Just Feed Me To The Bears - I'm Old Anyway

*** continued from previous post ***

All eyes of the family turned to me. I had their undivided attention. Had I known all it would take to win them to our side was the mention of wildlife it would have made the last 20 minutes much, much simpler. As a typical child of the 1970's, I'd watched many hours of "Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom". If I had known this simple fact I would have lied through my teeth and reveled them with stories of my wilderness adventures based on my memory of the TV shows. True, my recollection was a bit spotty, a tad fuzzy, but I'm sure I could manage. I watched that damn show every Sunday night for years. Why? Because it was something that you had to endure to get to the "Wonderful World of Disney". Which was as close as we got in those days to kiddie-crack. Wild Kingdom was like penance.

Anyway, if pressed I would have regaled them with the tale of hunting the Great White Whale on the open seas, and how I had lost my leg to the demon-beast of the depths.

On second thought, that may have not been "Wild Kingdom". I think that was one of the Brady Bunch vacations. I'm old. I get confused sometimes. Deal with it.

Mark was the first to speak, "Saw a bear in the valley as you came up, did ya?"

His tone was a bit softer, a tad less confrontational. It was obvious that he had seen well over 2 million grizzlies in his life, and had hand-fed most of them so our encounter was - for lack of a better word - 'cute'.

"Yep," I said. "It was quite a trip. Especially the bears. Well and the moose. But the bear was a heck of a lot closer than the moose."

Carl, ever the life of the party, said "You know a bike hit a grizzly last week down on Highway 40. That was a mess."

Oh joy. We were now at the 'maiming and death on a motorcycle' part of the conversation. I decided to play it cool. Besides, there was that 'Highway 40' thingee again.

"Highway 40 ,” I said, “that's quite a ride up from Carnack. I don't know if I'd call it a 'highway' though."

Carl looked at me quizzically. "Carnack? No, that's on the other side."

What the hell?

"The other side?"

"Well yeah," he said, "it comes up from the south. Still gravel though."

I'd have to take a look at that. I wondered if this mythical road was an option for our departure. If it was less than the sheer cliff back to Carnack I wouldn't hesitate - grizzlies or not. I was dreading that steep, slippery, twisty trip back to civilization already. I'd half decided that it might be better just to feed ourselves to the bears and be done with it.
Or at least feed myself to a bear if it turned out there really was a different, and probably easier way up here. Just to escape the wrath of your mother.


*** the journey continues ***

It's Big. Wicked Big.

*** continued from previous post ***


Hmmm . . . was this a positive or a negative remark? He was smiling, kind of, so I decided to take it as a positive.

"Umm . . . thanks!" I said.

"Oh yeah, no problem. Dat things a wicked honker. I can't believe you rode it up here last night in that storm."

I smiled. "It was a challenge to say the least."

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Mark and Carl exchange a look and a smirk. That was it. As soon as I got my bacon - for this was Canada, how could we NOT have bacon? Plus, I was jonesin' for some meat – anyway, as soon as I got my bacon, it was a fork into the eyeballs for the lot of them. See how well you can hike all blind and weepy you snotty Albertistanies!

"Not fond of a gravel road, eh?" Carl asked with the corners of his mouth upturned so slightly that it would have made me less angry had he just made a silly face and spit at me.

Donny jumped to our defense. "Well you should see this thing. I don't know whether it's a bike or a spaceship." He shook his head and chuckled. "It's big. I mean really big. Wicked big, ya know? And to think it was almost dark," he shook his head again, "then the bear and the moose? Boy, I don't know if I'd have the guts to do that."

"Well Donny," I said, leaning back in my chair, "sometimes through sheer stupidity you get yourself in so deep, you have no choice but to push through to the other side."

"Boy, ain't that the truth." He clapped me lightly on the shoulder, and with a wave of his hand, and a "Enjoy your breakfast," walked back into the main part of the lodge presumably to continue his business.

