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It's 7.00AM Central time and I had just wolfed down an 8oz New York strip loin, 3 eggs over easy, a half plate of hash browns, 6 slices of home made Finnish Rye toast, coffee and orange juice, all served to me by a righteous looking dame of Finnish lineage, in fact, the Taylor Falls Family Restaurant is a family owned and operated business at Taylor Falls on the St. Croix River and they're all Finlanders, the entire region is of Nordic background, mostly Norwegian and Finlander.

I'm cutting across Minnesota and Wisconsin on Hwy 8 where eventually I would hit Michigan at the town of Norway. (famous for "flat track" racing) I'm outside of Taylor in farm country and the sun's coming up fast, and so too the temperature. I pull over to the shoulder to strip out of my heavy leathers and before the kick stand goes out I reach into my grip bag on the seat behind me and pull out a 10"sq ballistic fiber plate that I use under the kick stand. In the process of excercising this precaution I looked at the fucking ravine that I was parking near and thinking of how fucking deep it was and how I would hate to end up in it, especially when I had just put a $5,000.00 paint job on my bike 2 weeks earlier...but I carry on.

I just get the bike settled on the plate and about to dismount when fuck me if the entire shoulder didn't give away, 50ft of it and now I'm at the bottom of this roadside ravine, sitting upright on the bike which is still on the ballistic plate and I am still trying to figure out what had just happened.

The 1st lucid thought I had was how in the fuck am I going to get out of here. No sooner said that when an old Ford pulls up and out gets an old farmer that's built like brick shithouse with hands the size of a garden spade. He asks if I need help...I didn't even know how to reply.

Im subsurface in the bottom of that ravine of a ditch and can't even see across the hwy and I'm wondering how this guy plans to get me out. I strike up a bit of a conversation with the guy and asked where he was headed to which he replied that he was on his way to Rice Lake for a birthday party that his daughter was putting on for him and then he told me that he was 89years old.

He grabbed the rear crash bars on the left side of the bike and I was in the bottom of the ditch holding the right crash bar and a bit unsure about this. On two we pick and holy fuck I swear all I did was balance the 1,000lb bike, that old timer farmer picked that weight like fuck all...we set the rear of the bike down and now the front is pointing downwards, farmer guy walks around to the front of the bike, grabs the front forks and lifts while I balance the bike...damned if he didn't muscle the front of the bike to the top of the slope of that ditch and the bike is out and I'm impressed. This old farmer was pushing 90 years old and he was not one to fuck with...and a great guy.

NOTE....there was a vid posted earlier where a 90 year old former boxer hammered a nigger and it was a stiff beating.
Never let age fool you when it comes down to a battle...with age comes wisdom and that's impossible to defeat.