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[dennisprocopio]

New bike, y’all! Now THIS is how I’m going to end this blog. I kissed poor DC goodbye. DC is short for Death Coach…. since I’m a Life Coach it seemed like a good one. I think I tempted fate and won…. I killed her before she killed me. LOL. Now sadly she’ll be stripped and auctioned, but I should see some cash back so that’s good.

My new bike is a 2015 Yamaha Bolt 950 r-spec. It’s so much goddamn fun…. who knew? I always thought my next bike would be an 1800 with 12” apes.

Anyway, thanks for following me on my journey. It was awesome, and I encourage you to do the same…. except maybe for that last part. LOL. And since October is Dwarfism Awareness Month, I thought I’d finish strong and feature my son Bennett, who has achondroplasia dwarfism and is on the autism spectrum. He’s fearless, just like his daddy.

[dennisprocopio]

I just rented a truck and drove back out to Barstow to get my bike. Turns out I’m only partly a dumbass. There was a coolant leak I didn’t catch, which led to an overheat, which led to a catastrophic fail. Ah well.1999. It was a good year. I could technically fix it, but if I’m gonna spend money I might as well upgrade.

I brought it to back to San Diego. Gonna strip the good stuff off and auction it through my mechanic. Considering the bike was a cheap Craigslist find, I’ll take the money and call it even. It was a good run.

Moving on, I’m strangely attracted to this 2015 Yamaha Bolt 950 r-spec. It’s very different than my last two bikes. Sort of cruiser meets cafe racer… comparable to a HD Iron 883. I rode it today and it was solid and super fun. For a local San Diego commuter and occasional weekend day trip bike, I think this could be a freaking blast. And fuel-injected rather than carbs sounds like a dream.

We’ll see. I may very well end this blog with a new ride.

[dennisprocopio]

I have to say..... the journey I just took was epic. While it's true that "there's no place like home" (which I absurdly went to Kansas to discover), there's something on the road we need. Namely, the process of being -- the “on the road” part is incidental. It's not the destination, it's the mentally creative experience of choosing pathways through a field of possibilities, and learning from their outcomes. Embracing the grind. It does something for the soul. It invigorates it. It engenders vitality. And I promise, it makes you appreciate your family more; and puts trivialities into perspective. So my takeaway here is this: take the journey. Embrace the challenges. Return home a bit better, which is good for everyone. 

[dennisprocopio]

This is a must read. A MUST READ. It is the ending to this epic adventure that I could not have written, and proof of everything that is holy to me in my practice. It is a story about miracles.

I spent the night at the Comfort Suites in Barstow. The following morning – this morning – I was met by a tow truck, provided through Progressive Roadside Assistance. The driver was s fellow bike owner, and related a story in which he rode from L.A. to Vegas and did exactly what I did…. ran her hard, didn’t keep a close eye on his oil but rather assumed it was fine, and had it towed to a local mechanic. He prepared me for the worst by telling me how his story ended. The mechanic offered him $500 for the bike, he took it, and found a way home humbled…. but lesson learned.

I rode along with him irritated at myself. I had done everything else right. Brought tools, had my mechanic teach me to do all of the basic maintenance I might need to do out on the road. But OIL, man…. that’s like the primary thing everyone knows. EVERYONE. Engine parts create friction, and without proper lubrication you can destroy your engine. Damn, damn, damn.

But in my business – Man-UP! Life Coaching – we disallow self punishment. It has no value, and only attracts more “bad luck”. Instead we self-validate. This feels awkward to most guys, myself included…. ESPECIALLY when you’ve just done something so frustratingly irresponsible. But okay, no worries Dennis. This is fine. You’re a good guy. Accidents happen. Man-up and take your lick.

We get to Mel’s, and it’s a bike shop in the desert. His mechanic Mike comes out to meet me, then Mel follows. Nice guys, but straight-shooters. They are t gonna bullshit me here. The fact is the engine is shot, and a rebuild is gonna be at LEAST $2,000.

