The world of business travel is not kind to our physique.  Hours of being cramped in a plane or bent over a laptop keyboard in your hotel room is a surefire recipe for getting your body out of whack.  In my 20s and 30s my body could shake off this kind of abuse.  But in my 40s my body has protested more loudly when I try to pull the same stunts.

I believe much of these aches and pains and creaking and popping noises is due to a lifetime of poor habits.  Not eating right, not sleeping right, not exercising enough, and not paying attention to good posture.  Some of this you can combat with discipline and will power.  But often events conspire against you when you are on the road and you wind up looking and feeling like the hunchback of Notre Dame despite your best efforts. 

So it’s not a sin to recognize that your body needs a little help now and then and it’s a good idea to be prepared.  Your ego may take a small hit, but you can always compensate when you get home by peeling out of your driveway in your Mustang GT convertible, blasting AC/DC’s “TNT” with the roof down, and sporting a pair of Ray Bans in your Tommy Bahama shirt while totally rocking that new skull tattoo on your forearm.  Your chick magnet alter ego will have you feeling like a million bucks in no time.

Back to combating feeling like crud when you’re 1000 miles from home.  There are three little tools that are absolutely essential and indispensible for the road weary. 

1.  Inflatable neck pillow.  One of the biggest culprits of feeling like crud is sleeping on the plane while sitting upright without head and neck support.  Get one of these pillows and always keep it in your carry-on.  They’re cheap, lightweight, and easily fold up to a very small size when not in use.  You’ll look like a total diptard while wearing it, but you’ll be the one feeling refreshed later when you step off the plane while everyone else is rubbing the crick in their neck.

2.  Tennis ball.  Have you ever heard of trigger point therapy?  I came across the concept in one of my strength training books, so I went out and bought the definitive work on it by Davies & Davies.  All those little pains and popping noises in your neck and shoulders are often due to muscles that are permanently knotted and contracted and won’t release on their own unless you help them to.  That’s where the tennis ball comes in.  Use it to apply pressure to these trigger points and you’ll feel them release and your pain will go away.  Sound goofy and New Age?  Trust me, it works wonders.  Don’t laugh until you try it. 

3.  Muscle relaxers.  I’m not above using prescription drugs to get me out of a jam.  As long as you don’t become dependent on them, I think they can be lifesavers.  Modern medicine is one of the great wonders and benefits of living today as opposed to, say, 150 years ago when pain and disease was just a regular part of life.  So don’t go all macho and act like you don’t need doctors or medicines.  Make an appointment, tell the doc what’s going in your world, and get fixed up.  It’s so easy to do now, there’s really no excuse not to.  And who knows — maybe you’ll make a new friend along the way.

So those are my favorite little helpers.  What are yours?

Shaun

M&W Traveler

I was confused by India. 

The people speak English and are extremely polite which is very disarming.  But then you see an elephant wandering down the highway in the middle of traffic and you suddenly feel every inch of the 8,000 miles between you and home sweet home.

Adding to the confusion is the surreal hodge podge of modern buildings and well-dressed professionals mixed in with slums and heaps of garbage and beggars.  But everyone moves along, side by side, totally accepting that this is just how it is.  These next two pictures give a glimpse of both worlds that literally sit within meters of each other.

So I have to admit, even though the English was a blessing, I was less comfortable in India than I was in other countries where language was a real barrier. 

Have you ever seen the head wobble that Indians do?  It was throwing me off whenever I had a conversation with them.  I couldn’t figure out what it meant.  So I asked our waiter at the restaurant one night about it.  I said, “when you nod your head up and down, it means ‘yes’, and when you shake your head side to side it means ‘no’.”  He agreed.  “So what does it mean when you do this?”  And I did my best Indian head wobble.  He smiled and tried to explain, but he didn’t really have a good translation for it.  The most I could get out of him was that it means everything is ok, but I still don’t think that quite gets the gist of it across.  I was using the buddy system on that trip and was being shown around by one of our guys out of the UK.  He called me an a**hole after the waiter left for asking such an embarasssing question.  This from the same guy that jokes about India, “Ten billion flies can’t be wrong.”

These next pictures were taken near Chennai in the southern tip of India.  They show temples and sacred places — things considered national treasures that are hundreds of years old. 

