First Time for Dehner Boots?

So you made the purchase of a cool pair of Dehner (brand) police motorcycle boots. Very handsome boots, for sure! Congratulations on your selection of a great pair of boots.

As a Dehner-boot wearer myself (see my collection), let me share some insights on how to break in these boots properly, so you can wear them for years, comfortably, and laced right. (I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen non-cops wearing bal-laced Dehner boots that are laced wrong — either tied like sneakers with laces in an x-pattern, or tied at the top, not in the middle.)

Dehner boots are classics, but the stock boots, which are most common, have plastic shafts (the company calls it “Dehcord,” but plastic is plastic) which if not broken properly at the ankle, may break wrong and cause problems with comfort by rubbing and causing sores on the back of the ankle.

I have created a tutorial video that explains what to do right after you open that Dehner box, pull out those tall black boots, admire them, but before you put them on for the first time.

Yep, that’s right: don’t pull them on your feet right away. Watch this video, follow these procedures, then be very happy with your new boots.

Life is short: break in your Dehner Boots right!

If your browser does not handle this embedded HD video well, See it on my YouTube Channel.

Oh Officer?

Ooops… it finally happened. I had someone confuse me with a motor officer. Here’s the story…

Last Friday, I rode my Harley while going about errands and grocery shopping for my aunt. I also wanted to break in a new pair of lug-soled Dehner patrol boots. It was comfortably warm, so leather breeches would be too hot to wear. I chose a pair of cloth breeches instead. I wore a t-shirt and a vest on top. Nothing I was wearing had insignia of any law enforcement agency on it. However, I do realize that striped breeches inside motorboots gives a message that others may misinterpret.

While in the grocery store, I was moving rather quickly up and down the aisles to get the various items that my aunt needed. After gathering all the items, I went to the self-checkout register and began using it.

A woman came up to me, and said, “gee, you’re fast. I saw you and kept trying to reach you, but you moved to fast to catch up with. Officer, I have a question….” then she prattled on about something regarding what the police do with mentally disturbed people. I swear, she didn’t even pause to take a breath.

I finally had a chance to get a word in edgewise, and said, “Ma’am, I’m not a police officer, but I understand the breeches and boots might have confused you.”

She stopped, then looked me up and down and said, “well, I thought you were, because my brother is a motor officer and wears a uniform like that.”

I really didn’t want to get into a prolonged discussion, so I just said, “well, again, I’m sorry for any confusion. These are indeed police motor breeches and boots, but you see, I am not wearing any insignia and I’m not a cop. I ride a motorcycle almost every day, and find this clothing to be comfortable and practical, which is why cops wear it. It just works for me, that’s all. Again, sorry to cause confusion.”

She replied with, “well, you even had your sunglasses propped up on your head like cops do, your hair is cut like theirs, and you walk the same way they do, so no wonder I thought you were a cop.” Then, believe it or not, she kinda bopped me on the shoulder and said, “I wish you were a cop. You have a nice smile, and you’re making time for this old lady to ask you a dumb question.” With that, she spun on her heel and walked away. … left me with my jaw dropped and wondering what just happened.

The customer in the lane next to me said, “hey, man, those are nice boots. They look good with those … what’d you call ’em? Breeches?”

Hmmm… he was a very nice looking guy.

I finished checking out as he did, and he walked with me to the parking lot. He admired my Harley and asked a bunch of questions about the bike and the boots.

I mounted up and rode off with a smile on my face, yet with some bewilderment, too, regarding the incident that started the whole series of events.

Life is short: wear what you like, but don’t intentionally misrepresent. If someone makes an assumption, clarify!

Happy Independence Day!

Today is Independence Day in the United States, marking our nation’s 234th birthday. Happy birthday, America! Here’s a recent photo that serves this day well (that’s me on my bike in the background).

