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    Tom Palen,

     a broadcaster, pilot, writer, and our Guest Columnist!

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Horsing Around

9/28/2022

 

Over the years I've seen cops do many things that I doubt are in their job description. For example, I was following a cop a couple of weeks ago. He turned his lights on and pulled over behind a car stopped on the side of the road. A younger person was standing in the rain next to the vehicle. It looked like they had a flat tire.
I supposed the cop would stay behind the car with his amber lights on, protecting the young driver from traffic while the driver changed their tire.
It didn't take me long to run my errand, and I was headed back in the other direction. The squad car was still behind the stranded vehicle. It warmed my heart as I drove by, and the cop was changing the tire in the rain while the young driver looked on. The scenario reminded me of an incident years ago.
I missed a call from my daughter at 6:30 in the morning. Of course, such a call is something that immediately puts any dad on edge. Annie was a student at Winona State University, doing her student teaching in Caledonia, Minnesota – a fifty-minute drive from her home.
She was on the side of the road with a blown-out tire. When I say blown out, I mean the whole tire was shredded and mostly gone from the rim. I asked a barrage of dad questions: "Are you alright? Is your car off the road? Do you have your flashers on? Is the car hurt? Does your spare tire have air in it?" She was, they were, she did, it wasn't, and she didn't know.
It was still dark outside and bitterly cold; twelve degrees below zero with a windchill factor in the minus twenties. I didn't want my daughter trying to change a tire in those conditions on the side of a busy four-lane highway. "I'm going to call Triple-A; they'll send someone to change the tire for you," I told her.
"And how much is that going to cost me," she worried.
"It won't cost you anything," I assured her. "It's part of the service we pay for with our membership." However, she was worried about more than just the money. The college really frowns upon students being late for their student teaching assignments. "Annie, there's a big difference between being late with a weak excuse and being late for a legitimate reason. They'll understand."
My daughter was stressed. "Dad, all these cars are just speeding by. Nobody is stopping to see if I need help," she said. "What's wrong with people?"
I remained calm to help put my kid at ease. "Sweetie, just stay calm, and we'll get through this," I told her. Then it was time for more dad questions: "Are you back in your car? Is your heater working well? Do you have a hat and warm gloves? Is your phone fully charged?" She was, it was, she did, and yes, it was. So I asked what every parent of a college student, who is paying most of their own way, worries about: "Annie, do you have enough gas?"
"A little over a half tank," She replied. I felt relieved. Knowing it might take a while for a tow truck to arrive, at least she had enough fuel to keep the car running to stay warm.
A few minutes later, a representative from Triple-A called, "Speltz Towing Service will change the tire. They have two calls ahead of you, so it will be about an hour and twenty minutes." But that's not what Annie would want to hear.
Before I could call Annie with an update, she called me. "The tire is changed; I don't need the tow truck." She explained that a Sheriff's Deputy stopped to see if she was okay and then changed the tire for her! I'll bet that's not in his job description.
The Winona County deputy did much more than changing a tire. He put a very stressed twenty-one-year-old college student at ease and helped her feel safe. He restored the faith of a girl who had just asked, 'What's wrong with people.' He also put that girl's dad at ease. I will always be grateful to him for going above and beyond his call of duty. In my travels around the country, I see cops doing this frequently, near and far.
One night last week, I rode my motorcycle into the gas station to get a gallon of milk. Although I recently had the bike serviced for an electrical issue, the problem apparently isn't fixed yet. The battery was so low, if I turned on the headlight at idle speed, the engine died.
A Sheriff's Deputy was sitting in a parking lot alongside the road; I suppose running radar. He flashed his headlights at me to let me know my light wasn't on. I turned around and drove back toward his vehicle. I took my helmet off and said, "Man, am I glad to see you! But, first, I'm not drunk!" I quickly explained my electrical issue, then asked, "Can I get a light."
