I forgot what color it was! Was it the red one? The black one? Was it the red one which looked like the one I seen in my closet at home? Did I pack the red one? Wait! No! It wasn't mine, it belonged to the Chinese! Or maybe they liked my red suitcase and decided to take it instead! Hmm, the Chinese stole my red suitcase!

I looked down at the little carry on case I had in my hand. Something resembling a purple material. Not a woman color purple, but a cool color purple. Perhaps my large suitcase was also this color. Could it be that I was color coordinated? Me? Yea, right!! So I took a gamble, walked up to another red suitcase, looked at it and placed it back on the carousel...it wasn't mine!! And the Chinese hadn't stolen it. About that time, a purplish color case came through the mouth of the vile machine. Could that be mine? Was it even possible that after waiting for a thousand hours the baggage gods would grant me favor by allowing mercy from the handlers and I would receive my suitcase? I quickly jumped on that bag when it came around, willing and ready to fight the Chinese, Americans, Japanese, Koreans, Russians and any other nationality standing nearby. Yes, by gosh I was tired, worn out, sore, in serious pain, aching, throbbing, sick at my stomach, thirsty and staved to death!!! I was willing to start World War III over my suitcase and by god whoever tried to take it would feel the wrath of the Keeper of the Warehouse!!! I WANTED MY BAG!!! And......it wasn't mine!

Damit, I wanted my bag! I wanted it now! Why? What did I do to deserve this kind of treatment from the airlines? Why were they finding such amusement in making me wait? Make me be the last person in the airport to receive their baggage! Wait! Maybe my bag was lost! Maybe it went to Hong Kong! Oh my god!!! The Chinese did have my luggage! What else do they want? They already own 98 percent of America and it's once proud industries. All of our jobs they now owned and the majority of what Wal-Mart now sells comes from there. Why did they want my baggage? What would I do if my baggage was lost and never made it to O'ahu with me? Would I have to buy new underwear? OMG! I didn't have clean underwear now! Mom always said to have clean underwear incase I was ever in an accident. Why, I was never sure of, maybe it had something to do with my HMO or medical insurance coverage. but now I am screwed since my luggage was apparently placed on another flight and is on its way to Hong Kong!



Just when I was about to go into a nervous fit, I saw the machine spit out another purplish bag. Not woman purplish mind you, but a cool purple. Could this be mine? Could my clean undies be in this bag? Did it miss me? Wanted me, desired to be held in my strong hands? Caressed once again by someone who cared for it?.....Wait,,sorry, that's a whole totally new blog! And nothing to do with my suitcase!

Here it came and I pounced on it like a starved Siberian Tiger, quickly took it in my hand and turned it to see the name on the label. Yes,,hallelujah!!!! It was mine! All mine! I am saved, I now have clothing!!!

With all the things which belonged to me in tow, not apologizing to the Chinese for accusing them of stealing my belongings, they wanted it anyway and I knew it, I proceeded to my next challenge. My vacation package also included a rental car and I needed information on where to obtain that thing. The trip to the hotel was not so much a challenge since I already mapquested the trip from the airport to the motel and was ready to tackle the island traffic to get there.

A wonderful lady who worked at the information desk was willing to assist me with my request. Again, keep in mind, not many people there spoke english! Now before someone ready this gets angry with me, I must explain my reasoning for this remark. In no way am I stating that the native people of the gorgeous state of Hawaii can't speak english. They do, with a slight accent of course, but one is able to understand them. My thing is this, there are so many immigrants in this nation and the airports have employed so many of them, forgetting that local people need jobs too. Their lack of skill at speaking our language leaves those less fortunate at language comprehension, such as myself, with the ability to understand what the hell they are saying. All I understood her to say was,,"outside, cross something or another, and wait for something or another".

I thanked her. It was shear politeness and thus required by common ediquette to thank someone for their attempt and thus not my fault I had no dam clue what she meant. I took my stuffage and walked out the door. The barrage of a thousand different languages filled the Hawaiian night air. Hundreds of cars, buses, and such were quickly moving up and down the street in front of the airport.

Ok, here I am, standing outside, baggage in tow, no ideal where I am going or how to get there. Information Lady's information being sketchy at best, I must now use my superior knowledge to decipher what to do or where to go. As I stood there, waiting, looking and exhausted, I noticed some of the shuttle vans having rental car logos on them. I looked at my intinerary and saw what company Priceline had used to provide me a car. Thus hoping I saw a shuttle bus with the word "National" written on it. Since, obviously, I had rented a car from National Car Rentals. Duh!!!!




