Walking On The Beach

Longer ago than I care to admit, during the pre-children, early years of our marriage, Lori and I would go to Myrtle Beach during the winter months. Her parents would rent a condo for January, February, and part of March to escape central Pennsylvania winters, and we would visit as often as we could. Many times, when we were there, we would take ambitiously long walks on the beach. These days, just walking to the beach seems like an accomplishment, but back then we would walk miles. Sometimes we would pick out some distant highrise along the beach, and resolve to walk to that point, then turn around. There's a funny thing about assessing distance on the beach. The tall building we would choose as a goal was always, in reality, much farther away- a much longer walk-than it appeared to be. We would walk and walk and walk, and the building would seem to get no closer. There was little sign of forward progress. When we turned around to look where we had come from, though, we clearly had walked a long way. Our starting point had receded, and looked small and distant, but forward the building seemed as far off as when we started walking. There were usually numerous beach walkers strolling the Grand Strand. The weather in January, while comfortable, was typically not warm enough for laying in the sun, or diving into the waves, so most folks walked the beach, each at their own pace. There were some athletic types who ran, and they would pass us by in seconds. Others would pass us by in that Olympic style speed walk, that looked more like a waddle. Some ambled slowly, holding hands, looking at shells, in no hurry at all, and we would catch them, and pass them by. Often, we would see people ahead of us turn to leave the beach, and it was tempting to think we were more dedicated walkers than those folks. Actually, though, we didn't know at all where they began. People entered the beach at a wide variety of places. We sometimes walked beside the beach itself, on the boardwalk near the center of town, then moved onto the sand when we ran out of boardwalk. We would join others that had entered the beach farther north, and more people began their beach stroll from the streets we would pass by, or from the many hotel decks that lined the beach. But unless we walked side by side from start to finish, we had no way of judging the distance others had traveled.
Last evening, the circle of friends with whom I have met most recent Mondays had a discussion about our individual reactions to the word ''Church''. All of us have been seeking, growing, and refining our understanding of Christ and His Church over the last ten weeks, or so. Our reactions to the word ''Church'' today are probably all different, or more complex, than before this recent exploration began, but it was stunning how nearly universally the word ''hypocrisy'' is among the primary descriptors. We all nodded knowingly as examples of blatant hypocrisy among self proclaimed Christians were shared. I, too, find myself trying to discern authenticity in those who call themselves believers. But as we chatted, I felt a new perspective emerging on this problem of pervasive hypocrisy. It is too easy to assume that certain people we encounter, who behave in a particular way, are, despite their own claim, not authentic Christians. The reality that crept into my mind was that most of us, if others were to see some isolated fragment of our lives, could be judged as hypocrites. The reality of the Church is that its authentic participants are all walking along the same beach, aiming toward the highrise of Christlikeness. The reality is, we've all entered the beach at different distances from that goal. Some folks arrive on the beach with little darkness around them. They have led clean, honest, relatively pure lives, and the end goal is only a brief stroll. Others, probably most of us, begin their walk at places of brokenness, real darkness, and ugliness and gradually, incrementally, surrender fractions of our nature as we are made aware of those areas we still cling to. Still others come from starting points so dark, twisted, painful, and evil that even after long, earnest forward progress, surrender, and reconstruction there is much yet to travel. And, at times along the way, many of us walk the wrong direction, and slip back towards where we came from. Even Paul, who most of us would agree was an authentic believer, said in Romans ''I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.''We can, perhaps, infer that if we happened upon Paul, at just the right moment, a moment in which he was doing what he hates, we might conclude ''Aha. Another one of those hypocrite Christians.''
The very nature of Christianity, the reality that Christ takes us as we are, then begins a work of transformation of varying magnitude makes it also a reality that the outside observer will see us incomplete projects as hypocrites. We should be very cautious, as part of the Body, in applying that label, unless we have walked side by side along the beach with the accused.

