Schwinn Restoration, Part 4

One of my Facebook friends shared a video recently. In the video she talked extensively about self-change, shame, abuse, and trauma. She spoke of confronting these things head-on and personally changing the world by facing her own feelings about her past and breaking a long-preserved silence and encouraging others to do the same. Her post was inspired. As I have watched her life change and how she has gained confidence over time, I can’t help but be inspired by her. She is remarkable and brave.


Restoring this bicycle makes me mindful of my own journey and seeing others share their experience gives me courage to share portions of my own restoration. For the bike, new tires to support the load and absorb shock much like forgiveness has built a firm foundation and absorbed wrongdoing in my own life. I’m strong, but I am far from perfect. The cleaned scuffs and scratches show years of wear and tear, but reveal a history about how the fork once turned into the frame and left a characteristic deep etch in the paint. Beauty emerges from the miles. Beauty that you cannot cover up with a fresh coat of paint. It tells a story. It is a story that you can’t keep inside forever. The scars and scuff marks are visible, and because they are visible, they must be incorporated to create a final impression.

Clean and Rebuild

Brake Cable
Brake and Shift Cables

The project is coming along nicely. I found replacement brake cable housing. Not vintage as I had hoped, but some ice grey sport housing from Jagwire. It is nice stuff, easy to work with, and a great color for a vintage bike-ice gray. I’m using the original vintage cable ends as they fit into the brake assembly much better. I’ll talk about the brake rebuild later. I’m still in the middle of the shift cable housing replacement, as I had thought originally I could replace the shift cable housing just as easily as the brake cable, and with the same material. I was wrong about that, and now I have the shift cable replacement kit on order.

Much of the outside of the bike is very clean now. The fenders have been cleaned and polished. The frame has been cleaned very thoroughly, and the chrome has been cleaned and I’ve used a very fine steel wool to remove rust from the chrome parts on the fork, the front carrier, and the bicycle rims. As I envisioned, there is still some shine left in this bike after all of these years. But it begs the inevitable question about whether or not you ever complete a restoration, or is it something that you are always approaching the end of- like a mathematical limit.

The Fenders

Polished Rear Fender Stay

The fender brackets are aluminum. They were very oxidized. I tried some natural methods for polishing, including lemon juice and an acid based cleaner. There was just too much pitting on the brackets to get a good result. For some time, I considered a dremel tool or attaching something to a drill, but I finally resorted to steel wool followed up with some aluminum polish. You have a lot of time to think when you are polishing aluminum. It turns out that, as the steel wool gradually removes the oxidization, it is a good time to ponder life. Putting good ole’ elbow grease to work works the mind.

What is your response when life, as it often does, fails to meet your expectations? When I started this project, I imagined an old bike completely refurbished to its original state. My imagination is rarely ever realistic. While the result is not what I expected, it is no less desirable. It likely proves even more so because as a result of my effort, I get a unique opportunity to share the experience with others. Polishing aluminum made me think about how approaching an experience with a willingness to learn can have an impact on your destination. It has in this case. I’m working toward perfection, but it isn’t my ultimate destination.

Function vs. Form

Front Axle
Front Axle Components

When I reattached the front wheel, I noticed some significant play in the axle. So much so that I thought I was going to have to take the front hub apart and lubricate the assembly. I was trying to avoid unnecessary disassembly. I didn’t recall loosening the cone or lock nut when I took off the front wheel and knowing it had been sitting there for a while meant that a clean of the hub was probably a good idea. Well, that became yesterday’s job.

I haven’t taken apart a front hub in nearly three decades, so I was a little nervous about what I might find in there. I figured since it had been sitting in the garage for so long, the grease may have deteriorated and the bearings may have rusted or the hub assembly may have been worn significantly enough to warrant replacement of some of the components. I have been fortunate that I have been able to find so many of the replacement parts so far. I slowly took the hub apart, identified the type of grease necessary for the the reassembly,  and ordered it.

Piece by piece  the parts are gradually coming back together and I am approaching the vision I had for this old two-wheeler. I can’t wait to see how it comes out. I like what this bike is re-becoming.

Endurance and Change

Preservation and restoration both take time. I have endured my fair share of abuse and neglect, but that seems distant now. I was afraid–and maybe still am afraid– of never becoming, or ever being, good enough. As part of the MBA program, my peers and I talked quite extensively about tapping into our strengths. For me, restoration is certainly one of those. Taking something that is broken, and making it new again. Identifying the broken pieces and bringing the components back together to function like they were designed. That brings me joy and it is a joy to share that with you.