*** the journey continues ***

That's An Odd Place For A Hippo

*** continued from previous post ***


"We have high-tea at 2 to 3:30, then dinner at 6:30. Wine, beer, and spirits are offered at our bar anytime, or we would be happy to bring you a fine bottle of one of our local Okanagan wines on request."

See? There is that frickin' Canadian spelling again! As you know, I was born in the Okanogan Valley of Washington. Do you see it? The US side, it's 'Okanogan'. Canadian side, it's 'Okanagan', and they are pronounced the same. For being so nice and polite to your face, Canadians, as a people, really get a kick out of screwing with spelling. I can't help but think that what they’re saying in reality is: "See? We don't have to follow you silly Americans and your silly American words! We shall assert our independence and distinguish ourselves as a separate nation by these mystical spellings! So 'F' you, all you from THE STATES! Bugger off! Unless, you know . . . someone invades or attacks us. Then you better get your sorry asses up here pronto. Until then, it's naught but Celene Dion, Rush, and Cirque' de Soli for the lot of you!

"Thank you," Mom said. "Everything looks great."

Stacy smiled again, "So, when you get cleaned up come back to the dining room. You two must be starving!"

She flashed us a quick wave, and then she was out the door and into the night.

I looked at Mom. Mom looked at me.

"Well," I said, "we made it."

"Thank God," Mom replied. "I had my doubts."

I decided, in the interest of domestic harmony, to ignore her little jab. "You want to shower first, or do you want me to?"

"I think," she said, "that we should go unload the bike. Otherwise, we have nothing to change into."

"Ah . . . yes. That would help, wouldn't it. Unless you'd like to give them a shock by showing up nude, then feigning ignorance?"

Crickets. I kid you not. The sound of flippin' crickets. Evidently your mom was in serious need of finding her sense of humor. I decided to let it slide - just this once - and would attempt to get her back on track in the morning.

So, despite it being dark, and us exhausted, and raining again, and having nothing but a tiny little pen-light, and the woods being full of lions, and moose, and bear, (Oh my!), we scampered back to the bike, crammed our arms full of bags and bundles and satchels and cases, then dashed back to the room trying our best not to smell like prey.

I didn't tell your mom this at the time, but as we unloaded the bike I saw a another huge, dark mass move through the trees to our right. I believe that it was a hippopotamus. I mean, what else could it have been? A hippo in the Rockies would have been the cherry on top of the sundae. The icing on the cake. The chocolate sauce on the asparagus so to speak. So yes - hippopotamus it was. A large, hairy, toothy, snuffling, sharp-clawed hippopotamus.

And that's the story I will tell myself until the day I die.

*** the journey continues ***

Perhaps It Was As Bad As We Thought

*** continued from previous post ***


”Wait a second," Donny said, shaking his head, "ya rode a big-ass touring bike up here?" He glanced around at the ladies. "Pah-don my French girls."

I nod in the affirmative and turn back to Stacy. "It would have been cool any other time, but as you know it was getting dark and the darn thing just wouldn't move, and I don't think it would have been so nerve-wracking, but we'd just had the encounter with the bear . . ."

"You rode a touring bike up here in this weather from Highway 40?", Donny asked, with a bit on incredulity in his voice. "Where did ya stat out this morning?" Calgary?"

I turned back to him, and answered, "Highway 40, is that the one that comes from Carnack? Oh, and we had a pretty long day. We left this morning from Galaway's Bay."

"What bear?" asked the woman that had greeted us originally, whose name we would later discover to be Leeza - not 'Lisa', but 'Leeeeeezzaaa'.

"Well, we were coming up the hill and all of a sudden this huge, and I don't mean to exaggerate, but I do mean HUGE bear came out of the woods onto the road --- "

"Let me get this straight," Donny interrupted, "ya rode a Goldwing sized bike up the Carnack side?" As he said this his voice crept several octaves above the normal register. I took a quick glance to see if perhaps Donny had a 'boy-zone' incident of his own. He hadn't, but he was clearly impressed with our mad riding skills.