Long story short, which may be the title of yet another blog entry, I did not get the car simply because my credit card was in my business name and did not have my personal name on it. I can't or won't even begin to describe what I felt at that moment and knew if I didn't mind myself and control my emotions, I would end up a guest at the Honolulu Police Department Regent Hotel. I was rather pissed. And that's being mildly stated! I ask, sort of in a controlled,kind but reserved tone, if the small lady with the huge accent across the rental car counter would be so kind to call me a cab since she robbed me of my right to drive a car there myself. She did with a smile, a smile I wish I could have crammed down her little immigrant throat!! Did I mention I was tired that night? Possibly!

The cab ride was another incredible adventure. Given to me by yet another incredible immigrant. Please let me clarify, I am not against people who legally come to the USA and become a citizen. As long as they do it legally! America is populated by people whos ancestors are from another country. Unless, of course, they happen to be of Native American decent. As I tried to look at Honolulu in the night, read the signs and still try to pray that the hotel didn't require the same thing on my credit card that the car rental place did...or else I was majorly screwed for 5 days. Now wishing I had not taken this trip, thinking what if I can't check into a room which was already paid for, like my rental car was. What would I do?

As I watched the meter on the dashboard of this mini-van and noticing how many times the driver hit his blue tooth ear piece talking in some language I had yet to identify, the amount of the ride was escalating! Hoping my motel was not on the other end of the island or that I would have enough cash in my wallet to pay for the fare, we pulled into the place where I was to stay. AT $35.50 FOR THE RIDE!!! Customary, I know, to tip cab drivers, I was not in any way feeling customary, nor after charging me that amount, were I going to fork out a, "here since you dont make enough money, get your kids braces with this extra cash I wont be needing anymore while I am here" cash tip! Screw it, get a better paying job!

I am sure I will follow this blog with yet another add on to the trip to Hawaii. In all truth, O'ahu was amazingly incredible. Perhaps after day one, and I rested, I ran out of descriptive words to describe this incredible place.

Once at the hotel, I proceeded to the counter. Dreading what was to follow but so seriously needing a shower and a bed, I waited on some young couple who didn't like the room they were given nor the floor it was on. I waited and waited, my legs almost ready to commit mutiny on me and go sit down without the rest of me. My ass and back were applauding the proposed coup against the rest of my body and thus overthrow me...as if they could make it without me.

Sort of a relief when the lady behind the counter ask if I were checking in and gave me papers to fill out. "Oh god, I am close", I thought to myself, hoping the credit card thingy didn't stop my apparent happy time. The young couple in front of me were dragging their check in as long as they could. Apparently they knew who I was as well and knew how long I had been on that dam plane and how tired I was and how badly I wanted to go to bed. THEY KNEW!!! And like the baggage crew at the airport, they wanted to torture me! But finally, after seemingly hours of whining over their proposed room, it was my time.

Anticipation and a slight chance of being weary, yea the credit card thing, I completed my check in. Looking at the clerk behind the counter, I told her I didn't care what room it was, where it was located, what it looked like or if it faced the ocean or the freaking laundry. All I wanted was a place to stay, a bed or couch to sleep on, wasn't interested in a phone, refrigerator or amenities. I needed a shower and sleep. And thus the worry about a fallen, fracked up vacation came to an end when she smiled at me, explained the simple rules and reach me my credit card type room keys! I was smiling like a politician on facebook!!! I had a room and my adventure on O'ahu could begin.

I suppose I should come to a quick end to this blog. I titled it Mahalo Oahu Aloha ad have drifted so far from the titles meaning. I hated the flight over and the flight back, this is true. I lost money on my car rental and wasn't able to get it back. But the things I saw while I was there. The beauty of O'ahu and the hospitality of the Hawaiian people are without question.




In my travels along lifes road, I have seen many places. Well places that are found here on the North American continent. From the coast of Florida to the coast of Maine. Traveled down to the Big Easy (New Orleans) to enjoy the excitement of Mardi Gras. Journeyed to the coast of the Great Lakes to watch my son in Pass in Review when he finished basic training in the navy. Out to the California coast and seen the vast diversity of the state. Swam in the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. Seen the Mighty Missisip and the shores of the Gulf of Mexico.

I have seen the USS Constitution sitting in Boston Harbor, and walked down the very same path that Paul Revere walked. Sat in the Old North Church and imagined Robert Newman climbing to the steeple, at the ready to signal the oncoming army of the British. So many memories I have and things I hold dear to my heart.

But the island of O'ahu has to top it all. Yes, dear avid reader, those one or two of you who read my ramblings, there will be more to this Hawaiian adventure, but that place made such an impact on me.