The Last Leg

I had to take a bit of a break after the last leg of my trip. There were a couple of reasons for this. As I started to take on a more active role in planning the activities on my trip, there was less and less time to actually write about it. It was a little sad. I would begin a post, only to let it languish, forever buried in the draft doldrums of the blog separated from release by one little point of metadata. In the mean time, I watched my mother experience the real joy of traveling to a place she would have never been able to go. Many of my posts still lie in the doldrums, begging for resurrection. I can assure you that I will get to them slowly. Now that I have had some time to process what I observed in my travels, the content will be much better polished.

The Leg

Also, when I returned from the trip I fell ill. Very ill. Even as I crossed back over into the states, I ached from within. What I thought was simply a longing to be home gradually spawned a fever. When I walked through the door, the fever relegated me to the couch and continued to sap all energy until it blossomed into a pain in my lower leg and ankle. The leg pain put me on notice, and I ended up in the emergency room on iv antibiotics.

For some, that occasionally the way it is with travel. When trying to take in all of your surroundings, it is easy to forget to take care of yourself. Only now that I am rested up, can I expound on that thought. There is this element of moving through new places that makes you forget where you came from. You are forced to divert your attention to the present because you have never seen it. It is a bittersweet release of everything you know in exchange for the newness of the unknown. The distraction from yourself is intoxicating. Everything you normally take for granted is replaced with something new. It is exhilarating to leave your world behind for a time being. Escape.

The Return

That temporary diversion creates a problem when you finally return home. The time you spent in the present was so intoxicating that you long for it to continue. You are woke. You begin to realize that it wasn’t your surroundings that were holding you back, after all. It was your response to them. What you think about the world around you either drives or limits your behavior. How you interact with the world and your willingness to explore is what either hampers you or severs the chains that have been holding you back all along.

Maintaining a Change

I’m not necessarily an activist. I want look at the world around me with new eyes every day.  Like everyone, I will struggle to maintain that vision now that I have returned home. I am thankful for my little corner of the world and my trek to arrive here. I don’t think that I am different from anyone else. I have stumbled through harsh storms and over jagged rocks to appreciate the things that truly build others up. I appreciate how frail we are as people. How temporary our lives are. I understand how one harsh word can tear down a person and how one harsh person can be the difference between achieving something great and failure.

I have also become even more thankful for what makes the United States special. At the root, it is our ability in this country to talk about the things that are happening without fear. Our freedom to talk about those beliefs and solicit effective change. Our inclination to be passionate about the beliefs we have and long for a time when we both retain our freedoms and prevent the permanent loss of those freedoms at the hands of those who wish to take them.

Make no mistake, that is what makes this a great country. We can speak and move freely. With that ability, it becomes incumbent upon all of us to speak for those who cannot speak for themselves, to truthfully echo the faint voices of the afraid without an agenda. It becomes incumbent to speak the truth without the intent to destroy others, but speaking to guide, encourage,  and correct. It is those who have been trained and disciplined by experience who produce a harvest of righteousness and peace.

What uniquely lifts my spirit is to see others find the success that elevates their own.

Driving on the Other Side

Driver's Side
Driver’s Side

The drive yesterday through the Australian outback was an adventure.

We made the nearly 6-hour drive from Alice Springs to Uluru via car. The car was, more or less, a station wagon. That was a good choice. The trip was 462.9 kilometers across the Australian outback. 924 kilometers total. It seemed like a daunting distance when I first planned to tackle the drive. Then, driving on the opposite side of the road from the passenger side of the vehicle was just an added occupational hazard, or so I thought.

Getting into the car at the airport was somewhat intimidating. First, my 6’ 7” frame slid into the seat of the low rider like an oversized burrito into a long paper wrapper. The company I work for strongly encourages the use of rentals where economical. Fitting my body into a rental is usually a challenge. AVIS knows this as I make note of it on nearly every rental I book. In this case, I was riding somewhere near the ground. I thought for sure that I would be dragging my rear along the road. Images of a doggo dragging itself along a brand-new carpet by its front paws were rolling through my mind. Once in the car, it was a nice ride. Squeezing in was a sight to behold, I’m sure. Extraction would prove even more difficult.

We planned to take the trip south from Alice Springs along National Highway 87, also known as the Stuart Highway, then via State Route 4 to Uluru. It is clearly the easiest route. While I had received a suggestion from a tour mate from our Katherine Gorge tour about Kings Canyon, I had read reports that without a 4×4, it was likely too inconvenient unless you had time to burn. We did not.