You would think it to be a quiet, respectful place.  Visitors left to their own thoughts and prayers, right?  Not exactly.  We were swarmed the second we stepped out of the taxi.  A crowd of beggars and peddlers hawking their wares instantly surrounded us.  A man insisted we hire him as a tour guide and if we did he promised to keep us clear of the mob.  So we hired him.  And he was good to his word.  The mob tried hard to keep after us, but he got downright belligerent with them.  I mean he was yelling and pushing and swatting hands and being extremely forceful in a way that would never occur to us to do.  But I guess that’s how you get the message across that you don’t want to be messed with when you visit the shrine.

The trip ended in Delhi.  The smog was unbelievable.  I had never seen it so thick anywhere in my life.  Those final three days probably took three years off my life.  They had to turn the street lights on around dinner time so that pedestrians could find their way, even though the sun wouldn’t set for another hour or two.

Crazy.  Did you know they have Pizza Hut there?  Like I said, very confusing.  There were things that were familiar and comforting, and then POW! you get hit with something you’ve never seen before or couldn’t imagine.  I just couldn’t get the hang of the place.  Guess I’ll have to go back sometime and figure it out.

Shaun

M&W Traveler

Do you know what a hybrid striped bass is?  I’ll spare you the guessing game.  It’s a cross between a white bass (more commonly known here as a sand bass) and a striped bass (also called a “striper”).  Some folks refer to them as “wipers”, but I don’t like that name because it sounds like bathroom talk.  I don’t want to associate my fish fry with something that happens in the bathroom.  So I don’t call them anything other than “hybrids”.  As in, “Let’s go fishing for hybrids.” 

Did you know that Oklahoma is one of the premier fishing spots in the country for hybrids?  Every year during the month of May the fishing  goes white hot as these amazing fighters school up in about 30 feet of water and start feeding aggressively on shad.  The local guides are booked solid in May for months in advance, sometimes a year in advance, by those who are in the know about this incredible fishing.

My oldest daughter, Molly, just graduated from Broken Arrow Senior High School in the largest class in the state: 1035 students.  Does this statement sound totally random given the intro about fishing?  Hang in there.  It all ties together here in a second.

My parents live in New York so they drove down in their new Ford Escape – which they absolutely love — to attend the big event.  It was held at the Mabee Center on the Oral Roberts University campus.  The place holds 11,000 people and it was completely packed.  The graduation ceremony was well coordinated and moved at a good clip, but it still took four readers announcing two lines of students about an hour and a half to hand out all the diplomas.  Yowza.

As a way to celebrate Molly’s graduation and get some family time with Grandma and Grandpa, I set up a fishing trip on Skiatook lake with local guide David Clark for an afternoon of what I hoped would be exciting hybrid action.  This was my first time out with Dave, so I wasn’t sure how it was going to go, but it turned out there was no need for concern.  Dave did a great job for us.  He put us on top of fish right away and using live shad for bait we limited out inside an hour.  After that it was catch and release until everybody’s arms were aching and we called it quits after about 3 hours on the water.    Grandma caught the biggest fish at over 7 lbs.  It nearly dragged her under.  Her rod was curved in a complete semicircle with the tip submerged in the water as the big guy tried his best to get under the boat and get away.  No dice, though.  He ended up in the cooler along with the rest for the big fish fry I put on the next day. 

Everybody has their own special fish fry technique, but here’s how I do it:

1. Skin the fillets and remove all of the red meat the same day as you catch them and leave only white meat.  The red meat in hybrids is so fishy tasting it’ll spoil the taste of the fish if you don’t cut it out.  The white meat cooks up firm and has a very delicate fish flavor, making it one of the best eating fishes — second only to walleye and crappie in my opinion.
2. Soak the fillets overnight in salt water to help suck out any remaining fishy taste.
3. Get ready to fry:  Dip in milk, then coat in flour seasoned with salt and black pepper, then dip in  beaten eggs, then coat in crushed Club Crackers.
4. Fry in your favorite oil for 10 minutes until fillets turn a deep golden brown.
5. Eat until it hurts and you have to be rolled away from the dining table.

If you ever get the chance to come to Oklahoma in May for some world-class hybrid fishing action, don’t pass it up!

Shaun

M&W Traveler

Do you remember your scariest plane ride?  I have several close shaves to choose from.  

