To My Readers . . and Then The Story Continues

First off, thank you all for sticking with me. :)

So yes! The book will, in the very near future, be available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc.

Did I plug that enough?

However, I'm going to continue to serialize the book on the blog. Eventually I'll put the first 3 chapters available for download from this site.

Why? Because I hate a 'bait and switch'. As a reader this would, to put it in the common, piss me off to no end were I following an author's work only to have them stop part of the way through and say 'Oh hey, you want to read the rest of the story you're gonna have to buy the book'.

So, starting today I will get back to my regular nonsense and keep posting to the end.

Enjoy!

Oh yeah . . . and buy my book when it comes out. :)

David

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Now, if you'll remember, we were sitting exhausted, wet, cranky and panicked high in the Canadian Rockies with a Grizzly behind us and a moose that was blocking our way to the Lodge.

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*** continued from previous post ***

So we sit there, two idiots on a touring bike in the middle of the Canadian Rockies, with the day dying around us, bookended by an insane killing machine dressed in a bear costume and a moose with a bad attitude. Prisoners awaiting execution have been less nervous. The moments tick by. The gloom deepens. It becomes readily apparent that Mrs. Moose, (It could be a Mr., but for the sake of the story let’s assume it's a female.), is in no particular hurry. Visions of us sitting in the dark, awaiting our death, come to mind.

"Hey, do you have cell phone reception here?", I ask, clinging to some futile hope.

"And just how is that going to help? You want to call the kids and say our last good-byes?"

"Good point."

Mom sighs, "We can't just sit here. This isn't good."

I honk the horn. I rev the engine. I hurl moosey-taunts into the evening air.

"Moose's scientific name is an echo! Alces alces? I've heard better names for Naked Mole Rats!" I squeal. "Moose so stupid she thinks the interwebs are a series of tubes!"

Zip reaction.

"Moose so stupid, they think . . . umm . . .", my mind draws a blank. I need a dynamite ending, and I'm reaching for air. "Umm . . . so stupid they can't use 'self-check' at the grocery store!"

Ha! Recover from that one, oh tall, brown, and lanky one!

"Do you really think that's going to help?"

"I have no idea."

Mom looks up the road, "Well it didn't. So, I ask again, what are we going to do?"

My mind races. "Okay, cross your arms, take my hands, and on the count of 3 throw them up in the air and clap against my palms while we shout, and this has to be in unison, we shout, 'Wonder Twins power activate! Form of a giant sloth!'”

Mom took a long time to answer.

"Did you ever go outside as a child, read a book, play a game, or did you live in front of the TV eating a steady diet of mental drek?"

"Drek? Drek? The Super Friends were, and are, not drek. As to my emotional and mental growth, and general well-being . . . well, that's a debate for another day, my dear. Right now, in case you haven't noticed, we are in, what the professionals like to call, 'a bit of a tight spot'."

"What 'professionals'?", Mom asks with what I thought was more than a bit of sarcasm.

"What?" I reply.

"You said 'professionals'. What kind of professionals would call this 'a bit of a tight spot'?"

Oh . . . now it made sense. It was clear your Mother, bless her little pea-pickin' heart, had been driven to insanity and I knew I had only myself to blame.

I slumped over the console, head to the side, revving the engine, honking the horn, flashing the lights. It was not my finest moment. Perhaps this display of patheticism would prompt the moose to find pity in its big, moosey heart and move on.

The moose looked at us and yawned.

*** the journey continues ***

Snacks!!!

*** continued from previous post ***


Now that the initial rush is over, my mind shifts into high-gear 'what if?' mode. I search the corners of my memory, dragging up every piece of knowledge I have about bears. What concrete knowledge do I possess?

Well, bears like picnic baskets, and are pretty friendly with Park Rangers. That eases my apprehension a tad. They also like honey, and have a wide array of animal friends such as donkeys and rabbits and tiggers, (which we all know are wonderful things). They like porridge.

Okay. This isn't so bad. I'm calming down and feeling better by the moment. Plus, there's only one day a year when you have to be especially careful. That would be the infamous Teddy Bear Picnic. It's sort of like Burning Man. Only in the woods not the desert. And there are far fewer hippies. And generally it smells better.

But the more I ponder, the more I'm unsure of my intel. Curse you public school education!! Curse you Saturday morning cartoons!

Okay. What do I really know about bears. And especially, Grizzlies?

