God Shuffled His Feet, And Looked Around

*** continued from previous post ***


He turns to the man standing beside him, and points to me with a hitch of his thumb. "This guy knows bikes." To which the crowd nods in agreement.

I would like to look at the scenery as we cross the lake, but my adoring fans will have none of that. I am now THE NICE BIKER FROM THE STATES. I sneak a quick glance here, a look over my shoulder at the far shore there. As the ride progresses there are two things that I DO notice however, and they are:

1. Your Mom is a now a celebrity.

2. Suddenly, it's getting dark. Very, very dark. And the water, which a few minutes before was as flat as a North Dakota ski resort, is now white-capped and slapping the sides of the boat.

Well isn't that curious, I think to myself before I'm dragged back into conversation.

"So tell me," one of my new-found friends asks, "after buying a bike like that, you must have ridden a Molokoi B-30. Right?"

You would think so," I say without missing a beat having not a clue as to what a Molokoi B-30 is, "but regrettably, I never had the chance."

"Really?" he asks, somewhat shocked. "They were all over the place in the late 70s and early 80s. Everybody rode one."

"Well, there you go." Hardly noticing, I brush a few raindrops off of my bald pate' with the sweep of a fingerless glove. "That would have been about the time I was with the crew in El Salvado - - -" I feign a look of utter shock, with an exaggerated motion, I bite my lip. I bow my head, and bang on my brow with my fist. "Whoopsie. Let's pretend I didn't say that, shall we?"

They all nod in agreement. I could have gone all Pirate on their asses and taken over the boat had I wanted, they were mine. You dodged one there, Canadian Maritime Fleet! But alas . . . as you have no doubt noticed, my quick wits and the ability to lie on the fly has painted me, yet again, into a bit of a corner.

I smile. All teeth and charm. I can't wait to hear what I'm going to say next.

Luckily, right at this particular moment, God intervenes. And as God is wont to do, takes a righteous whiz over the whole of creation.

And the rains . . . the rains they came a pouring down.

*** the journey continues on 11/17/2011 ***

Ye cannot change the laws of Physics!

*** continued from previous post  ***


I looked at the clock on my desk and realized that 2 hours had passed and I had heard nary a peep from your Mother. Where did the time go? I started out checking prices for the Uber Tote, and somehow wound up memorizing the lyrics to "Chocolate Rain" as performed by Chad Vader, Darth's younger brother. Da Netz is a vast resource of obscure knowledge. It is because of things like Chad and "Garfield minus Garfield" and epic fails that I needed to bring the laptop on vacation. What if I fell behind? What if I lost my edge? That was a risk I could not take.

I found your Mom, sitting against the house with her hair hanging in her face, and sweat beading on her forehead like the sheen on the outside of a cool, cool tasty drink on a hot, hot summer's day. Or much like the forehead of our accountant Fred.

"It's not all going to fit," she said, somewhat dejectedly, "and before you even start in we are not getting the Uber monstrosity."

Nicely played fair lady.

She looked so sad, so forlorn that it broke my heart. I walked over and offered my hand to pull her upright. "It's okay sweetie. Let's see what we can do."

As you know, the flip-side to your Mother's little tic was that I had learned to squeeze things into an allotted space that should not be allowed by our current understanding of the space-time continuum. I walked over to the bike, and looked at what she had done. The saddlebags were close to bursting, so I let them be. The trunk, on further inspection, and with some minor rearranging, could take in a bit more before it popped the hinges.

You want to know what love is? Right there in the bottom of the trunk was the laptop. She'd abandoned the Panini press/hairdryer and packed my laptop. Evidence of one of the many, many reasons that your Mom is the love of my life and my best friend. I mean really . . . who else would put up with my crap?

"You know, you've actually done a pretty good job here tiger. I can move some things around a little, and maybe squeeze some more room. What couldn't you fit in that you really, and I mean REALLY, need?"

Mom paused for a moment. It's hard to watch someone's dream die right before your eyes, unless that person is a former member of the Bush Cabinet or a Fox reporter, then it's a hoot. "I guess just these pairs of tennis shoes. I thought it would be nice to get out of our boots at night. I have no idea how to get your cane in there so you can reach it easily.' She looked around, "Most of our clothes are in the bag that we're going to strap to the trunk, so I guess we are good to go there."

"Did you get your books to fit?"

"Yeah. And a couple of magazines. I had to leave the book on birds out though," she snuffled.
"That's okay. If we see an interesting species, we will kill it and identify the body later," I said, pulling her into a hug. I knew right then I would find a place for her bird book even if I had to staple it to my damn chaps. Side note; staples stop hurting after about an hour and then itch like crazy. No, I'm not going to tell you now I know this.

She smiled. It was nice to see that smile. "It's going to be a good trip, isn't it?"

"Babe," I said and gave her a quick peck on the cheek, "it's going to be a wonderful trip. We are about to visit one of the most beautiful areas on the North American continent. We'll get some great riding on an incredible piece of modern technology, then we get to stay at an incredible Lodge and use that as base camp while we explore Banff. This little excursion," I said, meaning every word, "will be magical."

She smiled again, and after all these years I felt my heart skip a beat. That smile of hers is still intoxicating. "Tell you what, I'll finish up packing on the bike. Why don't you start taking some of this stuff back inside."

"Deal," she said and gave my arm a squeeze.


*** the journey continues tomorrow