When I was in the Air Force I flew on board the E-3 AWACS which was built on a Boeing 707 airframe.    These planes were old but well maintained.  That didn’t prevent the occasional hiccup happening from time to time, though. 

Like having the landing gear fail to extend for landing.  I’ve never seen a flight engineer so scared or move so fast.  Which, of course, scared all of the rest of us.  But redundant systems is a theme in the Air Force.  In this case, the flight engineer had to open a panel in the floor and climb down to a place where he could use a manual cranking tool to extend the landing gear by hand.  He didn’t look too sure about the end result when he came back up so we were all puckered pretty good when it came time to land.  But I’m still here to write this, so I’m sure you guessed already that everything turned out fine.

Some of the scares I had were just the nature of the beast and an unavoidable part of duty.  Like sitting stuck inside the plane on the ground fully fueled up but not able to take off because there were SCUDs coming in.  Or flying within range of SAM sites, waiting for the Iraqis to clue in that we were a big fat sitting duck waiting to get blasted out of the sky.  Did you know that they didn’t issue parachutes to AWACS crew members during Desert Storm?  They didn’t issue weapons either.  Our commanding officer told us that he fully expected to lose half of his crews and aircraft in the war.  But just in case we crashed and survived, none of us were allowed to wear our usual patches on our flight suits – they didn’t want identifying marks about our squadron, etc. to be given away if we were captured.  Now how was getting captured supposed to happen after dropping several miles out of the sky without a parachute?  I think they made the capturing bit up so that they didn’t have to say something a little more gruesome.

After I got out of the Air Force I transitioned to flying civilian style.  I found this to be a more relaxing way to fly, but still not without its hairy moments. 

Can you believe I had another failed landing gear episode?  It happened right here at good old Tulsa International Airport.  TW was with me for that one.  This time it was much more dramatic as emergency vehicles raced out with their lights flashing and lined up on either side of the runway to prepare for the worst as we came in.  Talk about a freak out.  There were several passengers with a little more baggage in their shorts after that one.  But again, we landed without event.  Except for the shorts.

My most memorable business travel scare took place in Iowa in a small private jet.  It was the fastest and cheapest way to get a crew of 6 up to a remote customer.  The ride up was uneventful.  But it was spring time and one of the big tornadic thunderstorms that builds up across the plains at that time of year was barreling down on us by the time we had to leave.  It was a near thing.  If we delayed 10 minutes more, then we weren’t going to be going anywhere.  So we hustled down the tarmac, threw our gear inside the plane, strapped in, and got our clearance to get out of Dodge.  (It’s just an expression.  I know Dodge is in Kansas).

As we took off, it became apparent to the captain and co-pilot that the storm was moving a little faster than anticipated and was getting a little too close to comfort.  The sky was black, lightning was snapping around us, and rain and wind were whipping all around.  We climbed and banked hard to put some room between us and the storm.  Just as we were pulling this maneuver an emergency light came on in the cockpit.  Suddenly the pilots got very animated.  And then they started yelling at each other.  The co-pilot was screaming, “Captain, I do not agree!  Captain, I do not agree!”  We were all staring in shock and disbelief and holding on to the arms of our chairs as the wildest roller coaster ride of our lives took place.  The captain snapped the plane around in a sudden decision for a change of direction.  We pulled the most Gs I had felt since my ride in an F-15.  And we weren’t climbing any more.  We were descending — fast.  I couldn’t tell if we should brace for impact or not.  The pilots were very much pre-occupied and not talking to us. 

Turned out that they were just trying to land at a small rural airport in a hurry and get out of the path of the storm at the same time.  We landed safely, the pilot and co-pilot had a little alone time to air things out between them, and then they finally came back with their professional faces on.  They told us that the emergency light meant a door in the tail had lost its seal, and they couldn’t tell if it was all the way open or causing damage of any kind.  They apologized for all the excitement, had the door checked out and fixed, refueled, loaded us back up, and took us home. 

We raided the mini-bar hard on the rest of the flight. 

And stepped off the plane in Tulsa totally smashed and very relieved to be home and alive.  I hugged my wife a little tighter after I finally walked in through the front door that night.  That was one wild ride I won’t soon forget.

So what’s your favorite close encounter on a plane ride?