Well, I remember that a Grizzly can run. Fast. They can run up to 35 miles per hour for short distances. Oh fudge. I glance down at the speedometer, and see that we are currently cruising at about 20 mph, and I can't safely move the bike any faster.

I remember that female Grizzlies, or 'Sows' - although you wouldn't want to call her that to her face – unless you were looking to get your lips chewed off - and they give birth to their young in the spring. By late summer, the cubs are old enough to follow their mom on hunting trips. During this phase, the Sows are EXTREMELY protective, and aggressive, especially when they think their cubs are threatened.

Damn. Maybe that's why she kept looking back. A big honkin' futuristic looking motorcycle between a Grizzly and her cubs.

Or, to put it another way - snacks!

So, to summarize: Cranky and fast. Really fast. Large teeth. Large claws. Guess that's all I really need to know.


*** the journey continues. Unless this is my ghost typing. It's possible. ***

Big Bear. Huge Bear. Grizzly!

*** continued from previous post ***


Your Mom leans forward, "What? I was wiping the fog from the inside of my shield."

"Bear."

"What?"

I want to point out the massive reddish-brown mountain that is now two thirds of the way across the road, but taking my hands off of the steering seems like a bad idea. I try to motion in the direction of THE BEAR with my helmet, but it's useless. It just looks like I've developed a tic. Mom is leaning forward on my left side, and THE BEAR is on the right. I'm effectively blocking her view with my head. It's probably for the best.

For whatever reason, and I assume it is pure pity, THE BEAR steps off the road and ambles to the edge of the trees. Here she stops, and turns to watch us roll by. I hit the throttle and Mom is rocked back into her seat. I pick up speed, trying to put as much distance between us and THE BEAR as possible.

Mom grabs my shoulder and leans forward again. "What's going on?"

I try to unclench my jaw. "Bear."

"Really? You think this is the time for a beer?" she asks with disgust.

I shake my head in the negative.

Mom pauses for a second. "Did you say 'Bear'?"

I shake my head, a bit too vigorously, in the affirmative. Stars explode inside my skull.
"Yes. Bear. BIG Bear. REALLY BIG BEAR."

I keep looking in the mirrors to see if we are being followed and then decide that I would rather an attack from behind be a 'surprise'. There's nothing I can do. I can't go any faster, so anticipating massive jaws wrapping around my head is an exercise in futility. Although, I must admit thinking that if that were to happen, at least this cursed day would be at an end.

I feel your Mom tense. "Where?"

"Just walked across the road in front of us."

"How close?", she asks in a whisper.

Despite my best efforts, I giggle. "Close. Really close."

"Close as in 'Boy, that mountain looks close', or 'The store is only a couple of blocks away, so it's close'?"

"Close as in, 'Hey. Don’t sit so close to the TV or you’ll go blind."

She contemplates this for a minute. I know what she's doing. She's trying to get enough information to decide what level of panic is appropriate. "25 yards?"

"No. More like 15 feet. 10 right before we passed. Maybe. I saw puffs of steam coming out of her nose. The hair on her rump was flattened and wet on one spot. She may have been wearing blue eye-shadow."

Mom makes a slight 'Urk' sound in her throat.

"A black bear?"

I giggle again. The hysterical tone and quality of the laugh frightens even me. "Nope. Big Bear. HUGE bear. Grizzly."

“You sure?"

"Oh, pretty sure!"

I can feel her shift her weight as she swivels her head from side to side, scanning the brush around us.

"Grizzly?"

"Yep."

"Crap."

"Yes. Crap. That about says it all."

"But it's gone?", she asks, looking for reassurance.

"Um," I say, stalling. "umm . . . . . . . . . . Sure."

I feel both of her hands tighten their grip on my sides. Were her hands to get a good hold I would have several cracked ribs with which to contend.

*** the journey continues ***

I Like Big Butts And I Cannot Lie

*** continued from previous post ***


The boulder approached the road. We approached the boulder. I slowed down so as to not run into said boulder.

The boulder stepped off the slight bank onto the gravel in front of us and promptly resolved itself into a bear. A huge bear. And by huge bear I mean a HUGE HUGE HUGE FRICKIN' BEAR.

I have seen a few bears in my time, mostly through the mesh of a zoo enclosure or painted comically on a coffee mug. Plus, I've watched many, many programs on the nature channels, so I'm pretty much an expert on all things Ursa. Despite my encyclopedic knowledge, and possibly due to the stress of the moment, there are only two things I could remember off hand that pertained to our present situation.