We set out at 6 a.m., after a buffet breakfast at the Hilton that was a sight to behold. I had plenty of coffee, plenty of eggs, and a heaping portion of hash browns which made me feel like I was in America again. No bacon, though. I really miss Iowa bacon.

The initial drive was somewhere between an exercise in concentration and a white-knuckle roller coaster ride. The road out of Alice Springs, having been traveled by a number of heavy trucks, was undulating. As I ramped each hump, my innards felt each strongly, then weakly, then again. It was harrowing. Only once did I nearly take the quick route to the ditch. My mother let out a yelp. She used my first name. The long one.

It was then that we came up on an Australian road train. I don’t remember reading about these in the online tourist manuals. I might have just skipped that part. It looked like any typical semi on the website. I was improperly prepared for the Australian road train. The longest of these trains is 53.5 meters. “That isn’t that big”, I thought.

Then, you try passing one.

You begin to realize, as you do that conversion to feet, that the total distance is 175.5 feet. It doesn’t seem like a big deal. But then you think, well, I am going 130 km/hr, 81 miles per hour. In my imagination this was going to go very quickly. As I was following this truck, he had slowed to 110 kph, I became anxious to pass. The internal pep talk was strong. My hands were tingly. At the encouragement of my mother, I was assured that we would survive.

I passed on several opportunities. They just didn’t seem like good choices. Peeking around the right of the truck I saw my opportunity. We were at the top of a relatively long hill. I stepped on it.

My mother shrieked. So, I stepped harder. We could have sung the entire Star-Spangled Banner in the time it took to pass. I thought about what the half-life of uranium is. I thought about my children growing up without a father. I thought about Vegemite.

Merging back in the front of the truck was as smooth as silk. I wondered briefly if the truck was leaving an asphalt wake behind it. The rest of the drive to our first stop was smooth.

Twenty-five minutes later my heart rate returned to normal and the sweat I squeezed out of my hands had fully dried on the steering wheel leaving little circles of salt. I had done it. I was driving in Australia.  It made me appreciate how stepping outside of your comfort zone is often necessary in order to achieve progress. To pass the competition, it is important to study the way forward and occasionally take a calculated, and educated, risk. Weighing the options is critical, but experiencing a word of encouragement coming from the seat next to you makes the difference.

I looked at my mother. Perhaps she will make it to age 100 after all.




UBER Differences Bangkok

Inexpensive UBER

My mom arrived in Bangkok. Her flight was delayed. Even with a long wait at the wrong exit, we eventually found one another. It was late, but everyone arrived safely, which was the important part. I had already checked into the hotel after taking the 25-minute ride from the airport to the hotel downtown and back. UBER in Thailand is very inexpensive. I hadn’t really put the math to it until now, but I recognized quickly that most of their fare is likely made in tips rather than the fare to the driver. If you are taking an UBER in Thailand, that should be your default. Even for a small ride, tip 100 Baht or so, especially if they are assisting you with a bag or two. A 24 mile/39-minute ride from the Airport to the hotel cost 419.74 Baht, or $13.16. Now I’ve taken roughly the same trip from O’Hare to Skokie for about $50.00. This was a deal if I ever saw one.

UBER wasn’t available everywhere in Thailand, though. We had a tough time getting good UBER service in Chiang Mai and Phuket, and had a much easier time with Grabtaxi. While it is difficult to say why, I think that the adoption rate just isn’t as high outside of a large city.

The next day we had coffee and walked around some of the shops and markets across the river form the hotel at River City Bangkok. The fabrics and art were remarkable. While I am sure that one could barter the prices down in the shopping center, I found them to be very expensive compared to the other shops and markets. This was prime tourist location. We stopped at a pub and had lunch, which amounted to a meat and cheese tray, a couple of Hoegaarden—which just might be my favorite beer for this trip, since it is everywhere—and returned via UBER to the hotel to freshen up before the dinner cruise.

Loy Nava Dinner Cruise

We had a 6:00 p.m. reservation for a dinner cruise on the Chao Phraya river from the Millennium Hotel. The dinner cruise was easy enough to book. I located the website and filled out the form in English and sent a text message to the number provided. I was contacted via phone for confirmation. The Loy Nava Dinner Cruise is a river cruise on an antique rice barge. The cruise boasts Thai traditional music and classical dance. It was lovely and very well done. The performers danced and played the Khim, a stringed musical instrument similar to the hammered dulcimer. That seemed an appropriate way to spend our last night in Bangkok. The Khim was first introduced in Thailand from China via Cambodia and Laos. It was just a week ago that I was introduced to Thailand, from China, myself.