This morning, I will accompany two friends to be sworn in as our nation’s newest citizens. I coached them as they studied for their citizenship test. These friends have worked hard and have been very patient — one for ten years, one for twelve — to earn the privilege of becoming a U.S. citizen. Their ceremony will be held at Ft. McHenry, which is in Baltimore. Nothing is more special than to have such a ceremony than at the location that served as the inspiration for Frances Scott Key to write the poem that became the lyrics to our national anthem, the Star Spangled Banner.

Unfortunately, after the morning celebration is over, I have to rush right back home and get to work on that long-list of honey-do projects around the house. The Warden requires it. So no crab feast at my brother’s this year. I’ll miss it, but I’m doing what I have to do.

Life is short: celebrate the birthday of the United States!

Dehners’ First Ride

For a long time now, a boot store that I like was offering a great price on Dehner Patrol Boots. I figured that the sale would have to come to an end, so I decided to buy a pair of these boots with a 1″ wider calf and lug soles on them. The boot store does not carry Dehner Boots with lug soles, but can arrange to have the Dehner Company put them on and have the boots shipped to the buyer directly.

I like big lug soles on my boots because they help a lot when I need to maneuver my big, heavy motorcycle in tight spots. For example, yesterday I went to our local post office, and the only parking space available was on a slight downgrade. There was so much traffic around, I couldn’t back myself into the spot. I knew when I came out, it would require a lot of strength and traction to move the bike out of the space. These boots performed superbly: like a snow tire, the soles gripped the pavement and helped me to push my bike out of the space. Had my sole slipped — even a little bit — it would have been very likely that I would have dropped the bike. That’s enough of a reason why I wear lug-soled boots when I ride my Harley.

Now… to the video. Some readers may be “of a certain age” (like me) to remember the TV show “CHiPs” that was aired from 1977 to 1983. The show featured a couple of Dehner-booted bike cops. Every now-and-then, they would have a camera trained on one of the cop’s boots from behind, as he was operating his bike — usually chasing a bad guy.

I have that image in my mind — of a Dehner Boot on a bike while riding. I have produced similar videos like this before, but this is the first one while I am actually wearing “Dehner” (brand) boots (not something else) on this model of Harley-Davidson motorcycle.

Enjoy the “bootcam” video. Try to figure out where my camera was. I assure you, though, that my hands remained firmly on the grips, and I didn’t let go. Also, I didn’t have a passenger or someone riding beside me. Okay — go figure where my camera was. I’ll reveal the answer later.

Life is short: get booted and ride!

Spellin Dusn’t Count

Apparently to Google, spelling doesn’t count. I have seen visitors come to my blog by looking up:

  • how to were cowboy boots
  • where boots
  • y were motorsikle boots
  • u were boots
  • 2 go 2 lthr prid

… and many more such gaffs. More than gaffs: to me, signs of a poor education. And mind you, these visitors were from the United States. I forgive people from other countries whose first language is not English. But for those from the U.S., I anticipate that common words should be spelled correctly.

Am I anticipating too much? Probably so. These days with texting short-hand, most kids never spell out words. They use short forms of words to get across their message. That’s fine for texting, but for writing messages for email, or for papers for school or work, I come from the “old school” where spelling counts.

There is nothing I can do about it, other than to post occasional rants from time to time. This is one of them.

Life is short: learn to spell.

Boots for Work

I am catching up on a lot of repair projects around my house and some of my rental properties. Here, I am reflooring one of my decks, as the old cedar had not withstood the test of time, despite treating it regularly. I am replacing the deck floor with Trex, which is an artificial product that can better handle the wet winters we get.

Timberland boots fit the bill … yeah, while I am always booted, contrary to popular belief, I do not always wear tall black police patrol boots (giggle). These Timberlands are tough, rugged, yet very comfortable. They don’t get hot on my feet, even in hot weather. They have good insoles inside them that add to their comfort. While made in the Dominican Republic, the boots are well-constructed and stand up to hard work.

Life is short: choose the right boot for the job!

Latest Activities

Welcome to the first blog post from my new computer. Not much different, eh? Well, it’s working, and if I can only find a printer driver that is compatible with a 64-bit Win7 system for my 10-year-old all-in-one printer, I’ll be all set.