One, this is a species known as 'Grizzly'.

Two, we are going to be eaten.

THE BEAR started to saunter - yes . . . saunter. There was no rush - or if you prefer, 'lumber' across the road in front of us. Did I mention this thing was HUGE. Not like the smaller black bears we will on occasion spot in the Cascades. This was a proper bear. A mighty bear. A top-of-the-food-chain, rip-your-head-off-for-fun bear. And it was female. Probably, if the journey so far was any indicator, PMSing. And more than likely just broke up with her boyfriend that used to ride a motorcycle and was bald and breathed oxygen.

Just - like - me.

Time, which anyone that deals with intense situations will confirm, is not a constant. The flow of time varies with the situation. Here the seconds slowed to a crawl. I stared through the drizzle and realized that the haunches of this beast towered over the height of the Vision by a good degree. If we were sitting side-by-side, and we almost were, I would have had to look up to see her jaws of death.

Lord but this bundle of muscle and ill temper was HUGE.

And I was on a ridiculous motorcycle on a ridiculous day on a ridiculous collision path with this behemoth. She hadn't begun putting on weight for the winter yet, so I could see the muscles ripple beneath her fur with every step. I could see the size of her paws, larger than my head, slap on the wet gravel. I stared, slack-jawed, as her rear haunches rolled and shuddered, slightly swaying from side to side. You should know that in times of extreme stress the mind will grasp at any straw to comfort itself. I am not ashamed to admit, that for the briefest of moments the lilting strains of a song rushed through my head. Sir-Mix-A-Lot streamed like a beacon into my skull, crooning his epic regarding the size and likability of a healthy-sized posterior.

I have just enough time to ponder that I may look into all of those kind suggestions for therapy should I make it out of this alive.

*** the journey continues ***

This Here is Bat Country!

Okay kids, a little longer snippet to keep you occupied over the weekend. Umm . . . this next part . . . well, some things we can't take back. Amirite? I would ask that you don't think ill of me, but hell, if I were in your shoes reading this drivel I certainly would. Anyway, enjoy!


*** continued from previous post ***


While I appreciated all of these fine Canadian meats, the one that I fell in love with was the sage pork sausage. Yum. No, double yum. I polished off the remaining bits of ham, the lone survivor if you will, the General Custer of my breakfast, and stood to brave another round. I knew that I would be sorry yet I cared not. I was an animal. An animal bulking up for a long winter to come.

Mom glanced up from the remains of her Belgian waffle and her eyes said 'Really?'

"Can I get you something while I'm up tiger?"

"No," she said, wiping a glossy strawberry glaze from her lips, "I'm stuffed." She leaned back in the booth with a contented sigh. "Are you really going back?"

"Watch me," I said as I walked back to what I know referred to as 'meat heaven'. It's just like regular heaven, only a tad greasier, and much more delicious.

I walked through the double-doors into the atrium and spotted trouble immediately. There were three men there, probably mid-fifties. What struck me is that all of them were unnaturally tall. One lanky and the other two a bit on the rotund side, all wearing cowboy hats and bolo ties. Ah, so that's the subject of this convention! It obviously was one big dress-up party. I only wish I'd been here on 'Dorothy Gale' day instead of 'Cowboy Bob' day. The skinny dude would have looked stunning in pigtails.

No matter. As much as I would have enjoyed seeing a herd of Canadian cross-dressers, these men were now nothing but an obstacle to my goal of clogged veins. There they stood, blocking access to the delicious, delicious meats. Pattering on about cattle and fences and veterinarian bills and how much they disliked sheep farmers, but agreeing they were preferable to hippies. I was astounded by their attention to detail. These guys took their 'dress up' days quite seriously. Kudos to them. You have to commit to something like that to really carry it off.

I was more than happy to wait patiently as they laughed and joked their way down the table, taking a little here, a little there. Perfectly happy that is until I realized that there were only eight sage sausages left. Eight lonely little sausages. But still, that was okay. Plenty for all.

The small guy passed by these tubes of deliciousness completely. The second guy - oh oh - took two. Panic began to swirl about my carnivorous soul. I had to act quickly lest disaster strike. I maneuvered, quite deftly I thought, to a spot near the sausage. Think man! Think! Time was precious. The guys gave me a cursory glance, but went on with their conversation. I could see the last man eying the sausage. This may call for drastic measures.

Drastic measures indeed.

I did the only thing I could. I'm not terribly proud of what I am going to tell you, but it was sausage after all. You understand.