The meal was traditional Thai with a slight emphasis on seafood. We had a choice on the form to do a half/half seafood/Thai, or even vegetarian, should one need to do so. With the stay at the hotel, we were able to walk down to the pier from the hotel lobby, just about 50 meters. We waited the typical amount of time for the boat to show. I don’t know if Thai late is a thing, but it sure seems that way when roaming the river in Bangkok. Of course, the pace of the river is slow and methodical, so when on vacation, I paid it no mind. The boat made several stops to pick up passengers prior to picking us up. After a few moments, a host greeted us on the pier and ushered us to our seats. It was a mere moment or two before a Mai Tai arrived.

I don’t think that either one of us had ever had a Mai Tai.


The Baby on the Motorcycle

We were so anxious to explore the city of Bangkok upon arrival, we hired an Uber—after finding the building in which we were staying—in an attempt to get early exposure to the city. I suppose that we could have rented a motorcycle, but that seemed a bit extreme.

I understand that most people don’t like to be out of their element. It was in the moment we stepped out of the UBER, I realized that I was no exception. I never really gave that much consideration back in the States. I always thought that I was a very flexible person. Perhaps I am flexible, but as I sat there looking out the window I couldn’t help but notice the differences. We entered a different world. I may as well have been on Mars. The shock made my heart wrench for home. We had no currency and no idea if anyone near us took anything but the Thai Baht, Thailand’s currency. We walked to an ATM and withdrew funds. Ahh. There was a connection to home. We saw a little restaurant across the street that announced, in English, as plain as day, “Noodles”.

Noodles sounded ok to me.

We walked around the corner, took a peek at the outdoor kitchen. This was probably as good as it was going to get, I thought. Angela motioned around the corner to the entrance and I followed. The hostess pointed to a table and we sat. I never really considered how important it is that restaurants have picture menus. Before long we ordered, finished our meal, and then sat there and talked for what must have been a while.

The Size and Speed of Thailand

There are many people. A city the size of Bangkok, at nearly 9 million, it is very large. It isn’t like China or Hong Kong, either. People are crammed together, but not vertically, or at least not as much as I had assumed. Unlike Hong Kong, they are there in person. They are all on the same level. They are a very tightly knit people who are right there next to you. I became very comfortable with that.

I felt very safe riding in a car in Thailand. The drivers here are amazing. I suspect that years of conditioning their reflexes have honed skill like that of NASCAR. Moreover, I don’t yet understand it. I’m not sure that I want to. Perhaps the cars in Thailand are more maneuverable. Maybe there is an unspoken gesture or two when merging, or some subtle clue that I am missing when it comes to sharing a lane with a motorbike on either side. I’m not sure. But the speed and grace of the auto here in Thailand was visible. Not once did we see evidence of an accident, and at the speed at which we traveled there was sure to have been at least one. I never became comfortable with the motorcycles weaving in and out of, and around traffic. From what I could tell, they move at roughly twice the speed of cars. We saw multiple people on motorcycles and scooters.

Speaking of speed, there are basically two speeds when riding in a car in Thailand. There is the speed at which your driver will ease into fast-approaching traffic. That speed is just a little slower than a turtle nesting along a peaceful stream. Then there is the other speed. The one they don’t tell you about because time passes at a different rate once you travel at that speed. It is like the moment when Superman reverses the rotation of the earth to turn back time. The only way to upright the temporal rift is to return the way you came. At any rate, we found capable drivers, and they all seemed relatively young, but again, I can only attribute that apparent youth to their rate of speed.

What Shook Me to the Core

Nothing prepares you for seeing a baby on a motorcycle. I experienced an absolute shock moment when I glanced over and saw a baby nestled snug between front and back rider traveling along the streets of Thailand. No helmet, as if that would have mattered. I’ve never had a moment where I was both that surprised and that accepting at the same time. So absolute was my reaction that I felt a sort of slumping resignation. It was like when I was told as a kid that swallowed gum would just stay in your stomach forever. It is like that moment that someone at work tells you, “This is just the way we do things around here, there is no sense in trying to change it.” The moment kept haunting me throughout the week, and it would return a couple more times since.