The Pacific ocean was so clear and pristine, I have never seen an ocean so incredible clear. The lush vegetation that grew everywhere, even in the crater of Diamond Head. The flowers that are constantly in bloom in vast assortment and sizes. Mountains so massive that many of them dwarf the mountains of my own beloved West Virginia.

Food that is also incredible and the taste of fresh pineapple, macadameia nuts. Coconuts and now knowing that the water inside the shell isn't coconut milk, but rather made by crushing the flesh from inside of a coconut and squeezing it from that flesh. I will always remember the sights, Pearl Harbor, Diamond Head Crater and Waikiki beach. Honolulu at sunset and how spectacular the shoreline looks on the way up the coast to Laie and the show at the Polynesian Culture Center on a clear quiet evening.


When it came time for me to depart, I sat in the hotel lobby listening to the Hawaiian music playing in the background. Watched so many people with their Hawaiian shirts on, and the beauty of the landscape. I took a deep breath of fresh, wonderful Hawaiian air and listened to the sounds of the shore. I walked along the peir one more time and looked at the ocean floor, the pacific still so clear you could watch crabs walking on the ocean floor.

I watched the surfers taking to the sea, hoping to catch that one wave that will hoist them to superstardom. The kindness of the people and the shear beauty of it all. I didn't want to leave Hawaii and wish I had the time and money to have toured all the islands. Who knows? Maybe one day I shall return to O'ahu. One day I will be able to greet someone on the street with a simple "Aloha cousin". I will never forget this place. And hope my memory never leaves me, or I have indeed lost so much.

With this said and so much more I will add in later blogs about Hawaii. And as the title of this blog states, I will say it again in the language of the islands...Maholo O'ahu, aloha......simply meaning, Thank you O'ahu, and goodbye...

Motorcycles are cool...

Call it what you will. Being silly, midlife crazy or lack of common sense, but back in the summer I purchased a motorcycle. Mhm, I know, too old maybe or too accident prone for a motorcycle, but I bought one anyway. It had been many, many years since I rode one and doubtful I had ever ridden on a a highway, but, as they say, like riding a bicycle, once you learn, you never forget. Right? Well I have never been on a bicycle that went over 50 MPH and was able to skin your rump over a hardtop like a raccoon on steroids, if you lost control of it!

I took my time and re-learned the principle of keeping the thing upright, between the lines and out of traffic. I didnt buy the thing for speed, I bought it to look cool. Guess what? I look dam cool!!! Because? I ride a motorcycle and motorcycles are cool!

As I got braver and braver on the bike and would begin to explore down the road, taking my time and enjoying the wind as it blasted my face, hoping a bumble bee didn't fly up under my helmet. I found that, I now belonged to a breed of super cool people. No one knew me, or my past or where I worked or what I was doing with my life, I was just cool. I found that, other motorcyclist or "bikers", had this super cool way of saying hello to other bikers that they passed on the road. It wasn't a typical "throw your hand up in the air" hello. Nor was it one of those "wave like an idiot" things the Queen does. It was cool, because, we rode motorcycles and motorcycles are cool.

We have this unique greeting, no other person on the road does it, so it is indeed special. Only bikers can greet one another in this way. But we take our left hand, hold it below the handle bars and point outward. Cool huh?

We bikers also do not smile. I, personally, have never had a problem not smiling since so many have attempted to get me to smile through my life. It isn't like we are mad, or bad or just telling the world that we don't put up with crap, it's mainly for one reason. If you smile while traveling at 55 mph, your toothbrush will take heck trying to get the bugs out of your teeth!!

My bike is maroon and an older one. I thought I had best crawl before I attempted to run at a full gallop so I stuck with a smaller bike. But still, it is dam cool and I look dam cool riding it.



First thing I did was to purchase a helmet. Yea I had to have one of those black ones, seeing how I couldn't find one in maroon, and decorated it with flaming skulls. We bikers have to dress like that because we ride motorcycles and motorcycles are cool. Haven't yet made it to the leather jacket, but found that a maroon shirt would work just as well, complete with black leather boots and dark dark sunglasses. I was now freaking cool, cuz I rode a motorcycle and motorcycles are cool.

I took my bike for a ride as often as I could. Enjoying the wind, the sights, the sounds and the feel of the sun on my body. Everything was enjoyable, except for the occasional suicide bug that would hit my nose like a kamikaze at Pearl Harbor. Let me tell you, those darn creatures can bring tears to your eyes. Now I know why we bikers wear dark dark sunglasses...it hides the tears after a bug dead centers your nose!!