Traveling can be very interesting at times, and just when you thought you had seen it all a volcano erupts in Iceland and affects all the travel to Europe.   To top it off you have to be linguistics major to even pronounce the volcano’s name.  How can you appropriately vent your frustration when you have to keep saying ^%^&R$#?, Iceland volcano, &%%U&^.

Lessons learned, when a natural disaster is occurring that affects air travel be sure to travel only with carry-on luggage.  This gives you the ability to change flights quickly.  Second, airlines like to play the wait and see game canceling flights at the last moment.  Even when airports were closed some of the airlines did not cancel their flights until the last moment, leaving travelers stranded at their connecting airports.  The lesson is to be informed about the conditions at the airport your flying to and don’t just rely on the airlines.  This gives you the ability to change your travel plans before your stuck, or at least you’re mentally prepared to deal with a fluid traveling agenda. 

Finally, get yourself mentally prepared.  Your attitude to the whole situation greatly affects your stress level.  Be sure to bring a good book and just realize everything is going to be hectic and uncertain for awhile.  If you have faith this can help quite a bit.  The “Big Guy Upstairs” is always willing to take your troubles if you give him a chance.

TW

Warning!  For Leather-Heads Only!

I had the great pleasure of touring Horween Leather yesterday.  John Culliton, Director of Sales, was good enough to take a couple hours to show me around the famous Chicago tannery on Elston Ave.  If you’re curious how the transformation of one of the most uninviting raw materials into one of the most prized luxuries known to man takes place, then sit back and enjoy the show.  I’m about to take you through the process. 

It all starts with the raw hides that come into the tannery on pallets, all hairy, and — let’s face it — more than just a little bit gross.  But it is what it is.  As long as you and I enjoy a burger or a steak or a pepperoni pizza, then there’s going to be hides as a byproduct.  So the choice is use it, or throw it away.  Or don’t eat beef.  But I’m going to assume that if you’re reading this blog, then you’ve managed to get past that issue.

I made peace with the conflict between the sanctity of life and eating a burger a long time ago when my dad took me deer hunting in western New York as a kid.  He showed me the whole male bonding ritual with the other men in the family and the excitement of the hunt, which is the fun part.  But then he was very serious with me about not taking life for the sake of the kill or a trophy.  You take it because you eat the meat and use the hide (we used to give the hides to folks who would tan them) and it’s part of who we are as creatures that walk the earth and have a need for nourishment.  It’s the way that we were made.  But it’s life we’re talking about here, so you need to have respect and don’t be cruel and don’t be wasteful. 

But what about horses and horsehide?  We don’t eat horse meat here in the US.  And for many folks the horse is a companion animal.  So how do you rationalize that?

Here’s how I rationalize offering horsehide:  it’s illegal to take horses in the US for meat or for hides.  Any horsehides that find their way to the tannery from the American farm or ranch are by way of natural death.  The American horse has an elevated status and it’s life is revered and respected here in a way that is not afforded to any other farm or ranch animal.  So that’s how I sleep at night.

Back to the tour.  First step: remove the hair.  That’s done in this big cement mixer looking thing and a chemical is added that puts a very potent ammonia-like smell in the air.  Don’t ask me how it all works.  I was still a little bit grossed out at this point and trying not to breathe, so I wasn’t trying too hard to understand the finer points.

Next step:  Add chromium salts to create what they call “wet blue” hides.  That’s done inside giant wood barrels that are called mills.  These spin around with the hides and water and salts inside for many hours.

Eventually you get hides that are chemically transformed and preserved and at this point it is considered a cured product.  But it’s blue and spongy (Yes, I touched it.  Very weird feeling).  So you can’t stop there.

Or you can skip the chromium salts and use tannins from tree bark (that’s why it’s called tanning – get it?) to transform and preserve the hides.

The hides from the vegetable tanning pits are not blue.  Instead they take on the color of the tannins.

Still not where you want to be with color yet.  I couldn’t say about texture.  I learned my lesson after touching the wet blue hides.  But it’s safe to assume it’s the same kind of freaky.  So again, you gotta keep going.

Sometimes the hides get both treatments — chromium salts and tannins.  This is called vegetable re-tanning, and it’s done to get the best properties of both methods (body and strength).  This is the type of leather M&W Traveler uses.

After the hides dry they can then be split to remove the fleshy backside of the hide. 

And after splitting they are shaved to produce a uniform thickness throughout.

