Art and Genetics

My three sons are all very creative and artistically talented. They get it from their Grandpa Hal. The above drawing is proof. I remember my father drawing these characters, especially in church, to keep me quiet and focused. I never tired of watching him draw these guys. They are probably not the most politically correct, these days, but I don't care.

Yeah, I know...

Walker Mafia

I always have thought this picture appeared as though it was taken out of a "Godfather" movie. I often wonder what I was thinking, what my brother and grandfather, both Rosel, were discussing and what had caught Loralyn's attention.

Seeking Forgiveness

How do we forgive our fathers? Maybe in a dream. Do we forgive our fathers for leaving us too often, or forever, when we were little? Maybe for scaring us with unexpected rage, or making us nervous because there never seemed to be any rage there at all? And shall we forgive them for their excesses of warmth or coldness? Shall we forgive them for pushing, or leaning? For shutting doors or speaking through walls? For never speaking, or never being silent? Do we forgive our fathers in our age, or in theirs? Or in their deaths, saying it to them or not saying it. If we forgive our fathers, what is left?

Declaration Report

It was the standard "bait and switch" ploy. When I showed up to the start of the metric century (62 miles) charity ride yesterday, it was dry but the sky was threatening rain. I had told myself I would not ride if it was raining. It was about 39 degrees but I was determined to follow through with my declaration.

The "ride" started promptly at 8 a.m. and I jumped in the front pack. My riding partner, Kevin, had not shown up. I usually had four or five friends/riders to ride a paceline with in years past but not today. So I thought I would jump in the front pack to see how long I could last before I was spit out the back to a slower group. I figured I would not be ridiculed as I was covered so completely by winter riding clothing.

Two miles into the ride, the downpour started. Then after about 10 miles the sleet started. A couple of miles later, the storm receded back to just a steady deluge making us feel grateful. The rain did keep my mind off how cold I was. Funny how one's perspective changes.

I was amazed at the 2/3s point, I was still with the lead, elite pack. I know the main reason was the weather kept the pace down as the roads were treacherous and one really doesn't like to break away alone in that kind of weather so the 30 or so riders stayed together. I, of course, deluded myself into believing the yellow band I have worn on my wrist since the death of my father had somehow transformed me into a double nickle Lance Armstrong.

The rain stopped about 8 miles from the finish and the pace picked up but we had a strong tailwind and, hey, everyone looks good in a tailwind. We rolled into the parking lot and began stowing our bikes and peeling of our helmets and such. I peeled off my helmet and skull cap and noticed 3 of my former riding mates staring at me, jaws a little dropped. I guess the skull cap removal had revealed my gray head. One of them rolled by on his bike and asked my how old I was. I told him as he slowly rode by and he just shook his head from side to side as he rolled back to his buddies. They stared at me again and I had to turn to keep from showing my grin.

Am I bragging...? A little.

Yeah, I know.

Farmboy Tough

I have been doing a workout called the "Spartacus" workout. It consists of ten exercises done in one minute increments with fifteen second rests between. The circuit is completed three times. Takes about 41 minutes. My second in command at work recommended it to me when I told him I wanted to get my "core" strength back. He is a fitness expert and instructor. We are the same age give or take a couple of months. I have been working hard at it. I have been amazed at how fast I have progressed in a short amount of time. It is a self-fulfilling prophecy happening in a very positive way.

I made a comment to Kevin, the aforementioned co-worker, about my progress. He looked at me quizzically as to why I was surprised. He observed,"You are one of those guys that are farm boy tough. The strength is already in you". I have been thinking about his statement and have found it to be a true one.

When I was in junior high and high school, I worked hard bucking hay, moving pipe, digging ditches, cleaning newspaper and Idaho Power offices, building plows and other farming implements. We did not need a huge weight room and gym at school because the other kids had similar lifestyles. All my life I have been very active playing ball, riding bikes and playing sports.

I think there is some genetics going on also. My pain threshold is extremely high and I can work or play others "right into the ground" with my stamina. I never met my maternal grandfather, pictured above with two of his favorite horses Doc and Duke, but I am sure he was "farmboy" tough and that strength has been passed on to me genetically and culturally. My paternal grandfather was extremely strong before he was badly injured while working for the railroad. That my Dad was tough is not even in question. Even in his sixties, he could work me "right into the ground".

Don't even get me started about the work ethics of my mother and grandmothers (Charlotte Paskett, Elaine Wilson and Verna Weeks).

Thanks Grandpa (Lorin Roy Weeks, Rosel Hunter Walker and Hal Wilson Walker)...

More Than Metal and Smoke...

Cars are very much a part of Americana then and now. Our family was no different. The first car I remember was our 1957 Pontiac Safari station wagon. 283 cubic inches of V-8 power. White with yellow trim. The above picture shows Susan, Charlotte and I. I am the one with the short hair.

I remember going on trips to visit relatives, vacations to Alturas Lake and going to church. My Dad and Mom loved to sing and we would all sing along no matter the distance. My Dad would also quote poetry and we would laugh at some of the limericks.
"Your red scarf matches your eyes, you close your cover before striking..."

On long trips, I remember laying down on the floor behind the drivers seat and feeling the heat flow from the front area. I would sleep there.

One time Loralyn was standing behind the driver's seat with her arm around Dad. Dad was passing cars left and right either in a hurry or just having fun. She finally turned to him and said, "Daddy...Are we winning the race...?" Loralyn always said the darndest things especially at the dinner table (I will tell that story another time).

My favorite memory regarding this car was a trip back from Alturas Lake when I was six or so. All the other children, except Justin, had gone with relatives to visit the Ice Caves by Shoshone on the way home. The back of the Pontiac was full of gear with Justin, 6 months old, perched comfortably on top. I had a small spot by the tailgate. I could see my mother sitting next to my father with her head on his shoulder, his arm around her. I had my parents all to myself. A rare and precious escape from the hubbub of normal family life.

I was at peace.

Not an easy place for me to find.

We Could Take You...

I have played basketball with my nephews, Gus and Zach Drake, since they were old enough to pick up a ball. We have played ball in their driveway, at churches and at parks. Some of the best times were in my parent's driveway in Mountain Home.

One day, I was in Mountain Home and went fishing at Strike reservoir with my Dad. I left my car parked in the driveway, under the basketball backboard, and took the keys with me. Unbeknownst to me, Zach and Gus showed up to mow my parent's lawn and play some ball. My car parking unfortunately wreaked havoc with the latter plan.

When I returned, I found a green piece of steno paper with a special message written in pencil:

"Dear Uncle Clair
Next time you park underneath the basketball hoop we will:
-Slash your tires
-Throw eggs on that beautiful piece of machinery.
The entire time we mowed we wore our caps backward because we're dirtbags.
We hope you had fun fishing instead of staying here and getting whooped at hoops. Because heaven is a playground.
We are not scared of you. Next time you die!"

Zach "Blackbelt" Drake
Gus "The Hitman" Drake

In the margins was written "Police aren't that tough" and "We could take you".

I found this note among my precious papers today. I laughed as hard as I did on that day. I treasure each moment I spent beating Drake butts on the basketball court.

Seriously, I can't express how much Gus and Zach have and continue to enrich my life. I have great respect for them. They are a pair to stand the storm with.

And yes, only dirtbags wear their ball caps on backwards...