Puerto Rico, Atlanta, Omaha and the new motorcycle

My 1st day of retirement was April 1st last year (I heard that!) which coincided with Pattie's spring break from school; so we headed to Puerto Rico for a week.  Not a bad way to kick off the next phase of life.  We stayed in San Juan for a night and visited the fort and other historical landmarks, viewed from land and from a boat tour of the harbor. We then spent a night in an ecolodge in El Yunque, the rainforest on the east end of the main island. We had great views of the jungle and sounds from the waterfall 50' below our bedroom.  

Vieques Island, part of
Puerto Rico

The rest of the week was spent on Vieques, an island east of (and part of) Puerto Rico (thanks to former co-worker Todd for the tip). Lots of great beaches which we visited by motorbike.  A very relaxing time.  We flew back by small plane (ever had to weigh everything, including yourself, in order to be balanced properly in the plane?) and enjoyed seeing it all from the air.

The next outing followed on the heels of the PR trip as brother Eric and I (and our spouses who then flew home) met at cousin Carla’s in Atlanta and joined the family for Easter. (Those of you who know Carla know that she is battling cancer, please keep her in your hearts).  

Eric and I then (and the dog he adopted from Carla) camped our way west to brother Jon’s in Omaha to help him celebrate his 62nd birthday. On the way we stopped at Mammoth Cave National Park for a night and enjoyed one of their many tours.

In early April after my severance check arrived from Viavi Solutions/JDSU/Network Instruments (the company name changed twice in the last 2 of the 10 years I worked for them); I celebrated the end of my 5 decades in the workforce by purchasing a new BMW motorcycle.  In 49 years of riding, I’ve ridden mostly BMWs and yet this one was only the 2nd new one!  Of course I was itching to get away on a long trip and since Mom had just turned 95 I took off for Florida.  

On the way to FL I met up with a Jim, who I worked with in the late 60s, and who now works at a BMW shop in Iowa City (Jim will pop up later as he re-introduced me to his ex-wife who now lives in Ecuador). 

I was also able to connect up with my good friend Guy (yes, another former co-worker and fellow Minnesotan), who was also on his way to Florida (New Port Richey) and we stopped at the Lost River Cave in Bowling Green KY.  The “Lost River” comes from the fact that the river dives in to a cave system.  

We camped near Chattanooga, and then had several great days enjoying the warmth of Florida. Here's a 'story' Google created from my shots of that trip.

Next post: the return trip north through the Appalachians

Where does "Hagermeister" come from?

As I approach the end of my first year in retirement and I have been traveling quite a bit. During my
travels I was able to visit a lot of family and friends. Many of you were kind enough to put me up (or at least offer to), so I thought an update would be appreciated.

But, when I started to chronicle my travels I found it was getting pretty lengthy, and because I'm not done traveling yet, I thought a blog would be a better platform for keeping those interested informed. So, subscribe if you're interested; you'll get an update when there's a new post (alternately bookmark the URL/page).

So, back to the question of where does "Hagermeister" (the blog title) come from? Growing up I didn't really pick up a nickname, but in the 80s I began working in the tech industry for a company where everyone (at least in the sales team) had a nickname. I was variously "little Pete" or "Hagermeister" and thought the latter might be less demeaning!

Next post: The travelogue begins in Puerto Rico. But first, a good clean joke my friend Jim sent to me:

The Woman and the Fork

There was a young woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and had been given three months to live.

So as she was getting her things 'in order,' she contacted her Pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what outfit she wanted to be buried in.

Everything was in order and the Pastor was preparing to leave when the young woman suddenly remembered something very important to her.

'There's one more thing,' she said excitedly..

'What's that?' came the Pastor's reply?

'This is very important,' the young woman continued. 'I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand.'

The Pastor stood looking at the young woman, not knowing quite what to say.

’That surprises you, doesn't it?' the young woman asked.

'Well, to be honest, yes, I'm puzzled by the request,' said the Pastor.

The young woman explained. 'My grandmother once told me this story, and from that time on I have always tried to pass along its message to those I love and those who are in need of encouragement. In all my years of attending socials and dinners, I always remember that when the dishes of the main course were being cleared, someone would inevitably lean over and say, 'Keep your fork.' It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming...like velvety chocolate cake or deep-dish apple pie. Something wonderful, and with substance! So, I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder 'What's with the fork?' Then I want you to tell them: 'Keep your fork ..the best is yet to come.'

The Pastor's eyes welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the young woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that the young woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She had a better grasp of what heaven would be like than many people twice her age, with twice as much experience and knowledge. She KNEW that something better was coming.

At the funeral people were walking by the young woman's casket and they saw the cloak she was wearing and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over, the Pastor heard the question, 'What's with the fork?' And over and over he smiled.

During his message, the Pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the young woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. He told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either.

He was right.

So the next time you reach down for your fork let it remind you - ever so gently - that the best is yet to come.