Now’s when the fun begins.  At this point the hide is still not much to look at.  So it’s time to start adding oils and waxes in a process called hot stuffing.  Basically you add your super-secret Horween oil blend to the hides and beat the bejesus out of them inside a mill (remember the giant wood barrel?) for X number of hours until you get the oil content you want inside the leather.  The higher the oil content, the richer the look and feel of the leather.

After the mandatory beating the hides have to go sit in time out for a few days until they figure out what they did wrong.  They do that inside this big, hot, oven-like room.

Then the hides are let out and given color through a dyeing process.  This can be done by hand or in the mills or with big industrial sprayers and roller brushes, depending on the look you’re trying to achieve and whether you want a dyed back or a natural back on the leather.

After the dyeing they are dried and taken down to a specific moisture content.  This can be done by pasting on to glass or by simply hanging and air drying.

Finally the hides go through a process called plating.  As far as I could tell, it’s a brutal, crushing squeeze given right at the very end before they head out into the world to make sure the lesson of their last beating would stick with them.

That’s John on the far right talking to Chris Koelblinger, VP of Production.  And that’s Horween’s famous Chromexcel leather coming out of the plating machine.  Here’s a closer look at a batch of brown that had just come out.

Amazing stuff.  The Horween guys do an incredible job with their leather. 

It was a great tour and a great day.  Special thanks go out to John Culliton and Skip Horween who took so much time with me.  That’s it for the leather show.  I hope you enjoyed it!

Happy Anniversary, Jenny!  I love you! 

Yesterday was my wedding anniversary.  Jenny and I have been married for 19 years now.  Thinking about how long we’ve been together and committed to each other reminds me about how little things over time can add up to bigger and better things. 

You learn about this concept when you’re in grade school.  Like evolution, continental drift, the carving out of the Grand Canyon, and the birth of stars and planets.  These are things that require little changes over millions of years.  There’s no way you’re going to witness these kinds of events, so you just have to take it on faith that this is how it works.

But later in life you can see how it works on a smaller scale and in your own lifetime — if you’re committed.  Like losing weight by making small changes in what you eat, or watching your children turn into well-adjusted adults, or training for a year to run a 15K, or building a deeper love and friendship with your soulmate over the course of 20 years. 

The same idea applies in business, too.  I’ve put multiple marketing plans and business plans together that look out over many years.  Once you put the big goals and framework in place, then you break it down into baby steps that can easily be achieved in a short period of time.  Sometimes things go according to plan.  Sometimes they don’t and you adjust along the way.  But as long as you believe in the vision and keep plugging away at it, generally you wind up landing where you want to be.  There’s no big mystery to it.  The hardest part is keeping everyone on the same page and committed.  If you don’t have that, then things start to fall apart.  Not everyone has the ability to stay the course, which is often the biggest problem in larger businesses.  Egos and politics and the pressure for short term results eventually get in the way. 

TW and I have put together a 5 year plan for M&W Traveler.  By coincidence, this month also marks the one year anniversary of announcing our business to the world.  And so far we’re right on track.  The nice thing about being in a small business is that commitment is not a problem.  If you’re not committed, then there is no business (not for very long anyway), and it’s time to figure out Plan B for your life.

I have no Plan B.  So, much like my marriage, I’m in it for the long haul — fully committed and no looking back.  But that’s how it should be when you chase your hopes, and passions, and dreams, isn’t it?

I once had to give our biggest customer a $1,000,000 price increase. 

Oh, yeah.  Happy, smiley faces all around the table that day.  The conversation went something like this:

Me:  “Blah, blah, blah.  Blah, blah, blah.  We need to increase prices.”

Customer:  “How much?”

Me:  “One million dollars.”

Customer:  “I should throw you out of here right now.”

Which is exactly what they proceeded to do after a few more choice words.  Not quite as bad as the Persian messengers from Xerxes getting thrown down the well by Leonidas and company in the beginning of “300″, but something very similar.  (If you haven’t seen “300″ but are into uber-violence in a chop-hack-stab sort of way, then this is one you need to put on your “must see” list).

Two years later — after our business had tanked and we were blacklisted from any new product development projects with them — my boss started second guessing the decision.  And a year after that my boss wanted me to get the business back.  Surely they wouldn’t hold a grudge, would they?  The decision wasn’t personal, it was just business after all.  They can be reasoned with, right?

