Donner? Party Of One?

*** continued from previous post ***


I turned that bike back around like it was a hovercraft on ice. Lickety-split. Easy as pie. Quick as the impending collapse of the US economy.

By the time I was finished, and we were headed back in the right direction, I was panting, aching, steaming, and experiencing tunnel vision. I forgot my name for a few minutes. I had a nice little interlude in my head where the days were warm and sunny and the roads were dry and clear.

Then - BOOM - I'm back on the bike in the Rockies being a moron.

I turn half-around to your Mother. "Let me ask you something . . . if we had stayed there too long, and I know you only packed a few crackers because you tell me every 10 minutes or so . . . you'd have eaten me, wouldn't' you? A little Donner Party of one. Amiright?"

Mom sighs. "Just get the bike moving."

Sage advice that. So, without further ado I put the bike in gear and we are once again hurtling down a rainy, dusky, gravel road towards oblivion.

Things do begin to look up though. The track in the road gets better. I can get the bike up to about 35 mph now. The stretches are long and straight with plenty of visibility ahead. I suppose the area is gorgeous, but at this point I could not care less. I'm dead. Beat. Nearly defeated. But I would never admit that to anyone.

Umm . . . until now I guess.

Dang.

*** the journey continues ***

Planning for our impending doom

*** continued from previous post  ***

In retrospect I'm sure this is how most ill-fated adventures start - thinking it's a good idea.  The Donner Party probably thought racing the first snow to cross the mountains into California 'seemed like a good idea'.  The hundreds that boarded the gang-planks for the maiden voyage of the Titanic probably thought that being the first passengers on a state-of-the-art luxury liner 'seemed like a good idea'.  Hell, the whole Hitler and the Third Reich marching into Russia thingy probably looked like a cake-walk in the planning stages.  (Well, a cake-walk if you deliberately overlooked the pesky details of those Russian winters.)  Yet, we all know where these adventures led - straight to the proverbial toilet and the pages of history books.

I make no claim that our trip should be listed amongst those haughty ranks, but upon reflection I believe that our journey did share something in common with each of those previously mentioned.  That commonality would be an abstract and idle thought that blossomed for all of us at a certain point in time, somewhere between abject despair and intense regret.  That tiny window when hope was fading but not yet entirely crushed.  I believe it was summed up quite succinctly by General George Armstrong Custer moments before his untimely demise at the Little Big Horn.  To wit:   "What the Hell were we thinking and why didn't someone talk us out of this plan?"

Memorize those words.  It may keep you from inadvertently annexing Poland some day.

You know how your Mom and I are when it comes to planning road trips.  We, (and when I say "We" I mean your Mom), started the logistical analysis of this particular foray into the depths of Hades somewhere before Christmas.  Christmas 1995.  Which just proves her foresight because back then we didn't own a bike, and had no plans to EVER own a bike, and, to put it bluntly, weren't particularly fond of Canada.  Weird, huh?  Is she psychic?  That woman frightens me.

I, on the other hand, am a bit of a free-spirit when it comes to travel.  It's my Gypsy blood.  My nomadic nature.  My joie de vivre!  I like to throw a few items in the saddlebags, make sure the bike is in good mechanical order, and I'm off for adventure.  See, this is where your Mom and I differ in our approach to life, and if you reflect on it for a moment you'll see that this is also symptomatic of our separate and distinct personalities.  I believe that there's nothing like starting out a vacation ill prepared.  It gets the blood pumping and adds to a heightened sense of excitement.  Oh sure, I may have to turn around a few times to go back home and get the things I forgot, but this is all part of the fun?  Sort of a tease to the main show.  The Prologue to the epic-ness that is to come.  (It is so a word-don't give me that look.  Even though you're 22 and almost a Naval Officer if you don't knock it off you're going straight to your room.  Although I'll have to evict the transient we rented it to first.)   I believe starting out at 6 AM, burning a tank of gas and never traveling more than 15 miles from the house by sundown is a day well spent in my book.  Needless to say your Mom does not share my enthusiasm.  Silly woman.  Your Mother, were she to live in a perfect world, would have an 18-wheeled semi truck following close behind us at all times, chock full of necessities that we may, or may not, need on our trip but in her mind is a damn good idea to have on hand just in case.  Things like extra clothes.  A nice set of cutlery.  The refrigerator.  

So planning for a trip is a compromise.  A delicate dance between two long-time partners, learning to share and cooperate.  To communicate their needs, wants, and desires so that both come away from the process feeling fulfilled.  

Or, to put it another way, I shut the hell up and do what I'm told.  Contrary to the popular opinion floating about I am not a stupid man. 

*** the journey continues tomorrow