Sights Unseen

Well, mainland China was really incredible. While much was left unseen, we took in quite a bit for only a week. I don’t know if I will ever have the chance to return, but I do hope so. Studying the people and business was like nothing I could have ever imagined. When you step off the plane in Hong Kong, it is nearly indistinguishable from stepping off a plane in the United States. Aside from the written language on the signs and the different faces, the only remaining thing is the language. Otherwise Hong Kong is like any other major city.

In fact, other than a quick currency exchange, my first task was to see if I could locate a power supply for my MacBook Air. Our hotel was one block from a 3-story Apple Store. No problem. I walked in as the store was opening, and my friends and I were directed toward the downstairs. I asked mike where the power converters were located and he took me right to the location for the Magnetic connected ones. I whipped out my phone, opened up my wallet and paid for the item, some 5800 HK Dollars via Apple Pay. It was as if I was at Jordan Creek.

Of course, it had the Hong Kong connector on it. I’ll have to swap that out when I return home.

The Arrival Card

Of course, when you are on your way by plane to a new country you are nearly always provided an arrival card for entry into the new country. Through my reading, I expected this. My only problem was that I forgot the name of the Hotel where we were staying. I’m not sure it mattered though. All of the important information was included, but the parts I was missing were filled in by some of my travel companions.

There was one night in Hong Kong that I felt comfortable enough to peel off from the rest of the group. My roommate for the trip succumbed to the flu mid-week. I wanted no part of that. Trusting that my flu shot was inoculation enough, I decided to take it easy and go for a short walk along the pier, hang out in the hotel bar and see if I could strike up a conversation with some fellow travelers. I did just that. It was a nice, quiet evening.

We had been warned to not drink the water in a foreign country. This was a warning that I heeded for the first several days without too much incident. As you become more comfortable, your guard goes down and this becomes more and more difficult. Several days of simply relaxing and following instructions had lulled me into a false sense of confidence, I think. I had a couple of glasses of wine in the hotel bar. It was a pinot. Very good. And it was inexpensive.

Now I’d been pretty good about asking for sparkling water and watching as it was poured from a bottle into a glass with no ice. This time, it completely slipped my mind. I went upstairs for dinner by myself, which was nice because I continued writing for a bit and enjoyed a small bowl of risotto and baked truffle potatoes that were to die for. I would almost be willing to bet that they were browned gently in duck fat and drizzled with truffle oil. They were amazing. The small potato melted in my mouth and simultaneously my mind flew to a pattern of ethereal thought like a cool breeze wisping across my face.

I finished dinner, then checked in on my roommate to see how he was doing. He replied on WhatsApp to indicate that he needed some sprite. I went down below the hotel to see what I could come up with. On a shelf, somewhere in the middle of the mall grocery I located the last 4 bottles of sprite and bought all of them. I figured they might be needed.

I felt a bit tired, decided to retire early, went back to the room, delivered the sprite, brushed teeth, laid down on the bed, and was out before my head hit the pillow. Nothing new here. It had been a long week.

A Fresh Start

When I woke the next morning, a relatively early start, I had breakfast, and hopped on yet another bus ride. No problems. Mike was to stay behind as to get some rest. I gave him some of my Tylenol to help control fever.

The ride was a little like warp speed through the streets of Hong Kong. Not necessarily because we traveled so far or fast, though it was really fast, but the back streets were so narrow. It was no telling where we were going, either. Even as the buildings began to blur together, I felt just a little like my stomach was about to protest. The first visit went off without a hitch—Standard Investments. I was happy to have identified the correct company for our presentation. One of our team was feeling it more than I. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him as he wretched in a plastic bag. I was impressed that the bag held. There was the inevitable seat swapping to put distance between my peers and him. We stopped for lunch. He seemed fine. No telling where he managed to get rid of the bag.

We had plenty of time for lunch. I quickly located a restroom. I’ll spare some of the details, but it was my first stomach grumbling, and I thought that it would pass quickly. I was wrong. Well, sort of wrong. I mean, it was quick. After my Coke Zero Lunch, I thought I was just not feeling hungry. There was another visit, then another, then before our next visit to Marriott, another. My body was in full surrender at this point. If I were wearing tighty whities, that flag would have been risen to full surrender.

It is at this moment that we had a fascinating visit at Marriott. I was feeling ok, if not just slightly dehydrated at this point. It seemed to go fast, though I have to admit there was a point at which I wondered if time didn’t slow down a bit. Several others retreated out the door to the back of the room. I couldn’t help but wonder if we weren’t all keeping the same secret.

The Descent and the Return

We descended several escalators, met together and then departed to the bus. I expected a whiff of the prior day activities, and there was none. The worst is likely over, then.