a bigger picture

If, like me, you were around during the sixties and seventies, and participated in activities and behaviors typical of that period you would prefer not be itemized, that list would probably include listening to the late Frank Zappa. For the uninitiated, Frank Zappa, as leader of the band The Mothers of Invention, and later by himself, produced a giant body of music that, I guess, would best be described as avante-garde. Zappa, father of four children of noteworthy names- Moon Unit, Dweezil, Ahmet Emuukha Rodan, and Diva Thin Muffin Pigeen- was often described as a genius. Certainly he was prolific. He definitley was creatively different. But genius? He was often profane, and vulgar and his schtick included flirting with the limits of offensiveness. I always suspected that among his fan base, there was a certain degree of Emperor's New Clothes syndrome going on-only the smartest people “got it”, and of course everyone wanted to be counted among the smartest. I didn't get it. I owned only one Frank Zappa and The Mothers of Invention recording, 1971's ''Fillmore East'' (on 8 track!), that was good for shocking the unfamiliar with it's vulgarity. But like jazz ''geniuses'' Ornette Coleman, Charles Mingus, and John Coltrane, free verse poets like Allen Ginsberg, and expressionist painters like Jackson Pollock, Frank Zappa's art is over my head. Is it possible Pollock and Zappa privately laughed at people who “got it”? Were they, perhaps, secretly amazed anybody took them seriously? Maybe not.
But my intention here is not to critique Frank Zappa's work, it's to draw an analogy from one of his album covers, pictured at top left. Look at it a second or two. What is it? Most observers would conclude, if only aware it was a Frank Zappa record, that it is a Z and an A, part of a larger, unseen spelling of Zappa. The title of the album is “Ship Arriving Too Late to Save a Drowning Witch.'' Now what is the picture? (I must confess, I removed the word ''ZAPPA'' from the top, and the title from the bottom.)
So, what's the analogy? We often draw conclusions based on, to borrow a photographic term, our limited ''Angle of View''. I've been wrestling with some theological questions of late, questions that have been asked repeatedly for thousands of years and by millions of people. Questions about suffering, and free will versus predeterminism. While satisfactory resolution has remained, thus far, elusive, I take a certain blanket comfort in these issues by admitting that I only see part of a Z and the tip on a A, and conclude it's a ship and a hat. The infinite Creator, with His infinite ''Angle of View'' sees so much more-infinitely more- than I, and it's presumptuous on my part to question His love and wisdom. I am unable, when the placid surface of the water is disturbed by what I perceive to be a tragedy or horror, to see the effect of the ripples that flow across the lake surface. The perfect example, of course, is the horrors poured on Christ Himself. Then and there, His followers' limited ''Angle of View'' caused them to weep and mourn, but the ripples that flowed out from that event are still circling the globe, carrying hope and redemption to all the world. So, when we can't see why things happen the way they happen, and no explanation seems adequate, and we question the very nature and sovereignty of our God, we must remind ourselves there is a much, much bigger picture.

Mr. Fix-it

There are key landmarks, turning points, in the ascent of man. There is the harnessing of fire, the discovery of the wheel, the development of written language, the invention of frozen pizza, and the invention of the TV remote controller. Similarly, there are landmarks, key milestones, in our individual lives: becoming potty trained; learning to drive; marriage; our children's arrival; and starting to get mail from AARP. I have a new item to add to this list of milestones, for both humankind and me individually. I have successfully repaired our dryer. Not everyone, I'm sure, will share my conviction that this accomplishment equates with the wheel, or childbirth. But me successfully repairing anything is so out of character that it warrants inclusion on such lists. The odyssey began Thursday morning, when Lori shouted down the stairs, “THE DRYER WON'T TURN ON”. It wasn't unplugged, but acted as if it was. It was totally comatose. She checked the breaker box in the basement, but none were tripped. I relegated the announcement to the background, subconscious processing part of my brain, went about other business, and waited for my cerebral cortex to propose a course of action. I fully expected the conclusion would be to call the Maytag Repairman, wake him from his nap, wait two days, watch as he gloomily shook his head and said, ''you need a new dryer, sorry, that'll be $129 please.” Unexpected crises, such as this one, seem to arise at the most inconvenient time. Flat tires seem to happen when the trunk is stuffed full of suitcases and it's raining. And dryers fail when there is laundry piled to the ceiling, and there is an oversized load of newly washed wet towels and sweat pants needing to be dried. The upstairs hallway and our bedroom were transformed into a surreal wonderland of wet wash hanging everywhere it could hang-from the ironing board, from the treadmill, from the bedposts, coat rack, and chairs. I suddenly decided, “I can fix it!” I was probably delirious from the high level of laundry chemicals in the bedroom air, but nonetheless that was my plan. It's important to note, I don't fix stuff. It's not among my skill set. But I rounded up some tools, pulled the dryer away from the wall, and set about figuring out how dryers work, and more specifically, why this one did not. An hour or so later, the dryer's hood was up, like a cubic white Buick, and there were dryer internal organs scattered about the laundry room. I had formed a hypothesis, aided by internet sites like Appliance Repair for Morons, that the trouble was in two things called thermal breakers, and successfully removed them. Friday morning I went to a little store in West York that sells appliance entrails. The man behind the counter peered over his glasses at me with disdain, probably expecting me to say “My dryer don't dry. How come?” But I confidently, and correctly ask for the parts I needed. His demeanor changed, as he apparently mistook me for an authentic member of the Guys Who Fix Stuff fraternity. “Twenty Six bucks, buddy.” That evening, I successfully reinstalled all the organs, and closed the hood. I noticed one leftover screw. A big one. So, the hood came open again, and in short order,I had located the screw's home, installed it, and closed the hood again. The internet education I received on Maytag dryers urged the cleaning of various passages where lint accumulates, and leads to the failure of the very parts I replaced. So, with the shop vac, I removed enough wads of furry lint to make several cats, and closed her back up. And you know what? It worked! I threw in some damp socks that had been hanging from the laundry room door, pushed the start button and it rumbled to life! All weekend, I made Lori repeat how impressed she was. I told her, probably, five times, we saved a lot of money. And I think she is proud. Or at least surprised. I'm sure she expected I'd put it back together and it would still be comatose, and I would beat the dryer with a sledge hammer until it was scrap metal. I'm not sure how long the radiant glow of successful repairs lasts,or the half-life of the boost to self confidence, but for now anyway, in this one tiny area of life, I'm pleased with myself.