"Can you get a what," he asked, quite puzzled.
"I was wondering if you would follow me home," I asked. "I could use your headlights in case mine goes out completely." The deputy asked where I lived, then told me he would follow me.
On the way home, he kept his headlights on high beam so long as there was no on-coming traffic. He had great lights on his vehicle, lighting the road far better than the light on my motorcycle, even when it was working correctly. At one point, a wolf trotted across the highway about thirty-five yards in front of me. I would never have seen that animal with my headlight.
The deputy used his hand-controlled spot lamp to light the corner as I turned off the highway. He followed me all the way to the end of my driveway to make sure I arrived safely.
I climbed off my bike and thanked him again. "I sure appreciate your help, sir. Since I quit smoking thirteen years ago, I haven't had to ask anyone for a light." We shared a good laugh about that.
"Not a problem," the deputy said. "We're here to help." Then he went on his way.
As he drove away, I thought, "Yes, here to help – but I'll bet that is not in your job description." Again, an officer went far beyond the call of duty. I had never seen an officer do that before, so now I guessed I had seen it all, as far as cops go. No. I hadn't.
Just a few days later, I was driving to southern Minnesota. I normally take exit 56 for my destination, but traffic slowed down to a crawl a few miles before my exit. If I took exit 59, I could cut through Faribault and avoid interstate congestion. There was a Minnesota State Patrol vehicle on the right shoulder; thus, everyone was merging left. There wasn't a cop in the car; it was just sitting there with its lights on. "They must be moving traffic over for an accident ahead," I said to myself. Just past the trooper's vehicle, a few cars turned down the exit. I followed them, "Oh, great!" Another Highway Patrol car had its lights on near the bottom of the exit ramp.
Here I thought I was being so clever to bypass the highway traffic, and I just turned into whatever the problem was. It was strange. There was no traffic build-up behind the second trooper.
The trooper was moving slowly on the shoulder; traffic was going around them wide and to the left. "What's that in front of the patrol car?" I squinted my eyes and looked closely. "Someone is walking a horse?" As I got closer, I saw a Minnesota State Trooper walking the horse with a patrol escort.
As I got closer yet, I could see the horse was unbridled. The trooper on foot had a blue rope high around the horse's neck, near the head.
As an old radio news guy, I started putting two and two together: The horse was loose on I-35. One trooper stopped to lasso the steed. With a rope looped around its neck, the trooper led the horse down the shoulder of the off-ramp at exit 59. (Thus, explaining the abandoned squad car on I-35.) The second trooper came along to provide an escort for his comrade with the stallion in tow. Wow. Now I've seen everything with cops? I doubt it.
I thought more about the scenario. A loose horse on the interstate would be very anxious and scared, unpredictable, and possibly dangerous. For the trooper to capture the animal, putting the rope high near the horse's head vs. low around the neck, and then calming the beast, earning her trust to lead the horse down the roadside, the trooper must have had some good horse sense. (No pun intended.)
Again, I would bet this task is not in the Minnesota Highway Patrol's handbook. It was likely one of Marshall Matt Dillon's duties, but this isn't the old west, and we weren't even near Dodge City, Kansas. Again, officers are going above and beyond the call of duty.
Was my synopsis correct? I have no idea. I didn't follow up to see an incident report from the Highway Patrol, Rice County Sheriff's office, or the Faribault Police Department. But I would bet I'm not far off.
I know a lot of cops, professionally and personally. Behind every badge on every law enforcement officer is a real human being. Just like all people, some cops are real characters themselves. For all I know, these two troopers may have just been horsing around on the job. (Pun intended.)
Thank you to all law enforcement officers for their work – especially when they go above and beyond the call of duty, for people, animals – everyone.

