colector: [JournalWriting] My Friend John

Of the many personal attributes of which we're grateful our health
tops the list. Barb and I have managed to stay clear the doctor's
office to such a degree that neither of us can recall when we last
darkened his door. What door? We don't know. We've been in Texas
five years and we have yet to need any medical attention.

I have a friend, John, who also regards his health as important. He
lives and works on a ranch in the Blue Mountains of Oregon. He's
four years my senior—74. Last summer he rode his new Yamaha
motorcycle down to Texas. I washed my Honda CB-900C and together we
make a weeklong trip into Oklahoma and Arkansas.

In January of this year he was counting cows for his boss when he
slipped on the ice. The fall broke a hip. He told me that only two
bars were showing on his cell phone when he called 911. Twenty
minutes passed before an ambulance picked him up and delivered him to
the VA Hospital across the river in Washington.

He calls me at least once each week. He's back on the ranch now,
hobbling around with a cane and talking motorcycles again. He has a
new battery and a new tire setting in the barn. As soon as the snow
is gone and he's able to shed his cane he'll start preparing his bike
for a repeat of last year.

It's hard to say when John will leave us, but I'm pretty sure he'll
have one hand on the throttle when his time arrives.