No. It was not. Unbeknownst to us we had to drop off our instructor at another hotel, presumably for a meeting. The brutal trip though the streets was like a trip through a war-ravaged countryside. Every bump, crack was felt deep within my gut. Memories of the earlier day came flooding back. I was not going to toss my cookies. Then It passed a bit. A little pain in my chest, but I had held it in. Like a man, I thought. Not 20 seconds later it came up further and I spit the remainder of my contents into an empty water bottle. Oh, better now. That should be it. Just about to the hotel. Ok, well, here we go again. Well, that is better.

I got off the bus and did not pass go. Right to the room, lost some more cookies and got into bed fully dressed, shoes and all. It would be a couple hours before I would get up, brush my teeth and take a shower. Long restroom visit. My roommate still lay asleep in the bed not 10 inches away. His lifeless body radiating heat into the room.

I changed and went back to bed.

Only after a couple more hours did I have this dream that an unseen force was knifing me in the gut. So distinct was the cramp that I lost control of bodily function, ran to the bathroom gave it my last go, and jumped in the shower with some clothes in hand. Yes, you can use hand sanitizer to launder clothes.

All I could think about was my poor roommate. If our friendship lasts this trip, then we will be friends forever. There are very few that I would call close friends. Those who have seen me at my very worst. My friend, Scott, who saw me in what he–to this day–describes as a loincloth just after knee surgery and loads of medication. Now, Mike, who has seen things no friend should ever see.

The next morning, we both bounced back as if nothing had ever happened. It was our last full day. Nothing else was said of it.

The Container Terminal

The Container Terminal
The Container Terminal

One time, in Austin, Texas I went to a shipping container bar.  Come to think of it, that was probably the closest that I had ever been to a shipping terminal. That probably didn’t change much yesterday. This time, it was my perspective that changed.

It seems only appropriate at this point in the story that I tell you about where the day ended.  Naturally, it gravitated toward beer.  Last night, at the end of a long day followed by some shopping at a multi-story knock-off market we ate dinner at the top of the hotel.  A few of us weren’t really ready to wrap it up, so we decided to make use of the free beer coupon  and retreat to the hotel bar for one last round before bed.

I called your mama ’bout three or four nights ago
I called your mama ’bout three or four nights ago
Well your mother said “Son”
“Don’t call my daughter no more”

“Before you Accuse Me”
-Eric Clapton

After all, there was the promise of live music–and beer.  It was a combo composed of a young woman vocalist and guitarist.  They were the entertainment for the night.  From their group photo posted in the elevator, it was evident that they had a third who was not present. They were really good.  If I think about it for a while I might even recall what they sang.  They alternated between a couple of tracks with just the duet and then would transition over to karaoke, and a number of younger folks would swarm the stage and take their turns singing a tune.  Some in english, some in what I assume to be Cantonese. Had I completely understood how this worked, I may even have volunteered myself.  Perhaps an app or something was controlling the karaoke, I’m not sure. Here we were, a captive audience contained in a bar listening to the miracle of shared song.

The live guitarist would accompany with his electric guitar and some canned background tracks. As an American traveling in China, it was entertaining and enlightening. Entertaining, because they were mostly singing in English and enlightening because in between sets I caught some Eric Clapton, Before you Accuse Me, over the house speakers from the restroom. It made me appreciate even more how far-reaching our culture is. At the end of their set, they sat down at a table in the bar and someone delivered a beautiful chocolate square cake to their table. I was a little jealous for a moment, until I recalled what I had just eaten for dinner. The contents of my stomach were now swimming in a pool of Guinness.

For a moment, I wondered if the band had a birthday. Perhaps they had a cake left over that the hotel decided to give to the performers that night. I can only speculate. I couldn’t tell from what was being spoken. They cut into the square cake devouring slices as I secretly watched from the corner of my eye.

This trip has made my world a much smaller place. The disappointments that once seemed so great in my world are now judged on a different perspective. That is the magic of education. That the world is more available and you see what is in front of you through a different lens. The important becomes less important with perspective. A failure becomes a learning opportunity. A success becomes a foundation on which you build. As your world becomes larger and larger, you are able to understand and appreciate more and more.