Silence.

More silence.

I ask if there’s any wiggle-room on price, trying every single angle to find a way to make this work. But the very most I’d consider spending on the bike at this point is $800. Any more than that and I’m better off selling its D.C. putting the money toward a new bike. Here come the voices again: YOU MORON!!! But I fight back with humility and acceptance. I did this. Now I’m waking away from my bike. I ask Mel how much he’d give me for it. He says that frankly he’s neither looking to buy a bike, nor does he have liquid cash to put toward something with a very low chance of reselling at a significant profit.

Silence.

A tumbleweed blows by.

He says he might be able to give me $100 for it.

Silence.

Then I sigh and take a picture of it. I’m letting her go. I screwed up. It’s over. My blog ends with a blown engine and no more bike. Hero to zero, just like that.

In the shop. Mike the mechanic feels my pain. He says that he’s sorry, and it’s very genuine. He had integrity, and wants me to understand they’re not hoodwinking me. A blown engine sucks, he gets it, and is showing a brother some love. I do my best man shit and say, “Meh. I did this. I own it. I’ll know better next time.” But yeah man, I’m down. Falling is one thing….. it’s just physical. But this kinda down takes your motivation away. I see it all the time in coaching.

Mel offers to give me a ride back to my hotel. I strange to come back up here to Barstow with a pink slip, take the $100, sign it over to him, and strip all the toys off of it.... saddlebags, seat cover, USB phone charger, etc. All the things that made my trip a success otherwise. The sadness is hitting me hard.... And then for comic relief, I open the door of his truck and a damn squirrel comes flying out and scares the shit out of both of us. LOLOL. I'm like, dude.... clean your truck, amigo!!! LOLOLOL. We start riding and talking, and the chat is a good one. I'm genuinely interested in the guy. He seems nice, but..... well I get that feeling that I get when maybe there's something under the hood that could use a tweak. He opens up to me in our talk (I have his permission to share this, by the way) and he reveals that he's a dad and husband working hard to keep his family together. It hits me. The feeling. I know what this is. God is doing something. We park the truck in the parking lot of my hotel and talk for a good half hour. Just as he professionally diagnosed my bike, I know diagnose his circumstances. I tell him just what he told me. I can fix this, but it isn't cheap. He listens. I explain the process. He says that like me and my bike, he doesn't know how to fix this on his own but he also doesn't wanna walk away from it. I say he doesn't have to. I offer him a trade for services. You fix my bike, I'll fix your relationship. A six month package valued at $2300 in exchange for his labor (I'll buy the new engine off eBay or somewhere(. He not only agrees, but with a handshake that tells me he appreciates that he's getting a deal. His face lights up with hope. Just like mine when I realized this is NOT goodbye, dammit. My blog ends when I ride that bike the remaining 172 miles from Barstow to San Diego. In the meantime, Celia and Bennett are on their way here to the hotel to rescue me from a Greyhound ride that would probably not have been a fairytale ending.... LOL. It ain't over, y'all! Stay tuned for the final post!

[dennisprocopio]

Man-DOWN!

I was admittedly riding very hard this trip. Because of that, I should have changed my oil. However, I’m running a top-grade synthetic that should technically have gotten me home. Rule #1….. oil. Ugh.

So here I come through the hot ass desert, from the Grand Canyon to Ludlow, CA. I’m riding it like I stole it, not paying attention to how hot the pipe closest to my right thigh is getting. I just figured yeah sure, it’s hot. Dumb. But okay, it happened.

She started losing power just as I was about to get on the 15 South. Understand…. the 15 South means home to me. I’m almost there. I text Celia asking if she has plans for later. She’s like wow, you’re really close. I’ll try to keep Bennett awake.