My blog posts of late have been hit-or-miss with most of them previously written weeks or months ago, scheduled to appear as a new post appears each day.

What I really have been doing is caring for my 95-year-old aunt. Last Tuesday, I had to had to call an ambulance and have her transported to the hospital. She had become dehydrated and was hallucinating due to effects of a new drug her orthopedist had given her for pain in her back caused by old bones compressing in the spine, pinching a nerve. The pain was so overwhelming at times that it was all she could think about. She said she was not hungry, and wouldn’t eat or drink … thus the dehydration.

She was hospitalized for four days. Her orthopedist led us to believe that he was going to do a minor surgical procedure to help alleviate her pain. However, last Friday morning I learned that he decided not to do that, and released her from the hospital.

Friday was a day of frenetic activities. Due to her state of Alzheimer’s, we really wanted her to return to her home and familiar surroundings. Had she gone to a nursing home, she would have been so bewildered and befuddled, we think she would have given up and death would soon follow.

Her sons who live out of state were always on the phone with me, but I had to take on the actions and activities to enable her to return home. They couldn’t do it from afar. I called in dozens of favors from my senior legion who live in the same community where she does, as well as some family members.

Her pantry and fridge were restocked. A hospital bed was delivered and another friend bought new linens to get her bed ready. A company we engaged to provide companion services stepped up and organized providing around-the-clock care from personal attendants who could help my aunt physically: get her out of bed, help her use the toilet, prepare food for her, and make sure she takes all of her meds as scheduled and in the correct dosage.

I had to argue and take a strong stand with her orthopedist’s office to change her pain med, since we couldn’t have any more of these hallucinatory situations that were potential life risks. (My aunt was seeing imaginary boxes on the floor and trying to step over them.) The simple act of changing her med took several hours and many phone calls. Man, such a hassle… but her orthopedist just didn’t seem to care or think about the consequences of his non-communication and inaction on my aunt and me, as her primary caregiver, custodian, and guardian.

Hospital personnel got her into my partner’s sedan, which I used because there’s no way my aunt could get up into my truck. When we arrived in the parking lot outside her condo, friends met us with a wheelchair and helped us get inside. And that’s no easy feat, as my aunt’s building has six stairs and no elevator between the outside and her unit. Those six steps are like Mt . Everest when you’re trying to get someone who is frail and weak past them.

Another nephew of my aunt took out her old big double bed and cleaned her room. He even brought the mattress and box spring out and took care of disposing of them.

The new hospital bed was late in delivery, and I couldn’t get my aunt settled into it until 7pm. The first caregiver for the round-the-clock shifts arrived at 8pm. My aunt settled into a deep slumber.

Unfortunately, the bed had a mechanical defect. It would suffice for the weekend, but on Monday, the owner of the medical supply company returned and replaced the bed with a new one that had all parts working. He really was good about it, though this unplanned situation was yet another challenge to deal with.

After my aunt was softly sleeping and her caregiver was oriented, I came home, and called my cousins to provide an update. Then I explained it all to my partner, who was worried about how I was handling all of this, since a couple days before I had my own visit to the hospital E.R. for treatment of a severe bout of colitis. Must have been the nerves and anxiety.

Throughout the weekend and the past few days, I have visited my aunt many times each day. I have oriented each new caregiver as she began her shift. I encouraged my aunt to eat, to drink, and to communicate with us.

Bless her, she remains cheerful and pleasant. She is not one of those Alzheimer’s patients who gets mean and angry. She spends most of her time resting, but when she is awake, we get her talking, walking, moving, eating….

I feel that this is my calling for now… to care for my sweet, lovely, aunt. In a way, I am glad I have the time since my job ended in early June so I can do all the things my aunt requires to live out her life comfortably, at home, in familiar surroundings, with care by her side all the time. I can now relax somewhat, and get going on projects for home repairs on my own home as well as some of my rental properties, and re-start my job hunt.