We visited a container terminal yesterday. The multi-colored containers dotted the container yard like 8-bit pixels on a screen. There was no real image made from the pixels, just a scattering of color throughout the yard.  Sometimes like containers were placed together, sometimes they were scattered about. I’m sure that they could have painted an image from the operations center. We learned that they know nearly everything about the location of those containers, and that probably includes the color. The movement was controlled by so many cranes that I couldn’t count them. We were told there were 60. At a particular orchestrated moment the veil obscuring their operations center was lifted to expose the employees working in their operations center. Maps of the terminal were on every screen with little colored alerts dotted throughout.

I never paid any attention to the transportation of a container. I mean, I knew they existed, but I didn’t know much about how they were transported. For my IT buddies, imagine packets on a network traveling back and forth in slow motion between switches. It is a little like that. The containers are transferred to trucks and rail. All logged and managed by computer. It is massive. It is growing.

Now, I’ve seen the Made in China label on many of the toys and technology that I have purchased. I imagined it traveling across the ocean. I never imagined the operations center. The same automation that we are working to achieve in the datacenter is happening on a larger scale in the container yard. Just like restricted traffic in the network, there are limits in the container yard. Size, and the number of containers you can stack. The number of containers the yard can hold is always at the forefront. Oh, and also efficiency.

Efficiency is most important. Efficient shipping makes money. Efficient networks perform in a way that drives optimal revenue or business.


I’m the fortunate one

I admit, I had preconceived expectations about China and its people. Looking back, I’m not sure why. I had assumptions that we would see poverty and vast lands filled with workers. I battled the childhood reminder that there were people starving here, and that–for some reason–the food on my plate would somehow fix a problem on the opposite side of the world. At first glance, It isn’t like that at all.

“Some folks inherit star spangled eyes
Ooh, they send you down to war, Lord
And when you ask them, “How much should we give?”
Ooh, they only answer More! more! more! y’all”

“Fortunate Son”
-Creedence Clearwater Revival

Don’t get me wrong, there is very likely poverty in China. I’m not denying that there are people starving in nearly every corner the world. I’m just saying that in the places that we have seen, China resembles the working class cities of the United States. Yes, it is much larger. The city of Guangzhou, as we learned yesterday, boasts nearly 15 million people. That is a massive number of people. Keep in mind, that of the top 25 cities in the world 8 of them are in China. The largest in the United States, New York, comes in at number 27.

Those statistics aren’t meant to elicit fear, by any means. I get the sense that the people of China have much the same wants and needs as the people of the United States. They seek stability, a good job where they can grow and excel, the ability to fairly support a family, the freedom to do what brings them fulfillment. They do great things. They build great buildings, love beauty, and most of all treat their aged with respect.

I watched this morning at breakfast as one of the many hostesses helped an elderly woman to her seat at the table across from me. Even as she held her hand, and gently led her to her table, the warm feelings that came over me were nearly too much. My eyes welled a bit, as they often do when I see someone so graciously cared for. After a bit, the hostess returned to help her fill her plate and take her food back to her table. I’m sure this happens in the United States.  My grandmother and I used to go to Bishop’s cafeteria in Clive, Iowa back in the day and I used to eat dinner with her. I never knew how much that would mean to me today. How precious those moments were. I used to really dislike that place. She must have known that one day I would look back and miss it.

There is this barrier that exists in our culture, often it is between the young and the old. Sometimes, it isn’t an age thing at all. It is perspective. For many, you cross over this barrier when you can finally put yourself in another person’s shoes. You become more gracious and understand the day-to-day struggle of those around you.

On our tour yesterday we caught a glimpse of the basketball courts on the campus of Jabil, an electronics manufacturer in Guangzhou.  Our tour group passed a group of employees walking from their campus dorm. Their eyes widened. I saw a few of them glance upward as we passed, and made eye contact just briefly with one young person who nodded as if to say ‘hello’.  I was walking with another six-foot plus program participant.  They must have thought that we were giants. It just further reinforced that I am, indeed, a giant.

Our guide spoke of the basketball courts and how they were used by employees either before or after their shift, sometimes during the day. I offered to put a team together. She giggled a bit. I would hope that my advantage would play out as I would anticipate, but I am not so sure. Every one of the employees we observed looked as if they were on a mission. It was clear from the start that they were accountable to serve their customer and do their best work possible.

Politically, the world is filled with tension. There is talk of buttons, and war, and the size of the war cache. There is talk of the rich making war and poor having to fight it.  That is not leadership.

Leadership is the shared accomplishment of building together. This trip has increased my hope that young people will stand together in the realization that we aren’t so different. Just look at Google Translate. The barrier of language is nearly broken.  We are even more connected than ever, and poised to share in the success of achievement throughout the world. It can’t be done with threats because even as you threaten one, the others are wondering if they can trust your partnership.