I stop and change the plugs, figuring this is why I’m suddenly only able to go 65mph. She fires back up, I get on the ramp for 15 South, and just as I’m approaching an exit for 58 West my engine seizes. I’m doing 65mph. The bike goes into a long sideways slide, like something you’d see in a movie. I stay on the bike somehow, and keep it on two wheels until it loses momentum going up a gentle grade, and set it down and jump off. I’m literally in the middle of the highway…. in the third lane from the shoulder, counting the two exit lanes for 58W. My bike is lying down, but zero external damage. I’m waving trucks away, which are coming at me at 80+mph. No one stops. They don’t even slow down. In Missouri I couldn’t pull over to take a leak without someone stopping to make sure I was okay…. true story. It happened twice. California…. not at all. Me, me, me.

Okay, fine. So I pick my bike up, assess the situation, and walk the damn thing over to the shoulder. I put the kickstand down and catch my breath. Make sure the bikes okay. Not a scratch. I’m fine…. I’m pretty solid, and I’m wearing appropriate gear for a slide.

The cops pull up. Apparently someone called and said there’s a guy wearing black in the middle of the highway with a downed bike. They ask if I need an ambulance. No. They ask if I want to file an accident report. No. They ask what happened, and I tell them. I say I think if I put some oil in her it should be fine. They offer to drive me to get oil.

The officers were very friendly, had a great sense of humor about it…. especially when I pointed out the “man up” vanity plate. One of them said, “Yeah, you should man up and walk that shit to the gas station. You don’t need a ride!” LOLOLOL!!

They suggested I leave my folding knife with the bike, since I was getting in a police vehicle, and I gladly obliged. There was also an obligatory pat-down, but I understood…. it’s protocol. So I ride in the backseat, which I can assure you is not designed fir comfort. Still, it was a ride. When we got to the gas station, they suggested we do a selfie fir the blog. LOL! Freaking loved these guys. The one on the left was Julian, and I wanna say the one on the right was Brad. I was shaken up, so sorry if I hit that wrong fellas.

Anyway, I got the oil, created a makeshift funnel from a cup and some duct tape, added oil…. and while she ran, you could clearly hear the sound of a rod knocking. The rule here is typically: DON’T RUN IT ANYMORE.

But I ran it at 30 mph for a mile to an exit with a Pilot truck stop I called Progressive, who said a tow back to my house would cost $1248!!. LOL, screw that. So I Googled and found a shop in the area about 4 miles away. A kind stranger – Kelly, the guy in one of the pics – suggested I ride her gently to the nearest hotel, then have the shop assess the damage in the morning. He ride behind me to make sure I got there safely. Angels everywhere, I’ll tell you. Thanks, Mr. Kelly.

Now I’m here in the Comfort Suites, waiting to see how this resolves itself. “I’m going back to Cali….. I don’t think so.”

Stay tuned for more wacky motorcycle mayhem…. LOL.

[dennisprocopio]

I left Tuba City and rode down to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. I have two very strong impressions; one good, one not so good.

I’ll start with the not-so-good so as to end on a positive note. Not that I’m cheap, but I didn’t expect to pay $25.00 to a park ranger in a tollbooth. Once in the park area, there’s one road through – 64 West – and the speeds range from 25-45mph. On a bike, it sucks to be behind someone driving slowly and get squeezed by someone behind you who doesn’t understand the importance of leaving distance for braking. So there’s that. And then there’s just the tourist thing in general…. a bunch of people getting out of cars from a variety of states,and the absence of cohesion due to the fact that they are out of their cultural element. Americans do not improvise well socially. Me,me,me. It’s disheartening. Thankfully I found secluded spots to hide my bike off of the beaten path, and these moments made the trip worth it.

