Pith-less In The Northern Rockies

*** continued from previous post ***


It was then that we made another discovery. A wonderful marvelous discovery. We found that the absolutely, positively, money-back guaranteed water-proof bag - the Fort Knox of luggage - and in which we had stored our clothes and then lashed to the outside of the trunk without a care in the world - because we are from THE STATES and are consumer lemmings that believe every piece of advertising known to man - wasn't so water-proof after all. Or, it would seem, even water resistant. Point of fact, it was rather water-attractable. Water laden would an accurate description. A more appropriate marketing slogan might have been, "The Big Blue Waterproof Bag! Now 50% More Spongelike!".

As we unpacked, I tried to cheer up your mom. "Let's look on the bright side. The clothes in the middle are hardly damp at all!"

Your Mother turned to me slowly. So slowly, that the deliberateness of the gesture made my stomach turn. She grabbed both of my hands in hers, brought them close and kissed them gently. She looked me deeply in the eyes with a soul-penetrating gaze and said, "I love you. You know that. But if you open your mouth one more time before I'm warm and dry I will punch you right in the throat."

Now here's the deal, and you know exactly what I'm talking about because you struggle with the same thing - a million inappropriate thoughts raced through my mind, begging to be given voice. I couldn't help it. You know the Moore's motto: "There is absolutely no situation that can't be made more awkward, more uncomfortable, or more hostile by a well placed smart-assed remark."

Seriously, I'm absolutely pathological. However, in this situation - and you would have been so proud - I actually edited myself. I know! It's amazing! Cigars all around!

As gently as I could I say, "Go take a nice warm shower babe. I'll hang these clothes up to dry." I was going to give her a hug, but that would leave various body parts vulnerable. A business-like pat on the shoulder seemed safer.

Your mom's eyes narrowed. Having spent over 30 years with me, she had a right to be suspicious. "What, no pithy comment?"

"The pith has been leeched out of my bones. I am pith-less. Pith-less in the Northern Rockies,"

I said, then caught myself before I went on a riff and woke up dead with my larynx crushed by a little tiny wet woman in leather and boots.

*** the journey continues ***

Rain. Mountains. Maniacs. Oh My!

*** continued from previous post ***


By now the traffic from the boat is long gone, blasting at a break-neck speed to God knows where. I couldn't worry about them. We had our own place to go, and we were WAY behind schedule.

Nothing to do but get back on the road.

For the next two hundred miles, (or 8 thousand km in Canadianeese), we wind our way through some of the most beautiful scenery in the world. Nothing compares to the Canadian Rockies. They are unimaginably beautiful. The size, the sheer granite cliffs, the peaks reaching into the clouds lend an aura of antiquity that is rarely experienced elsewhere.

I would have probably enjoyed the scenic grandeur much more had the deluge from the Sky God not returned with a vengeance. But it gets better because what party would be complete without rain's other two friends? Fog and mist. Certainly not this one. Rain, fog, mist, and horribly, horribly wet roads. Oh! Did I mention through all of this splendor of nature that we were on the Trans Canadian highway which evidently is THE ONLY FRICKING ROAD IN CANADA???

So, if by enjoying the scenery you mean traveling at 80 miles an hour through mountain passes with heavy traffic tail-gating you at every turn while riding through a lake, then yeah - this was a stroll in the park.

You have to understand that I was concentrating so hard on keeping the bike upright and on the road that much of this portion of the trip is a blur. So, if I'm a tad scant on details you'll have to forgive me. At some point in the future I may be able to access the memories through hypnosis, but I seriously doubt it.

To give you the flavor of this leg of the journey you only need three words, a mantra so to speak. Learn them and repeat them for the next 4 hours.

Rain. Mountain. Maniacs.

Yet, as I've come to learn, every dark cloud may have a silver lining, but it also has a much darker - and definitely evil - core. In fact, I've come to understand that the 'silver lining' much ballyhooed in lyrics and prose is actually a tin-foil hat for the cumuli-nimbus bunch. Dark clouds are, straight off their rocker, toys in the attic, monkeys in the fridge, bees in the glove box, fundamentalist Christian women with eyes open WAY to wide banging on your front door because you just happened to leave your 8 foot 'Christ on a Stick' neon "WWJD? He'd pick up some harlots and PARTY LIKE HELL" sign turned on and it's causing a row at Easter Services - bat-shit crazy.

These Canadian clouds would just not stop hammering home their point. Whatever that was. Oh yeah. . .it was "LET'S KILL THE GUYS FROM THE STATES. LOL". Frickin' clouds typing in all caps and using leet. I hates 'em.

I thought of home. It was nothing but a distant memory.

Right then I knew one thing for certain: if we survived this vacation Mom was going to kill me.

And honestly, I couldn't blame her.





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And so ends chapter 4 of this tale. Hope you're enjoying it so far. :)

David


*** the journey continues tomorrow with Chapter 5 - 'The Road To Hell Is Paved With Canadians ***