Could I have just told my cousins, “send her to a home” and be done with it? Sure… that was an option, but not one that my conscious could let me live with. My aunt has the resources to afford to pay for around-the-clock care. Her condo is safe, comfortable, and suited for her needs. Years ago, I installed grab-bars, better lighting, and many other safety features that enable her to remain safe. Sending her to a nursing facility would have provided the medical and physical care she requires, but her life as she knew it, would be over. I couldn’t live with that.

I am confident that my aunt will live what remains of her life in a manner suited for her needs, and preserve her dignity and quality of life. That, my blog readers, is what it is all about.

While the immediate crisis is over, the ongoing supervision of her care remains top-of-mind, with actions that carry out one of my frequent closings to this blog:

Life is short: show those you love that you love them. Each and every day, in every action you take.

Backing Up Toward a Terabyte

I am backing up my old office computer that I bought in 2002 in preparation to retire it. At the time I bought it, was state-of-the-art. Too bad that state-of-the-art is ancient the first time you turn it on (LOL!)

My old computer had a whopping 80GB (gigabytes) of hard-drive storage space and a whiz-bang speed of 2.53 Gigahertz.

And to think, my first PC back in 1987 had an unheard of 12mhz processor speed with a ‘huge’ 40 Megabytes of hard disk space.

For the non-math oriented, a bit is either a zero or a one. Put eight of them together, and you get a byte. One byte represents one thing, like a letter of the alphabet, a character, or pixels in a photo. … and so much more.

1,000 bytes = 1 kilo (thousand) bytes. (abbreviated KB)

1,000,000 bytes = 1,000 KB = 1 mega (million) bytes (MB)

1,000,000,000 bytes = 1,000,000 KB = 1,000 giga (billion) bytes (GB)

1,000,000,000,000 bytes = 1,000,000,000 KB = 1,000,000 MB = 1,000 GB = 1 terabyte, or 1 trillion bytes.

We went from file sizes of 100KB (kilobytes) which you could easily store on a “floppy disk” (remember those things?) for portability.

Now it’s not uncommon to work with files that are 20MB for something like a complex PowerPoint presentation with numerous graphics.

It also is quite common now to store files on a “thumb drive” (also called a “flash drive”) which uses electronic memory and can store gigabytes of information on one small, portable devices. I have collected dozens of these things as give-aways at conferences and such.

Actually, our computers (my partner has one and I have two) are all interconnected through a hard-wired network (for security) and each of them get backed up automatically every time we power them up. A few years ago, I bought a whiz-bang 300GB backup device onto which all of our files are stored on our respective machines, in case any of the computers crashes. This device has all of my documents, photos, html and web-based files, my blog, and so forth, all safely stored and protected. Also, about once a month, I transfer all of these backups to an offsite storage area that is part of the service I pay for website hosting. I have “oodles” of space, and the fee is the same each month whether I use it or not, so why not use it?

My new home computer has a terabyte of hard-drive storage. Heck, with three computers and all the files we have, we’re not even close to 100GB (1/10th of a TB) of every file we’ve ever written for the past 12 years, every photo we’ve ever stored, every web page I have ever written, every blog post I’ve prepared, and so on. Why would I ever need 1 TB of disk space?

Who knows? Back in the day, I thought 40KB of hard drive space was more than adequate. Fortunately, I don’t think I’ll run out of physical storage. Backups are so incredibly important. I know several people whose computer “crashed” and they lost everything, all for lack of saving their files on a backup system somewhere.

There are on-line backup systems available for those who would like the security and ease-of-use of an off-site backup. These systems are inexpensive nowadays and are designed for home use just as much as business use. They are analogous to an insurance policy. You pay the premium and hope you never have to make a claim, but if you have a loss, you will be happy that you did because some things cannot be recovered.

Onward with a hard physical backup of everything on my “old” machine. Once the new one is working and I’m confident that all the old files are readable on the new machine, then I’ll destroy the hard drive in the old machine and e-cycle the rest of the innards.

Life is short: backup your stuff!

