Author: Fuzzygalore

Rider, adventurer, traveler, weirdo, lover of love, and all around curious person. Trying to squeeze the fun-juice out of each and every day.
Water Rises to it’s Own Level

Water Rises to it’s Own Level

Water rises to it’s own level. I used to hear my dad say that. He felt that people gravitate to other people like themselves. Trouble finds trouble, kindness finds kindness. But is it true?

Being little more than a speck in sprawling universe of the internet makes it unlikely that we’d find each other. We’re each just one of gazillions of stars. How is it that we reduce such an immense population of internet users to find each other?

Even if you said that people who share common interests like motorcycling don’t have to look very hard. Is that true? I mean, click the hashtag motorcycles on Instagram. There are 100s of thousands of potential connections. What is it that makes another anonymous person catch your eye enough for you to follow them? And then once you do, do you often strike up a friendship or develop a deep interest in that person? For me, that would be an exception.

With blogging, you don’t really even have the same hashtag-ability to cluster everyone together. Blogs are a bit more passive with their reach. They often have to piggyback on your other social connections to get them in front of people. And yet, we find each other.

Given the instant gratification that something like Instagram can provide, why do some people want to take it further and keep a blog? And who are the people that are seeking something more than just a photo that read them?

Some blog authors become “friends” in my mind. The flow of their language, the depth of their introspection, their vulnerability, and their triumphs become something… personal? to me, too. I become invested in what they’re up to. In my mind some blog authors become perfect people and I admire them. I miss them when they go quiet or wonder about them at unusual times. For example, riding along I’ll see a scene and think – that looks like something X would photograph.

But, I suppose that is just an impression of what I think they’re like filtered through the prism of my own thoughts. But the fact that this person I’ve never met crosses my mind while I’m moving through the world says they are important to me.

How can you be friends with someone you’ve never met? But, it seems to happen.

So, You Come Here Often?

So, You Come Here Often?


When you stop by for a read you learn something (or not) about me. But, how about the flip-side? I’d like to know a little something about you.

Even if you think that I already know or know that I already know about you, why don’t you leave a little hello or a note about yourself and a link to your blog, or Instagram, or whatever in a comment below? Maybe some of the other folks who come ’round would like to learn about you, too.


Roadside Giants Along the Lincoln Highway in Pennsylvania

Roadside Giants Along the Lincoln Highway in Pennsylvania

Pennsylvania’s leg of the Lincoln Highway has some interesting sights peppered along the route. For reasons unknown to even me, I especially love riding along it’s western half.

The Lincoln Highway Heritage Corridor established a group of 5 roadside attractions called Roadside Giants for people to stop at and enjoy.

This 1921 Selden pickup is just a walk across the parking lot of Shatzer Fruit Market in Chambersburg.

I previously wrote about this Chambersburg peach-covered gas pump at Shatzer Fruit Market in the post: Tales of a Second Grade Nothing

In October, I was able to stop and see the awesome giant quarter near the town of Everett.

I’ve now seen two out of the five giants. Seeing the rest will keep me thinkin’ ’bout the Lincoln.

Giant Chicken Army: North Carolina’s Master of Disguise

Giant Chicken Army: North Carolina’s Master of Disguise

Don’t sleep on the Giant Chicken Army. I’ve warned you all before but it’s the same old story. No one does anything until it’s too late.

While heading towards the Dragon in October, I encountered another mobilized soldier, but this time the scaly legged critter was in uniform. Or… disguise.

Perhaps, as previously postulated, it is the same chicken following me but the long way ’round and he’s wearing a new t-shirt to try to blend in. This theory is terrifying on several levels. The most troubling being that this chicken has ESP to know where I’m going before I do. I mean we’re talking about Men Who Stare at Goats-level PsyOps.

I’m telling you, people. They/He is everywhere. Next time you see a pair of beady eyes staring in your window one night, don’t say I didn’t warn ya.


More Posts About the Giant Chicken Army

This is My Secret Support System

This is My Secret Support System

I feel sad saying it, but over the last 6+ months there have innumerable dark moments. Many times over, I’ve asked myself what the point of going on is if it is just to exist in a state of utter despair and torment. Knowing that everyone around me would be relieved to have this emotional tornado removed from their lives. Logic and pep talks have little success in helping alleviate those feelings because I can counter anything kind that anyone says by knowing that they are only being nice because they feel like they should, not because I really matter.

The agony of walking that tightrope of just wanting to pull the plug and still having a little voice inside that pushes you forward in spite of your penchant for self destruction is really indescribable to someone who (thankfully) has never been there.  When you try to explain it, it makes no sense to them. Or, the feeble attempts you make to explain what’s happening to you just don’t encapsulate what it’s really like inside. Or, some people think you “look fine” so there really isn’t anything wrong, or that you’re faking it, or that “you have everything, what could you be sad about?” They simply cannot understand. That’s where I’ve been.

But I’m not there now.

Since the end of the summer, in addition to the pills I stuff in my face each morning and evening, the weekly therapy sessions, monthly trips to the psychiatrist who makes me feel like I’m being ushered through on a conveyor belt, I’ve had a secret support group. In fact, they don’t even know they’ve been doing it. And I gotta tell ya, I think their effortless form of therapy has helped me tremendously.

I’ve known a few of these fellas for years with varying degrees of familiarity. Towards the end of the summer I kind of shoehorned my way in to their friend group. No one asked me to stop coming around, so I haven’t. For the most part I don’t really talk to them about my problems and they don’t ask. Which is nice because I get to exist beyond my self pity and misery. They take care of me by just being and not helping.

It’s been fascinating to get to know each one of them beyond the superficial level. When you casually see someone around town, you have no idea how deep their still waters run. As you learn to trust each other another layer of the onion peels away exposing something unexpected.

It can be hard to make friends as an adult. These boys have been saving me and they have no idea. I’m forever grateful.

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