Now the good. The Grand Canyon is an unbelievable spectacle. I mean sure, you know that…. you’ve seen the pictures, the videos, and maybe things like it only in a significantly smaller scale. But SCALE is the primary factor here; the characteristic that makes this awesome, rather than just beautiful in a stark way. Perched on a ledge, I fought with vertigo…. my eyes struggled to piece together all of the visual information – taken in a series of blink-fast snapshots – into a comprehensive overview. I couldn’t mentally put it into perspective…. it was too enormous; like the concept of galaxies. I had to fight two distinct urges, the ones I always get when I'm up really high: 1) the urge to panic due to the realization that a fall would kill me; and 2) the urge to jump. Not in a suicidal way….. but just to do it. There’s a part of our brain that remembers –or identifies with – flight. It says, “Do it. Jump and glide. You’ve got this.”

I think I may have to try skydiving next. My friend Mark keeps inviting me. Celia’s already jumped a few times. I think it has to happen.

That’s what the Grand Canton was for me, tourists aside. It was a reality check; an experience that reminded me how big and humbling nature can be. And then too it was the desire to dive into it. To be engulfed. Subsumed. To trust-fall into the heart of a volcano. To ride the flaming chariot into the sun.

Then again, this is the last major stop before returning home, so there may be a little “Thelma & Louise” thing going on. But it’s just a fleeting impulse, and in my line of work we observe impulses but we don’t react to them.

So here I am having beef brisket at Lulu Belle’s BBQ on Route 66 in Ash Fork, AZ. I’m 7hours from home. If I ride hard, I can see my son tonight. Right now, that’s all I want. Our son, our dogs, our familiar home. It’s time.

Stay tuned for the conclusion to the coast-to-coast adventure.

[dennisprocopio]

Navajo Nation in the house. A Western burger with native-raised beef on traditional fry-bead. Daaaaaaamnn! Who knew? Ok, let’s go see the Grand Canyon.

[dennisprocopio]

I'm in Tuba City, Arizona.... an hour away from the Grand Canyon. There's so much I could say about the ride from Fort Garland..... but let's just keep it simple. I have just ridden through some serious altitude, seen some beautiful mountain vistas, dealt with some dramatic temperature changes, and ended up on a meditative journey through the desert. Points of interest included the Rio Grande National Forest; San Juan National Forest; Ute Mountain and lands; and the Navajo Nation. It's official; I love the desert. I'm thinking my next bike will be a dirt bike. All I kept thinking is how badly I wanted to go off road, and play in the sand and rocks. Weird, but to each his own I guess. The deer and elk left me alone, thankfully. I'm in. Quality Inn on the reservation. I have friends in Flagstaff who are Navajo, so there's a special charm I feel being back here again. Last time I was here with a buddy.... long time ago. He took his life this year, and I can't stop thinking about him. Rest in peace, Michael. You're here in spirit. Okay, so tomorrow the Grand Canyon, and then home to San Diego to reunite with my family. I miss my son.... it will be great to see him again. Stay tuned.

[dennisprocopio]

Y'all ain’t gonna believe this shit. LOL. So I head out of Eads, CO west on some lone highway, then south, then west, and at some point I get onto the 160. My mileage gauge said I’d already done just under 50 miles, and my gut immediately said FIND GAS.

I did not. I reasoned like this: My 3.5 gallon tank normally safely gets me about 120 miles or so. *Then there’s the reserve tank. *And then there are the two gas cans I’ve had along for the whole ride and haven’t had to use. Note the asterisks.

Google Maps said it was 148 miles to the next junction. I assumed I’d get to about 100 miles on my mileage gauge and surely find a place to fuel up.

Sunny day. Very pretty. The landscape went on and on forever. I rode and rode. No cars. Cows. Horses. Tractors. Ranches waaaaay off in the distance. A sign welcomed me to Pueblo County. I started seeing signs for wildlife reserves. I kept riding. At mile marker 42, my mileage gauge said an even 100miles. This means that if I don’t find a gas station, I have to get to that junction on the gas I have. I start to panic. I tell myself to stay cool. That this is a man-up moment. So I slow my speed to 50mph to save gas.

I look around, and it has changed from cornfield and grass to brushy desert with mountains in the distance. Then I see a freaking antelope. I would’ve taken a picture, because it looked so crazy and…. African, maybe? Black, white, and tan…. very haunchy…. like a cross between a deer and a zebra. I’m thinking okay seriously, where the fuck am I?