How You Know Your Other Half Isn’t a Biker

Here are some signs to confirm that your other half is not a biker:

  • It’s sunny and warm, and the other half presents a list of honey-do projects around the house, with demands to have them all completed by day’s end.
  • You say that you have to go see your aunt to check in on her… same sunny day… you go change into motorcycle boots and jeans. The other half looks at you and says, “you’re taking your bike? Really?” … no, I’m walking. Of course I’m taking my bike!
  • You have been getting pledges of support for a charity motorcycle ride. The big day comes. You get up early and put on your full biker regalia (jeans, club colors vest, biker boots) and the other half says, “we have to go grocery shopping, then to the home center to get stuff for the backyard project, then … ” (the list goes on.) Ummm… I have prepared you for a month now that I am leading a ride of hundreds of bikers today. It’s on the calendar. I’m outta here. (other half mumbles, “but we have all these things we “have” to do!) Uggghhhh
  • Time for the family dinner rolls around on Friday night. The other half seldom goes with me, and isn’t going tonight. I change into biker gear and begin moving the Harley out of the garage. The other half says, “where are you going?” … to the family dinner. “On your bike?” … no, I’m walking. Of course I am going on my bike. Why not?
  • Rumbling of a Harley is heard out on the driveway. A buddy has come by for a planned ride to the riding range for group practice. Other half asks, “where are you going?” … to the range… it’s on the calendar… it’s planned. “Why? You know how to ride.” … yep, but practice makes perfect.
  • An elderly friend calls and asks for some help moving some furniture in her apartment. I head to the garage, getting the Harley out. The other half asks, “are you going to her place on your bike? Why?” … why not? I don’t have to carry tools or equipment. Why not ride the bike to get there?
  • and the last way you can tell your other half isn’t a biker is a classic when he asks, “can’t you wear those boots you have on your feet for your ride?” … as he looks at a pair of dress cowboy boots worn with dress clothes for work. … nope, smooth-soled boots don’t work for motorcycle riding. That’s why I have so many pairs of motorcycle boots. The right boot for the right job…

There are times when I really wish my partner rode his own bike, but even when he could ride with me as a passenger, he was better at remembering what bikers do. He has forgotten that a biker will “think bike” any time he can ride it, even if not for a motorcycle-related event.

Don’t get me wrong: I love my partner. He’s not a biker, but makes up for it in many other ways.

Life is short: ride whenever you can!

Frayed Jeans and Frye Boots

The style back in high school was to cut off the ends of your bell-bottom bluejeans and let the ends fray by tumbling them in a dryer until the horizontal threads came out and you had strings, or “frays” at the end of the jean’s legs. Then pull on your Frye boots, which had a higher heel so the ends of your jeans wouldn’t drag on the floor. Then casually stroll along, listening to the distinctive Frye boot clomp. There is nothing quite like that look or the boots.

I have a dozen pairs of original, or “vintage,” Frye boots that I have owned since the early 70s when I bought my first pair. The company has an interesting history, which is documented in a tutorial that I wrote, here.

I know I am not the only one who has a nostalgic feeling about Frye Boots. Someone who found a vintage pair of Frye boots at a yard sale bought them, then contacted me for more details after she found the information that I had written on my website about my Frye boot collection. She wrote an interesting and heart-felt post on her blog about her find and her communication with me. I appreciated finding that. I’m glad that I contributed to her interest and passion for these boots.

Fryes age with a distinctive patina to the leather. Instead of getting dull, the boot color gets darker. To me, it just looks more interesting that way. I still wear my Fryes from time to time. I had these “oiled” Fryes on yesterday, and a guy stopped me in the store and said, “hey, I remember those boots! They’re Fryes, aren’t they?” … and then we had a nice conversation, reminiscing about our respective high school days. He said that he doesn’t have his Fryes any more, and regrets it. (Poor fella, he was wearing sneakers.)

Now-and-then, I’ll become nostalgic for the Fryes of yesterday, and the style that goes with it.

Life is short: enjoy vintage Fryes!