Lesson #1:  All business is personal. 

Lesson #2:  If you give a million dollar price increase, then you are f***ed forever.

After a couple years of figuring out that we were f***ed forever and weren’t going to get back in through the front door, we decided to try to go in through the back door.  And so began our China campaign. 

For the China campaign we decided to use a different tactic.  If appealing to reason and logic wouldn’t work, then maybe the old fraternity trick for rushing pledges would:  Get ‘em stinking drunk and they’ll love you forever.  After all, they didn’t really know us on the other side of the world.  There was no old baggage there to try overcome.  All we needed was some good old-fashioned bonding time, and the back door would crack open for us.  Piece of cake.

Lesson #3:  The Chinese are better drinkers than Americans. 

They have an unfair advantage over you when you’re on their turf.  Their national drink is called baijiu (pronounced “buy-joo”).  It’s a kind of rice liquour that tastes like kerosene and delivers the most evil hangovers and is pretty much guaranteed to make you hurl.  They love it over there and have built up a tolerance to its toxicity after a lifetime of practice (I think baby’s first word in China is “Ganbei!” which means “Bottoms up!”).  The upshot is that you don’t have a prayer in a one-on-one drinking contest with a Chinaman armed with baijiu.

Lesson #4:  Never aim a steaming hot garlic shrimp at the guy who holds the keys to the back door when you twist the head off. 

It’s kind of like a high pressure stink bomb that jets out brown head juice in a wide spray pattern and at high velocity.  Totally lethal within a 10 foot radius.  Well, lethal for whatever shirt the guy across from you is wearing anyway. 

Let me cut to the chase here.  Turns out the phone lines work just fine between the US and China and old baggage travels down them just fine, too.  So you’ll be totally shocked to learn that we never can get in through the back door and we never do get the business back.  But I’m sure you could have guessed that way back at Lesson #1.

I love Japan.  I couldn’t tell you exactly why.  It’s one of those things where you just have to go experience it.  The culture, the customs, the formality, the politeness, the sights, the food, the smells, the crowded yet orderly busyness of it — there’s so much more to it than I can put down here — somehow it all adds up to something so foreign, yet so attractive and comforting.  It’s hard to explain.  You just have to go.

If you’re going to go, do it now.  May is about the latest you want to go.  Otherwise you need to wait until the fall.  Late March and early April are wonderful (would have been nice if I told you that back in March, wouldn’t it?)   The weather is mild and clear, and the cherry blossoms are in full bloom.  May is a transition month.  Still nice, but getting warmer and getting wetter.  June starts the heat and the rainy season.  No fun of any kind comes from the summer rainy season pattern. 

Nobody really travels by car for long distances in Japan.  Their passenger subway and rail systems are so well developed and inexpensive that it’s a way of life for everyone.  (Japanese that commute to downtown Tokyo by way of their own car are recognized immediately as rich upper class.  Space is at such a premium that the cost of parking is like paying rent on an apartment here in the US — a really nice apartment.)  During rush hour the trains are packed.  But the air conditioning is set on like 80F.  It’s an energy conservation thing mandated by the government.  So May is the month when the Japanese start to shed their business suits and long sleeve shirts and ties.  June is the month when when the short sleeve dress shirts and the handkerchiefs for wiping sweat off your face come out in full force.  It’s kind of like all the cherry blossoms popping out in the spring. 

On my first summer visit to Japan I was totally uninformed.  I thought there would be air conditioning blasting everywhere.  Because I had picked up on Japanese formality on a previous trip, I went ahead and packed suits, long sleeve shirts, and ties again .  And I totally soaked them in sweat.  I was a big, dumb, sweaty American for every business meeting on that trip.  It didn’t take long for me to pick up on the handkerchief thing.  I was desperate, so I didn’t really go handkerchief shopping to pick out the perfect one.  I just grabbed something quick in black and grey that didn’t look too girly:

That trip was the same one in which I learned about the rainy season.  I don’t know which was worse — getting soaked in rain or getting soaked in sweat.  The rain is the heavy duty kind that doesn’t just spritz and sprinkle.  It’s like God is making an intense bombing run.  You are going to get drenched and there’s not a lot  you can do about it if you didn’t pack an umbrella.  Like the way that I didn’t on that first trip.  Luckily I only got rain soaked a couple days before one of the guys escorting me took pity and brought an umbrella from home for me to borrow for the rest of the trip. 