The First Visit

Today, we began the first of our company visits in the morning. Our group visited AmCham, the American Chamber of Commerce in Hong Kong.  We listened as the President of AmCham shared her insights about the current business climate in Hong Kong.  It was an engaging discussion, to say the least.

You can sit in a classroom and learn about what is going on in the world but there is hardly a substitute for hearing about it and experiencing it first hand. A discussion against the backdrop of the city of Hong Kong brings to life what we’re just concepts the day before.

This is a problem today. Lots of people share their unverified experience online and inside the comfort of their own homes. There is no credential to back up their claims about immigration and government trade policy. They share information about foreign policy without ever stepping foot on foreign soil. There is no curiosity.  There is little wonder about the world outside of our own borders. Step across the border and you might find a vibrant city where some of the same problems exist as in Des Moines. The cost of living, office space prices, dealing with congestion and a changing and growing infrastructure are all current problems in nearly every city.

I appreciate Hong Kong. As far as culture shock, there was none for me. It is relatively easy to move through a daily routine here. I had no problem communicating relatively simple needs at a place we stopped quickly for lunch.  Some of this may have been because we are in a group, essentially living in a hotel.  Oh, and I am puzzled by one thing. I have not seen a housekeeper in this hotel yet. Magically, our rooms are neat and tidy when we return. It is a mystery.

I will try and cover the magical housekeeper fairies later. If I could employ one of them, I would bring the magical housekeeper fairy home and put it to service.

We Built this City

Hong Kong is becoming a friend.  It is a complex city, but from the start it has been very familiar.  Like a good friend, as you spend time and get to know the city , you become open to its offering.  If you travel here, you may even fall in love with its story.  It is inviting and familiar, but noticeably different.

Our first day was incredible.  It made me appreciate traveling with  friends.  We emerged from customs to the open arms of our greeter and the city of Hong Kong.

The magic moment was emerging from the airport and seeing the vehicles parked in the lot where we awaited our transportation.  The vehicles are more electric.  It seemed a little sci-fi.  Parts of the city feel futuristic.  It is like looking through a portal and catching a glimpse of what might be awaiting us in, say, 20 years.  I spotted a couple of Teslas.  A familiar site.  But them a van with a softened box shape that reminded me of a Star Trek shuttlecraft.

Someone always playing corporation games
Who cares they’re always changing corporation names
We just want to dance here someone stole the stage
They call us irresponsible write us off the page

“We Built this City”
-Bernie Taupin, Martin Page, Dennis Lambert, Peter Wolf; Starship

The site, on which the airport was constructed, was once water.  The island, on which it was constructed is artificial.  It was built by flattening a couple of mountains and reclaiming over a kilometer of seabed.  It is massive.  Stand at the site in the early 90’s and you would be under nearly 20 meters of water.  Today, it is runway, terminal, customs, and likely a Starbucks or two.

Drive another kilometer, the earth is broken open and buildings are springing up from the ground.  It is as if construction is happening from the ground floor and the buildings are pushing toward the sky like a push-pop.  There is construction everywhere.  It is a glorious unfinished city with people stacked on top of one another.  It clearly stands as a testament to what people are capable of achieving together.  Marvelous.

There is a deeper side of the city, too.  Even catching a quick glimpse down a city ally, I saw a restaurant worker sitting after a long shift.  A raggad and soiled uniform was his banner.  His eyes looked exhausted.  A cigarette dangled from his mouth and his arms rested on his legs as if he had given his last.  He watched me move by.  I tried to imagine what he was thinking.  I could not so I moved on.

Being a tall man in a city of statistically shorter people is sometimes very noticeable, and sometimes painfully obvious.   It just depends on the setting.  Walking down a hotel hallway, I might have a fleeting thought of avoiding a protruding exit sign.  Walking through a market with tourists, it is nearly unnoticeable.  Well, with at least one exception.  It was notable for at least one shopkeeper who pointed at me.  “You tall.”

“Yes”, I said.  It was a moment of validation.

There are moments where I think that perhaps I’ve actually grown a few inches.  I walked through a building and nearly scraped my head on the ceiling.  I ducked to get off of a boat or go through a doorway.  Squeezing between partitions on the way to a urinal, or reaching down low to wash my hands and search for a towel.  It takes energy to be a big man, but it requires even more energy to be tall.  I wonder how many calories I have burned simply trying to avoid a head injury?

A shower?

I’m certain that I am clean from my shoulders down.