Then it happened, right around mileage 129…. it started sputtering and lurching. Again, the cars are few and far between. Trucks, rather. This isn’t car country.

I got off the bike and said okay, well time to flip the switch on the petcock and get into the reserve tank. That should get me another 5 miles or so, then I’ll finish strong with the gas cans if I need to. Now for a lesson in gas tanks and petcocks…..

A petcock is a lever (see the photo) which controls gas flow from the tank into the carburetors. There is no “reserve tank”. The tank has two lines, the lower of the two is used to drain out the bottom quarter of the tank…. this is your reserve. Now here’s the “funny” part. On my previous bike, the lever UP was the main line, and the lever DOWN was the reserve. Pretty intuitive. On this bike, however, it is reversed…. which means that 128 miles is all the gas mileage I get out of a tank. With the petcock in the UP position, I was already using my reserve. Okay. Sucky. But I still have the two gas cans.

Remember the asterisks? Before I left I did the math, and decided it was probably a good idea to get two more cans…. for a total of four. And there I was at REI, looking dead at then, but chose to save money and storage space. Dumb.

I put the two cans of gas in, and with some reluctance she started up. I had exactly 15 miles to go, and got almost there. Almost. With only 1.4 miles left, she died. No more gas. Now I worried. Progressive Roadside Assistance has its limitations, and this is definitely where that line is drawn.

The whole time I had been coasting along at 50mph, a white pickup was behind me, and I couldn’t help but wonder why he didn’t pass, even though I signaled him to. When she died, he pulled over. I walked to his truck.

Mexican guy from Albuquerque, Harley rider…. said he got a hunch I might be in trouble when he saw me slow down after having passed him at a reasonable clip awhile back. Manuel. My freaking hero. He asked if I had gas cans. I said yeah, so he drove me to the station in Walensburg, CO.

As we sat in his car, I told him about my coast to coast adventure. I told him about my blog, and said he would DEFINITELY be featured in it. I gave him my card. He looked at it like it was wrong in some way.

“Your last name is PROCOPIO?”, he asked. “Yes, Dennis Procopio. I’m Italian…. it’s an Italian name, originally from the Greek “Procopius”. It roughly translates to good or able man”.

“My last name is also PROCOPIO”, he said. “I’ve never met another Procopio. Usually when I tell people my name they look at me strange, like what kind of name is that. I have asked my family, since it’s not a Mexican name, and they just said it was probably Spanish.”

You just can’t make this stuff up. Manuel and Dennis Procopio. Seriously man, what are the odds?

I am now in the mountains, at elevation 7000’…. staying in a lodge in Fort Garland. I can literally hear elk bugling as I type this. Apparently the deer and elk are all over the place at night, and the locals said it would have been a really bad idea to ride my bike at night through the valley.

Dude. Wow. Okay….. LOL…. it’s real. Tomorrow the Grand Canyon. Stay tuned.

[dennisprocopio]

Last night I ended up in the small town of Eads, CO population 596. They have recently built a luxury hotel called The Cobblestone Inn, which I'd say rivals a Holiday Inn Express. The only alternative was the Eads Travelodge, which I was firmly warned by locals to avoid. The hotel was in the middle of absolutely nothing and I mean nothing. As you can see, the room was nice.... and the shot of the two boys shows you what's outback. Nothing. And a lot of it. I had a late breakfast (read lunch) at J&R's restaurant just a few hundred feet away. I also had a tele-session with a client in Abu Dhabi who was literally amazed by the backdrop. This guy is in a gas plant in a desert in the United Arab Emirates watching some small town waitress bring me French Dip roast beef, onion rings, coffee, and coconut cream pie. When worlds collide.... LOL. Then I got back on the road, for what would prove to be a scenically gorgeous disaster. See next post for some comedy at my expense.