I began bobbing my head, ducking and weaving my body. "Bat!" I screamed. "Dear God it’s a bat!"

Ha. That brought them up short. Their eyes widened as they scanned the hall and the vegetation therein, half ducking in anticipation of death from a dive-bombing winged rodent.

"There!" I shouted, and pointed at an imaginary spot across the atrium, and fairly high in the air. "Oh Lord, here he comes! It's HUGE!!!"

I put a hand to my mouth and made “thwup-thwup-thwup” noises in a very realistic impression of bat wings.

Whereupon the guys scattered like chickens in a thunderstorm, running behind the table for cover. "Watch out for your hair!" I screamed. "For the love of God, don't let it get in your hair!"

This seemed to be the universal signal for complete panic. As they ran, hither and yon, ducking, bobbing and weaving, I took the opportunity to shove the remaining six sausages in my mouth. So delicious. For added measure I took the two off the guy's plate as well. Don't get that look on your face - I'd earned them.

Adding a final 'Here it comes again!' shouted, semi garbled, through my mouth full of greasy sausage, I then beat a hasty retreat back to the safety of your Mom where she sat in the booth, half wondering, half dreading, whatever, or whomever, was causing all the commotion. I grabbed my coffee, and gulped it dry, washing the spicy, wondrous evidence down my throat. An unexpected and hearty burp passed over my teeth. "Excuse me dear." I patted my bulging stomach. "Ummm . . . Not to alarm you, but it might be a good time to take our leave."

"Oh no David . . . what did you do?"

"You know," I said with a touch of reproach, "some wives don't automatically assume their husbands guilty. Why would you think I had something to do with the b. . .", I caught myself, "with whatever was going on in there?"

"Stop it. I heard you fake-screaming like a little girl. Plus, you had a sausage sticking out of your mouth when you ran inside."

Curse you delicious meats, you have undone me again.

"There may be a small, flying-rodent problem in the atrium. Doesn't matter," I said, slapping enough cash on the table to cover our bill plus a hefty tip. "Come on come on come on! Time to hit the old road!" I tapped my cane on the floor. "Daylight's burning." I glanced at my wrist to an imaginary watch, "Tad behind schedule here."

Mom followed me as I hobble-sprinted (Damn you cane! I should have brought my crutches. I am on Olympic runner with crutches), but there wasn't much enthusiasm in her effort. "I need to use the restroom on the way out," she said.

"Oh, no time dear. We'll stop at the first rest area we come across. We really need to leave." She looked at me blankly. "Trust me," I added. I had no interest in exploring the local jail, branded as a 'sausage thief'. Too many misunderstandings packed into that moniker to be doing time - Canada or not.

As we power-walked through the lobby to the parking lot, I note the staff arming themselves with fishing nets and brooms and what I think might have been a can of insecticide, running full-tilt towards the restaurant. They didn't give us a first glance, let alone a second. HA! Once again my carefully calculated ruses had saved us.

We opened the double glass doors to walk outside, and I noticed a printed white piece of paper hastily taped to the door that brought me up short. In fact, not one but 3 pieces of paper. I was sure the flyers were advertising some local festival or event, but upon closer inspection the paper read:

"WARNING. You are in Bear Country!! Be Bear Aware!" Above the text they had printed a large, clip-art bear paw.

As we passed I point the signs out to Mom. "Well, that's a little odd, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I saw those on the way in. Do you think it's a Bear Festival of some sort? Or a Band?"

"Either that," I say, holding the door open for her, "or something to give the tourists a thrill."

We laughed it off and made our escape. Yet as we drove back to the highway I pondered if the Zombie-vibe I felt earlier was really a bear vibe. Or, worse than that - bear Zombies. You can keep your Bear Calvary, bear Zombies would rule the earth. I decide not to share this tidbit with your Mother as she spooks quite easily and I didn't need her to be sitting on the back contemplating death by bear Zombies for the next few hours.

Back on the highway with full stomachs, full petrol tanks (oh no . . . I had been infected with kanuckadoodle slang), and our head full of dreams of the ride to come, we journeyed henceforth into the complex tapestry that is Canada. A bit greasier to be sure, but anxious for the marvels to come.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a few clouds drifting over the peaks surrounding the town, but don't give them another thought. Nothing is going to spoil this day. Nothing. I smile, drop the hammer, and we rocket into the mountains.

Literally.


*** the journey continues Monday. Commenters will be prosecuted. ***