On my way home one evening, being cool as hell, on my bike, now part of a very elite group of people, I saw on the horizon another bike coming down the road. Awesome! I thought. Now I can give him our super special, ultimately cool, biker greeting. As he neared, I saw another behind him and another and another. Holy hannah I passed two dozen bikers coming down the road, each giving me that unique greeting since I was now as cool as they were. I, not wanting to seem unbrotherly, gave the same unique greeting, left hand slightly below the handlebars, finger pointing downward. All of this being down as I was driving down the road myself, trying to keep the bike upright, steady, going around curves, one hand on the handlebar, attempting to remain cool as hell...That was hard, but I did it. I succeeded because I was cool, simply because I rode a motorcycle and motorcycles are cool.

Nothing is as wonderful as riding your bike. Everything feels much better and so much more wonderful. Even the rain. Coming home one day, storm clouds on the horizon, I knew I had to make a safe dash for home. Hate to be caught out in the weather. Motorcycles don't cling to the wet highways as good as other vehicles. Now a heavy mist, which looks good on your windshield doesn't feel so hot on your face. That blasted stuff hit me like a thousand peed off bees stinging every inch of my face. But I tolerated it, simply because I rode a motorcycle and motorcycles are cool.

Quicker than I could think, the mist turned to rain drops. Not your garden variety rain drops, these were more like water buckets being thrown in my face at a gazillion miles per hour. Let me tell you, I thought of pulling over until it passed but I didn't. I continued to ride my bike down the road. Feeling the gigantic rain drops splatter on my face, feeling like I was being shot, at point blank with a paint ball gun!! But I didn't grimace, cuz I rode a motorcycle and motorcycles were cool.

Maybe next year I will make it to the bike shop and go in debt for a larger, meaner bike to ride next year. But so far, my little Honda Shadow is quite sufficient. And I will keep her cuz I ride a motorcycle and motorcycles are cool.


It had been since the first of September since I last rode my bike. The leaves already turned and fallen to the ground. Even our first snowfall of the year. But today, the weather was nice, warm and sunny. Meaning to wash and wax my bike for winter keep, I decided to dress in my cool attire and hit the road. I put on my cool jeans, cool black boots. I found my black leather belt complete with skull buckle and slipped on my maroon shirt to match my bike. Not really knowing why since I had on a jean jacket which hid the skull buckle belt and maroon shirt, but what the heck, I had to look cool whether anyone saw it or not.


With my black helmet, complete with flaming skulls on the side, dark sunglasses, down the road I headed. It was nice to be on the bike once again. Knowing that the days I would be able to ride were few now since winter is looking us in the face. Feeling the warmth of the sun cover my body, ignoring the cool cool wind, I rode. Cool, well, is an understatement when I rode in the shade of the mountains, it did infact get a little cold until I passed the shaded areas and back into the sun. But this was ok, cuz I rode a motorcycle and motorcycles are cool.


I rode a few miles, up the road and then turning back, heading to Stevens Lake, which looks gorgeous this time of the year with the red oaks in full color. Before I left home, I thought I heard a few bikers heading up or down the road. Sadly, I never seen any, appearing that, I was the only biker to brave the cool wind and take advantage of the time given to ride. Passing the lake, noticing the folks fishing and riding their boats, (no I didnt wave at any of them, how could I? They weren't on a motorcycle and thus were not worthy of the super special, ultimately cool motorcycle greetings as we cool bikers were.)


I turned my bike around, lost in thought as I so usually am. Heading back down the road, taking in the late fall beauty of the West Virginia countryside, on the horizon, heading towards me....another motorcycle! As we passed, I saw the other riders left hand leaving his handlebar. I removed mine. We both dropped our hands slightly below the handlebar, fingers pointing outwards....our super special, ultimately cool biker greeting was given. We didn't know who the other was, or where he came from. We didn't care. All we knew was, we had to greet one another in that special way. simply because, we rode motorcycles and motorcycles were cool.


I had rode my bike today. I had met a fellow biker and our super special greeting was exchanged. Now I was able to go home, completely satisfied. Slowly I headed home, watched the sun slip away, not knowing what tomorrow would hold in store or the next few months. Never knowing when I will once again belong to that special group who take to the road every summer, giving that super special, ultimately cool greeting to one another.


I parked my bike back in the garage. Promised her that I would be back to take her for a spin as soon as I could. Thanking her for a safe trip and faithful ride. I placed my helmet on the mirror, my dark dark sunglasses neatly folded, on the leather seat. Walked out of the garage holding my head high and proud. Yea, I was cool. Cool as hell, simply because I rode a motorcycle and motorcycles are cool.....