[dennisprocopio]

Okay, this was a sucky part of the journey, as evidenced by the crybaby face I’m making….. LOL. I left Abilene and headed west on 70 through the plains. Overcast day, a few wet patches that soaked my pant legs, but no rain. This part of the trip was nevertheless very peaceful and meditative. West Kansas isn’t exactly pretty, but it is awesome for its spaciousness. It’s so big, the sky, the land….. I couldn’t stop thinking about what life must’ve been like in the pioneer days, or before that for indigenous tribes prior to the arrival of Europeans.

It started getting dark, and colder as I continued west. I stoped at a truck stop and picked up a camo hoodie and matching Thinsulate gloves. Pretty much as the sun was going down, I found myself on 40 West, which was more of a country road than a highway. I slowed to 55mph for fear of hitting a deer. My gps said I had 148 miles on this stretch, and it stayed exactly the same: dark, isolated, honestly kinda scary. A man-up moment, to be sure.

So now I’m in Eads, Colorado…. population 596. I’ll be spending the night here, then heading out toward Arizona in the morning. Stay tuned.

[dennisprocopio]

Coffee and football. Nice. Still in Abilene, getting off to a slow start. Easy like Sunday morning. I have two clients today, both awesome guys, so the plan is to head out afterward. Back in Norristown, as a kid, I played peewee football. Our team was the Chiefs.... so I've always had a sentimental connection to KC. Of course, you're a traitor if you're from Philly and don't "bleed green", so of course I follow the Eagles. Then again, I'm a Katrina survivor, so I also follow the Saints. At the end of the day I'm a football fan, but not a diehard one-team fan. Still, if I had to pick I'd stay with the Saints. It must have been tough for Andy Reid to transition from the Eagles coach to the Chiefs coach, but in a way I bet he's been reborn through the experience. Poor guy fatally lost his son to drugs, and that rocked him. I think after that a major change is necessary. And Kansas seems to live and appreciate him. And hey, he's dropped 60 pounds. Those cheesesteaks catch up to you. 😂 Alright, time to make the donuts.

[dennisprocopio]

Waiting out the rain in Abilene, Kansas. After a day of exploring the backroads of rural Kansas – and killing a lot of big ass bugs on my windscreen – I decided that between dark clouds and deer I’d better find some place to shack up.

I ended up at a Holiday Inn Express out in the boonies. Across the dead-end driveway is a hotel that features chicken-dinner…. as it has since 1870. Very cool. The two hotels are surrounded by undeveloped land, so I decided it was time to light one of the two good cigars I bought back in Merion, PA. Let me explain.

The (very Jewish) salesperson running SJ Cigars asked me a series of multiple-choice questions to determine the best fit for me. Basically a sales funnel. My answers were: big, dark, spicy, full-bodied. And so he pointed me to the Joya de Havana Doble Robusto. At only $8.00 a stick, I went for two. Then as an afterthought I saw a bin of dark looking stogies for $5.00 a stick…. they looked rough and oily, the way I tend to like them, so I asked him what the deal was with those. Classic cigar-shop sales rhetoric…. he said, “It’s like a pretty girl with a zit. Do you really care?” I laughed and bought two, even though technically yes, I do care. I find the word “zit” repulsive, always have.

I smoked the first “pretty girl” on the PA Turnpike, back in Land, PA. It was a solid little smoke, and I found myself wondering the whole time…. “so where’s this zit?” To use cigar aficionado parlance, it was the last third. It got harsh, hot, and bitter. I tossed it before it ruined the otherwise enjoyable experience of the first 2/3’s.

I smoked the second “pretty girl” in Odessa, MO… the town described by a local as a home for "Catholics and tweekers". Exact same experience. The final third is the zit. And yes, I care. Won’t buy them again.