Trouble in Milwaukee

This was written a couple months ago, before Harley Davidson's announcement last week that they were dropping the Buell lineup, and plan to try to unload their MV unit, bought in '08. This was in response to an accelerating shrinkage of Harley's sales figures. Clearly, new Harley execs see the turn around strategy very differently than I. They say they plan to focus on their “core strengths”, and make money with the Harley brand other ways. I guess that means coffee mugs, pocket books, and clothing. We'll see. I hope they're right and I'm wrong. But there's a Wall Street saying that goes, ''The trend is your friend.'' The trend in Harley has been downward, and I fear this new strategy will accelerate it.

This is the kind of essay that can get ya hurt. More, even, than insulting someone's wife, girlfiend or Mom, disparaging words about Harley Davidson are fightin' words to some. First, I must establish that I am not, by inclination, a Harley basher. I know there are some commited bashers though, folks who for whatever personal reasons would never be caught riding a Harley Davidson, wearing a Harley T-shirt, or even speaking positively of the brand. That's not me. I've owned four of them. And from about 16 years old on (that's a LONG time) I have spent probably an unhealthy amount of time with my nose buried in Harley oriented magazines, brochures, websites, and books educating myself on current offerings and the history of the brand. I've taught my sons, at an early age, to tell a Flathead from Panhead from a Shovelhead from an Evo from a Twin Cam. I've memorized, and quiz myself from time to time on the evolution of Harley models. Last rigid frame? ('57) First Knucklehead? ('36) First year of the K model? ('55) There is no product in all of commerce that has so fascinated and appealed to me as Harley Davidson motorcycles. So, having hopefully established myself as one not interested in criticizing Harley because I dislike them, I think the Motor Company has deep problems. Milwaukee has lost its mojo.
First, the obvious. Harley Davidson motorcycles, like boats, vacation homes, and pool tables are discretionary purchases-stuff that, in times just like these, we can do without. I can hear some folks, the ones with the most Harley logos inked on their bodies, boasting “No, for me a Harley is a necessity.” And there are probably the obsessive few who put their motorcycle on equal terms with their homes, utility bills, car payments, and college tuition. But most of us who participate in the real world will do without a motorcycle if the finances require it. Here in 2009, a lot of finances require it! So demand for all motorcycles is down. That's not a unique Harley problem, of course, but it is a problem.
Second, Harley, like the automakers, and more so the home sellers, have pigged out on the all-you-can-eat easy financing buffet for years, but, for now anyway, that buffet is closed! Suddenly credit scores matter, and down payment, and debt to income ratios, and all those factors that once opened the door to, or prevented, sign and ride financing are important again. Also, Harley enjoyed resale values that were unheard of in many big ticket purchases-they still do have better than most. But the supply/demand curve that once allowed dealers to get thousands over MSRP, and the seller of a one year old Fatboy to get all his original purchase price has shifted dramatically. Now you can pay under list in most dealerships, and MSRPs have been flat for years. New V Rods sticker now for less-a lot less-than when they were introduced! A new FXDI-the base Super Glide- is much improved over, say, a five year old one-bigger motor, standard fuel injection, beefier front end,a sixth gear, but has not increased in list price. All that has taken at least some of the wind out of the secondary market. So to a lienholder, the lender behind the sign and ride easy financing, the chances of recouping their money on a repossesed Harley bought with 100% financing are now slim. Just when Milwaukee needs lenders to step up, they are doing quite the opposite.
Third, and here is where the threats start coming in, it's product, product, product. Despite the claims of Harley's advertising regarding “new models” there hasn't been a truly new product since the V Rod. The displacement has been bumped, there are flat black versions, various seat, fender, handle bar combinations, polished and unpolished cases, different levels of farings and luggage, but there, really, are only Sportster, Dyna, Softail, Touring, and V Rod. Just because your brunette girlfriend wears a blonde wig, she's not a new girlfriend.