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Eggs Benedict

9/21/2022

 
The air felt cold when I stepped outside in the early morning; it was forty-nine degrees. A chill ran up my back as I walked the dog in my pajama pants and a short sleeve T-shirt. I noticed the tarp covering my motorcycle in the driveway had blown off overnight. Hence, Nova Mae and I replaced it. Before returning to the house, I turned around, removing the tarp again. "Why'd you take it back off, Dad," my dog asked.
"I have to leave soon for a dentist appointment in Duluth. I'm going to ride my bike into town," I told her. The dog looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "I know. It's a bit cold now, but when the sun rises; it will be a nice day." Nova was not convinced this was a good idea. "Look, I've ridden longer distances in much colder temperatures than this," I assured her.
"But weren't you in your twenties then," she tried to reason. I gave her a scathing look.
"I'll be fine," I told her, then gave her a rub on the head. "Let's go inside and get breakfast."
I fed the dog, then poured a bowl of Cheerios for myself. I had already brushed and flossed my teeth. I didn't want to mess them up before the dentist appointment, so I poured the Cheerios back into the box. "I'll go get breakfast after the appointment." I got dressed.
Nova met me at the front door as I put on my riding gear. I was struggling with the zipper on my chaps. "Are you sure this is a good idea," she asked again.
"I'm sure," I replied. "When I was younger, I didn't even have chaps." I finally got the zipper closed on my right leg, then fastened the snaps by my ankle. Next, I started working on the other leg. Cautiously, I confided in my trusty canine, "I'm going to have to lose some weight or get different chaps. Good Lord!" (The chaps were too tight when I bought them.)
With my chaps secured, I pulled on my leather motorcycle jacket. I zipped the zippers, snapped the snaps, and buckled the buckles. Finally, I put on my helmet and was ready to go. "Darn it," I blurted out. Nova looked at me, wondering what the matter was. "The keys to the bike are in my front pocket."
I felt like the little kid whose mom just got him all bundled up in a snowsuit to go sledding, then announced, "I have to go to the bathroom." I unfastened the belt on my chaps and lowered them just enough to reach into my pocket for the keys. I had to reconnect the buckle by feeling because I could not see my waist below my jacket with my helmet on.
I was fully dressed again, with the keys in my hand. I tried to bend over to give Nova a rub on the head. But now I felt like Ralphie's little brother in the Christmas story. I could barely move my arms and worried that if I tried to bend down, I might fall over. If that happened, there was a real possibility of being unable to get back up. I lifted the face shield on my helmet, "I'll see you later this afternoon, Nova Mae. Be good."
I decided to chance giving her a rub, but Nova backed away. She doesn't really know what to think of me when I'm in full black leather with a full-faced black helmet. I must have looked like a space alien or a swamp creature to her. "Okay, be that way," I said, lowering my face mask and walking out the front door.
Walking down the path to the driveway, I could see Nova Mae watching me in the bay window. I waved to her, "You should have taken the loving when you had the chance, kid!" In the driveway, I straddled the motorcycle. Without being covered overnight, dew gathered in the stitching on the seat. The moisture quickly soaked into the seat of my jeans. "That's cold," I said with a shiver, then put the key in the ignition.
The motor fired right up. The bike's sound, the exhaust, and steam from the tail pipes, took me right back to my junior year of high school in my parent's driveway; on a chilly fall morning, heading for school. I felt very warm again. It's funny how sounds and smells can be such a powerful memory trigger. I put the kickstand up, pulled the clutch, and shifted the bike into first gear. I rode out of the driveway giving Nova Mae two toots on the horn.
I was perfectly warm riding down Highway 61 at sixty miles per hour. The sun was shining, and I felt very alive. Twenty miles down the road, my hands started getting a little cold. "I need warmer gloves," I said to myself. I raised up on my foot pegs and placed my left hand between my legs and the seat to warm my hand. "Only forty-five more miles to the dentist. I'll be fine."
Another twenty miles down the road, my body and legs were warm, and my left hand was doing okay, but my right hand was cold on the throttle. When I got to the dentist's office, it was really cold.
I took off my helmet and chaps in the parking lot, leaving them on the bike; I wore my jacket inside. After checking in at the desk, I sat on my cold hands in a chair. I had to unzip my coat a little more as I was getting too warm. Just then, a bulb lit up over my head. "My chest is warm." I crossed my arms, tucking my hands deep inside my coat and under my arms. "Ah, that's nice."