So here in Abilene, KS – having changed into shorts and sandals – I decided to burn a good cigar while watching the lightning storm and listening to chirping crickets and yipping coyotes in the near distance. The parking lot is full of pick-up trucks locked and loaded with hunting gear. Apparently this is a popular stop for elk hunters. I walked out to a field and enjoyed my cigar while watching a very impressive light show…. thunderstorms rolling in. The occasional threat of a downpour as huge cold drops splashed on my head and arms. But these sprinkles came and went.

For any cigar smoker reading this, while I won’t embarrass myself with an attempt at a review, I will say it was a cool smoke, even burn, notes ranging from sweet to surprisingly spicy, with leather and chocolate being the most consistent flavors. The final third was so good I literally got down to the nub, and extinguished it only when my finger-tips started to get too hot. Really good by my standards. Props to the salesman at SJ; he had my number.

I’m at the point in my trip where I’m about ready to get home. I did a FaceTime call with Celia and Bennett, and I’m really missing them. So tomorrow I’m going to blast through Colorado on my way to the Grand Canyon, then start a high-speed boogie back to San Diego. Stay tuned. I hope you’re enjoying this. I’m enjoying sharing it with you. 🤠

[dennisprocopio]

Kansas. Alta Vista. White City. Both established in the 1800’s. Small, quiet, rural. I ended up on dirt and gravel roads, and no matter how many pictures I took it just doesn’t capture it. It’s so big…. I’d need a drone to convey the scope. And even still…. you have to be there. But why would you be? Who makes White City, Kansas a destination? LOL. This was a great day,

[dennisprocopio]

Once again, people told me I’d hate Kansas and I really freaking love it. I got rained on hard west of Lawrence, but my rain gear kept me dry. I’m somewhere around Topeka,and it’s sooooo beautiful I had to get off the highway. Not sure how people could find this boring or monotonous, as I think it’s stunning. Seriously amazing. Big, bright, beautiful, and real. I’m feeling gratitude listening to the bugs chirp in the tall grasses of the highs plains. One the defining moments of the trip so far.

[dennisprocopio]

Today was a work day. I had client sessions, but still managed to make it to Lawrence, KS. I decided to spend the night here after a few of my biker friends warning me about deer at night….. and anyway, a hotel is a nice luxury, so why not?

Tomorrow I plan to get off the 70 for a bit, and take some backroads through the Badlands. It apparently gets pretty wild about 12 miles south of the Interstate, and there are places where you can still see faint ruts from stagecoach wheels. That sounds awesome, I’m psyched.

The pictures are from a godforsaken Missouri town called Odessa. I camped out at a Whistle Stop, smoking a cigar and people-watching between client sessions. I really like that brand of beef jerky, which comes with its own toothpick. Brilliant marketing, and the name Hardtimes really fits the town.

The guy in the picture is 18 year old Cole Lewis. He’s a high school senior with plans to go to school for welding, then join the Boilermakers Union. He spoke so passionately and reverently about the Boilermakers that I was inspired to research. I urge you to check out the link below…. it’s a great insight into one of the many interesting cultures that exists here in the heartland.

Cole plans to work the pipeline, and get the hell out of Odessa. He described it as a shit-hole of a town, which features only two types of people…. Catholics and Tweekers. LOLOLOL. Had to get his picture after that moment of innocent blue collar poetry. He works at the Whistle Stop, and was a strong young guy. I asked him if he works out. He laughed. He said no, I just work. LOLOL. I loved this kid. I get a strong feeling he’s going to do something with his life. Be somebody. Unless of course the Catholics and Tweekers get their hooks in him. 😂😂😂

https://www.boilermakers.org/about

[dennisprocopio]

Had a great night's sleep at the Columbia Hampton Inn. Got a new client from Alabama, and while talking to him made a few Roll Tide jokes. Checked out and had a remote session with a client in Argentina, then headed back over to Bandana's for some pulled pork, potato salad, and sweet corn. All those cornfields finally hit to me.... had to have some. Mizzou plays Purdue tomorrow, but the hotel is already set up for their tail-gating party. Gotta love it. Alright, time to ride.