I ended that trip on the weekend, so the owner of the distributor that was hosting me took me to the Edo-Tokyo museum for a little bit of recreation and sightseeing.  The Edo-Tokyo museum is a semi-automated guided tour where you can rent headsets in different languages that explain what you are looking at as you come up close to each exhibit.  We often took breaks from the headsets so that Frank (that’s the name the owner asked me to call him) could explain a little more to me. 

The tour starts with early settlement of the Tokyo area and its tribal beginnings and works it way through feudal systems and Emperors to modern day.  A large section is dedicated to WWII.  I should have seen it coming, but I was oblivious as I tried to keep up with the pace of Frank and the program.  So I was surprised as I suddenly found myself smack in the middle of WWII.  What do you say at a time like that?  Sorry about the atomic bomb thing, but you started it?  It was a very uncomfortable situation as Frank and the program took turns explaining matter-of-factly about the devastation and the horrors of the war.  I was squirming big time, totally unsure about how to act or what to say, and looking for the nearest exit so I could bolt. 

But then Frank said something to me that I realized was the big “Aha” moment and the point of the whole morning together.  He told me that it wasn’t the way the two countries acted toward each other during the war that was important, but the way the Americans treated the Japanese during their occupation after the war.  Frank is in his 70s so he remembers some of this.  He remembers being surprised when he saw American soldiers giving chocolate bars to Japanese kids in the street.  Americans stationed in Tokyo after the surrender were kind and giving and helpful, and the Japanese didn’t expect this.  It set the stage for the friendship between the two countries now and it was the reason that Frank felt a special connection with Americans and was willing to help them find their way in Japan today.

I remember being really affected by his story.  It was an example of how long-lasting and far-reaching acts of decency and kindness can be.  I think it’s part of the reason why I love Japan so much.

You’re on a roadtrip, trying to get to your next business meeting.  I’ts 8 am and you’re an hour out from your 9am meeting time.  It’s running tight — verrrry tight.  Your coffee is long gone and your bladder is screaming at you.  Do you dare stop to pee?  No.  Peeing is for wussies.  Squeeze your legs tighter together and turn the radio up louder to help block out the pain.  Chant to yourself, “I can do it, I can do it, I can do it…”

But wait.  Why is everybody slowing down and moving to a single lane? 

Crap.  There’s a construction zone up ahead.  And a giant semi out in front is feeling self-righteous (or has had one too many tickets) and is following the letter of the law exactly, sentencing everyone behind him to 30 minutes at 25 mph. 

Now you’re really in trouble.  The only way to go the remaining 45 miles in 30 minutes is if you go 90 mph the rest of the way (did I do my math right?).  But even that won’t be fast enough because your teeth are floating now, and there’s no putting off your bladder that’s demanding that you pee right this instant or else you’ll power wash the inside of the car.

Pull over, run behind a tree, and experience the second best feeling in the world, even with all the cars honking, waving and woohooing as they go by. 

Shake the dew off the lily, run back to the car, get back behind the wheel, and pull out with tires squealing.

Five more minutes gone.  Crap, crap, crap, crap, CRAP.  OK, now you’ll have to go 100 mph.  Make your prayers to Saint Jude, the patron saint of lost causes, and put the pedal to the metal.

You’re doing well.  Sweat’s rolling from your armpits down your sides, but you’re eating up the miles, weaving in and out of traffic, and you’ve only forced one bluehair off the road.  But suddenly you hit a rolling roadblock.  You had a clear shot of getting around the old Lincoln Town Car burning oil and making a purple fog that makes your eyes water, but suddenly the guy right behind him pulls out from the slow lane and into the fast lane because he doesn’t want to hit his brakes and come off cruise control — which just so happens to be set for 1 mph faster than the Lincoln. 

Now you are well and truly hosed.  And that’s when you realize that you’re going to have to Make The Call.  The call that everyone dreads making, but knows it’s the right thing and the courteous thing to do.  The bigger sin would be not to Make The Call.  So you dial your cell phone and leave the message that everyone in business hates to leave.

“Could you please tell him I’m going to be about 15 minutes late?  Thanks.”