After about fifteen minutes, the dental hygienist came to get me in the waiting area. My hands were still cold but not nearly as bad as when I arrived. "Did you ride your motorcycle today," she asked. I told her I did. "Wasn't it cold," she wondered.
"My body was plenty warm inside all the leather," I told her, "But my hands got a little cold. I need to get warmer gloves for riding in this weather."
After my appointment, I stood outside beside my bike, thinking what a spectacle it would create if I tried to put on my chaps in front of the big lobby windows. So instead, I ran my next few errands without wearing the chaps. It was still cold outside, so finally, I pulled into a parking lot to put my chaps on. "I'm sure a guy putting on chaps that are too small will not be the oddest thing seen in a Walmart parking lot today." I had a good laugh about that, then struggled with the zippers until I was inside my warm leather leggings. People stared as they walked by me.
It was noon, and I still hadn't eaten anything all day. I was hungry and wanted my breakfast. So, I rode across town to the Perkins on London Road. I went inside still wearing my chaps to avoid another struggle.
Kelly escorted me to a booth. "Did you ride your motorcycle today," she asked. I told her I did. "Wasn't it cold?" I said my hands got a little chilly. Then she told me about the bike she bought, a Suzuki 650. "I taught myself to ride it," she said. We swapped some stories then she said, "I'll go get your coffee. Erin will be along to take your order."
I looked at the menu. Eggs Benedict. They always interest me, but I have never had them and wasn't going to try them today. So, I skipped right over them. Maybe an Everything Omelet. It's a Denver omelet with mushrooms and tomatoes. Add some salsa and sour cream, and voilà. We're talking breakfast! But wait…
I scanned over the Eggs Benedict again to get to the Hearty Man Combo. Mmm, I was hungry – but what is this over here? “The Triple Egg Dare Ya: Three eggs, three bacon, three sausages, two pancakes, 2 French toast, and hash browns. Man, that breakfast is big enough for two, but I could easily eat all that by myself today!" Just as I was about to decide on the Triple Egg Dare Ya, I started thinking about my tight chaps. Of course, I was already wearing them, so I wouldn't have to squeeze into them again. But after a meal that big, I might just blow them out.
Erin came to the table (for the fourth time). "Have you had enough time to decide yet?"
"You know, Eggs Benedict always interest me," I told the waitress, "But I have never had them, have you?"
"I like Eggs Benedict," she replied.
I was still skeptical. "I think I'll have the Triple Egg Dare Ya," I said.
Suddenly, a little four-inch-tall Nova Mae was sitting on my right shoulder. "You're going to have to lose weight or buy bigger chaps," she reminded me. I gave her a glaring look.
"Wait a minute," I stopped Erin. "Let's switch that to Eggs Benedict. What kind of toast does that come with?"
Erin smiled, "Eggs Benedict is served over English Muffins. Unfortunately, it doesn’t come with toast."
"Oh, I didn't know that. I've never had them," I said. "Let's skip the toast. Instead, I'll have one pancake on the side." Erin repeated my order, then asked if that would be all.
I was considering changing my order to two pancakes on the side. Just then, four-inch Nova Mae reappeared. "Bigger chaps, Dad," she taunted.
"Go to your kennel," I muttered.
"Pardon me," Erin said.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I was saying, yes, that will be all. Thank you."
After breakfast, on my way to the front door, I stopped by the waitress station to thank Erin for her excellent service."
"How did you like the Eggs Benedict," she asked.
"They were okay," I answered.
"Will you order them again," Erin inquired.
Being honest, I said, "Probably not." I paused, then confessed. "It's the name, Benedict. I think of Benedict Arnold every time I see them on a menu. The color of the hollandaise sauce reminds me of what a yellow-bellied turncoat he turned out to be. Now that I've tried them, I feel like a traitor who's betrayed my beloved big breakfast of eggs, meat, toast, and pancakes." We shared a good laugh about that. I finally admitted, "They were okay, but there are entrees I like better that I would order instead." We said our farewells, and I was on my way.
Passing through Two Harbors, going home, my hands started to feel cold again. "I've got to get warmer gloves for riding this fall."
Nova can hear my motorcycle coming when I'm still a half mile away from home. She greets me when I walk through the front door. I took off all my riding leathers, then gave hugs and love to my dog. She was excited to see me, but when I rubbed her warm tummy with my icy-cold hands, she jumped up on the couch, curling up next to her mom.
"Come back here, Nova," I said.
"No way," the dog answered. "Your hands are freezing!"
"You’re dissing me for having cold hands? Okay fine, dog. But you're acting like my eggs, Benedict!"
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