Harley certainly has the bases covered in heavyweight, air cooled, V twin cruisers. They own the category. They certainly have cred in the heavyweight Tourer segment as well. After all, before the FX in the early seventies, that's what HD was, except for Sportster. (OK, I know, they offered some lightweights-the Italian built Aermacchi stuff badged as Harleys. They, to say the least, earned Harley no cred.) But the world of motorcycling is so much broader and deeper. And the growth, at least at the moment, is in places Harley has no presence. If Harley Davidson is going to refill its customer funnel as age, economics, and changed tastes drain it, they must broaden and deepen. They need entry level, lightweight or middleweight choices. They need a credible Sport bike. They need a Dual Sport, something that likes dirt roads as well as interstates and boulevards. They must attract young riders. They're not doing real well in that regard. The domestic auto industry gave away a huge chunk of an entire generation by offering Pintos and Vegas to compete with Civics and Corollas and Rabbitts. Many of those early Civic buyers have bought Hondas and Acuras ever since. Vega buyers, rightly so, probably never set foot in a GM showroom again. Today's 20 somethings are entering motorcycling via Kawasaki EX250s, or KLR650s, or Honda CBR600s, or Suzuki SV650s, or dozens of dirt bikes. Harley's entry point is the $7000 solo seat, no passenger pegs Sportster 883. What young guy wants a motorcycle he can't take a girl for a ride on? Too many of those young riders will stay with Honda or Yamaha and never consider HD.
There are, I'm afraid, deep systemic, cultural obtacles to this transformation happening. The evolution of Harley's product has always been slow, gradual, incremental. Nothing remotely like the pace of change at the big four Japanese brands, or even, now, at the revived British threat Triumph. And there may never have been a “brand” with as clearly a defined look, sound and image. Just look at the controversy and cool reception in some quarters to the V Rod. But if the “don't mess with it” forces prevail, for fear of a “new Coke” debacle, Harley's target, or default, demographic will shrink. To advocate abandonment of the Harley tradition would be suicidal, but growing the line in new, unHarley like ways would not.
There are some positive signs. The Sportster XR1200, while certainly traditional HD in many ways, has been well received by the Sport bike press, and may bring new and different people to Harley showrooms. And, there is interesting thinking at Buell. Adventure Tourers. Sport bikes. Contemporary concepts. I've thought for a long time that Buell was the place Harley could redefine their product lineup without messing with the Harley name, but Buell sales volume is tiny. Now, though, they have 2 models powered by a liquid cooled 1125cc, 146 horsepower engine built by Rotax. This is interesting in that they were willing to go outside the company for a credible engine, and, like V Rod, bends the definition of a Harley-even if it's called a Buell. Erik Buell, who's approach is certainly out of the box, has been anchored down by having to use Sportster engines. Maybe we'll see a 600 cc version of that Rotax engine. Or a V four, or an inline four, or a $ 4500 replacement for the laughable Blast. (Even Buell is laughing at it now that they've mercifully pulled the plug for '10). Who knows? At least Erik Buell isn't hyping a flat black paint scheme as a new model. (the Nightling?)
Also interesting, but leading as yet to no conclusions, is Harley's acquisition in '08 of MV Agusta and Cagiva, premium Italian motorcycles with strong high performance heritage. Will we see those products in Harley or Buell dealerships? Or is this more about Harley gaining a bigger share in Europe?
Neither brand can in any way help the “entry level” void, but could, potentially, allow Harley to compete with Ducati or Aprilia in the high end.
BMW was once a motorcycle brand that, like Harley, had a tightly defined approach to bikes. Air cooled, opposed twins. Change was slow and incremental and they had a loyal ownership. Over the last ten years or so BMW has completely reinvented themselves. They still build top quality, dependable, not inexpensive motorcycles, and continue to sell “boxers”-opposed cylinder engines that are instantly recognizable as BMW, and appeal to their loyal base. But look at the BMW website today, and you'll see models that are nothing like the traditional Beemer. There is a 450cc enduro, a 650 parallel twin dual sport, and an 800cc version, a 650 single, and other new, exciting, broad appeal offerings that are not what anyone would have expected from BMW ten years ago. BMW has shown it can be done. A brand can redefine itself without abandoning tradition. They had to. Harley Davidson has to, or it will, over time, gradually, incrementally lose market share. The recession will end. Sales of motorcycles will rebound. But Harley can not count on a revived economy alone turning their numbers around.