No . . . You're done.

*** continued from previous post ***


Mom doesn't say anything, but I know she doesn't want to stay sitting any longer than I do. I turn the bars on the bike, brace my feet, and with all of my might push backwards. The gravel slips under my boots and I lose traction but I quickly recover and the bike, the giant that she is, begins to slowly roll backwards an inch at a time. Or a deca-mile. Whatever. Mom usually offers to get off the bike when I'm trying to wheel this baby backwards, but she doesn't offer this time. She knows that no matter what, she's safer on the back seat than standing alone. I strain and grunt, begging the bike to turn far enough that I can straighten the front tire to ease the push. All I have to do is get it backed crossways in the road, then I can ease on the clutch and finish pulling the bike around, pointing it in the opposite direction, and head down the mountain. It all sounded so easy in my head.

Unfortunately, pushing a hella-big bike, loaded with gear, backwards with the front wheel turned on soft gravel during a rainstorm while you are sure that you will be eaten at any moment is not as easy-peesy as it sounds. Before I got the forks straightened out, my thigh muscles were cramping into what looked like lumpy oatmeal. I kept looking at the moose, but she wasn't moving. So, finally I get the bike back far enough that I can give it a little gas and before you know it we are pointed in the direction of Bear Mountain death.

As I sit there, the full realization of what we have to do - to drive back down that treacherous slope in what will be in a few minutes pitch darkness - hits me like a blue-haired lady backing 1980 Lincoln Continental out of a parking stall as the Mall.

We are screwed.

I stop the bike, grip the brake and the clutch, trying to get my nerve up to move when your Mother says - - -

"Hey! The moose is gone!"

Well of course. Of course it is.

"Now we can go!" She says with a voice full of hope that somehow hit me wrong.

‘"Okay. Good. Go we shall. Well, I'll just whip this baby right around and we will continue on our way because it's SO FRICKIN' EASY TO MANEUVER THIS THING!"

Damn you Victory engineers! What the hell about skipping a reverse gear on the Vision sounded like a good idea?

"WHAT A JOY! I WOULDN'T MIND DOING THIS ALL DAY. IT'S A PIECE OF CAKE, IT IS! ISN'T THAT RIGHT MISTER LEGS? YOU DON'T MIND TEARING THE REST OF THE TENDONS FROM THE BONE, DO YOU?"

Mom lets a few beats pass and says, "Are you finished?"

I grind my teeth. "Maybe I am and maybe I'm not. Let's take a wait and see attitude."

"Okay," she says, "well let me help. You're finished."

And then, and I swear this is true, I heard the soft snuffle and grunt of something in the trees.

*** the journey continues ***

The Road to Hernias are Paved with Good Intentions

*** continued from previous post ***

We were starving, but sure we would find a charming restaurant just up the road.

But first, we had to make our escape. Like Ninjas. Sneaky Canadian Ninjas. Lest we forget ourselves and wake in a week or two sitting in the Pub with 'Zombie-Dude' pouring drinks for those only he can see. Quiet was the order of the day.

Eager to avoid a scene, we decided that we would PUSH the Vision far, far from the Motel so as not to wake nor rouse the Local Pitchfork Mob with the rumblings of our mighty exhaust. You know us, deep down beneath the leather and the helmets and the tattoos on our foreheads that say 'KILLER', we try to be considerate people. Mostly. The operative word being 'try'

Now, I don't know if you're aware of exactly how much the Vision weighs. The dry weight - and what the hell does that mean? What if you live somewhere it's raining all the time? Dry weight will do you no good. What you need is wet weight for a really informed decision. Or, at the very least, slightly moist weight - anyway, the dry weight of the Victory Vision is 849 pounds, give or take an ounce. The saddlebags were stuffed with easily another 45 pounds or so, the trunk was crammed with another 40 pounds and then you had that diabolical "100% FRICKIN' GUARANTEED WATERPROOF" bag and you can tack on another 25 pounds. I go 200. Your Mom is 105. The gear we were wearing, combined between us was at least 20 pounds with the armored mesh and helmets and Mom's security rock. A full tank of gas, (6 gallons), adds another 50 pounds rounded up. As you can see, if you've been doing the math, I was going to attempt to push well over 9000 pounds around with no reverse gear, no motor to help, and every inch uphill - and backwards. And why in God's name someone had coated the driveway with butter I'll never know. Perhaps it is some quaint Canadian custom of which I am unawares. Much like the Canadian propensity for human sacrifice around harvest time. Oh, those silly Canadian farmers and their festivals hearkening back to simpler days. I envy their simplicity. Any-who, I pop a hernia just thinking about it. Sherpa-ing an epileptic baby elephant - on crack - up the side of Mt. Everest wearing roller blades would be easier than rolling our beast backwards and uphill.

I pull up the kickstand and we promptly fall over.

HA! Gotcha! No, I pull up the kickstand, take a deep breath and push backwards with my legs.

And . . . nothing. Not even a budge. I try several more times without success.

"What are we going to do?" Mom asked.

"Hmmmm . . . " I pondered, "set fire to the bike and claim the insurance?"

"That would be fine, but we would be stuck in Galway Bay," she said and cast a nervous glance about, "possibly forever."

I saw her point. So through super-human strength, and a promise to the Elder Gods, (Cthulu, are you listening?), to give them my first-born son, (Jokes on them! I done been all fixapated! No more genetic wealth from this guy!), I finally got the bike rolling and managed to wrestle it far enough away from the motel that we believed we could make our escape without alerting the authorities. Which, thankfully, we did and trundled off down the highway with flowers and puppies in our hearts and a slight headache from exertion. Oh, and a major leg cramp. I was pushing 9000 pounds after all.



*** the journey continues tomorrow and comments are always welcome ***