"Well . . . Yeah.", I answered.

"And you ran into one of the grizzlies?", asked Stacy, fear tinging her voice.

"Yes," Mom added, beginning to pick up on the vibe that had suddenly taken hold of our small welcoming party, "and another one that . . . kind of followed us along the tree-line for a while."

Mom smiled, looking for reassurance that this was a normal daily event in the cavalcade of fun that was Hidden Valley.

Mom’s description of the 2nd bear brought silence and quickly exchanged looks of panic from the staff.

One of the other people, I have no idea who, piped in. "You rode up from Carnack? In the dark?"

"Where the hell is Galaway's Bay?", Donny asked Stacy.

"It's in BC," I answered, "just across the US border. Above the northwest corner of Washington." I smiled reassuringly at the crowd. "Long day. I guess we did about 600 KM."

Other people, some guests, some staff, wandered in to hear what all the excitement was about. Now the small foyer was bursting with Canadians, and we were in the middle. If this were a Tootsie-Pop, we were the chewy-chocolaty center. There were hushed whispers as people brought the new arrivals up to speed on what all the fuss was about.

"And a moose blocked the road?" Leeza added, as if she were trying to make sense of our story.
"Yeah. For a bit. Which, wouldn't have been too bad, but like I said, it hadn't been that long since we'd seen the bear so I wasn't sure how far behind us . . .", I let my voice trail off. There was really nothing more to add.

Fear bathed the room like cheap perfume at the penny-slots in a failing Casino. Hasty looks were exchanged, but without a history with these people I had no idea of the subtext. I couldn't tell if they were afraid FOR us or OF us.

"Jesus," Donny said and excused himself, "I gotta take a look at this bike," and bolted out of the door into the night.

Silence. Curtains rustled on a night breeze. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled. I could hear the steady patter of water as it dripped off our clothes onto the slate floor.

I had to break the silence, for it was beginning to creep me out. "You guys have a lot of bear up here I take it. Lot of moose. So, this is like normal. Right?"

They stared at us. We stared at them. An old man coughed.


*** the journey continues ***

Ignorance Is Our Only Defense

*** continued from previous post ***


I straightened up, and small firecrackers went off up and down my spine. I steadied the bike, and allowed your mom to climb out of the saddle. The ground was very soft, so I had Mom look for a large, flattish rock to place under the kick-stand so that the bike wouldn't sink in the mud and tip-over during the night. That would put, what we professionals call, a 'damper on the party'. We carry a flattened aluminum can for just such a reason (HA! You thought I packed it for nothing!), but it was currently residing at the bottom of the saddlebag and it seemed way too much of an effort to dig it out when we were surrounded by rocks that would suffice just as well.

Mom walked a few feet away, and bent to pick up just such a rock. Then I saw a hulking shadow glide through the trees behind her, but thought it best given the day and the current situation not to scream.

I decided, and convinced myself, that this was naught but fatigue and a trick of light. Later, we would discover that it was more than likely one of the many moose that visited the lodge throughout the day. Mostly more than likely. Hopefully more than likely. Yet in my heart I knew it was a bear.

Really - it was probably best that we were clueless.

You know, that could easily be the title of this entire trip - "It Was Probably Best That We Were Clueless."

Yep. That sums it all up. Sums a bunch of things. In fact, I’ve decided that’s what I want as my epitaph. ‘It was probably best that I was clueless’.

You should write that down. That is some deep shit right there.

*** the journey continues ***

A Journey of Self Discover

*** the journey continues ***


The rest of the journey, thank the Gods, was fairly uneventful.

Except one particular part where your mother leaned forward and said, "Bear. Bear! BEAR!!!"

"GAH", I reply. "GURK", I say, trying to form a word.

"BEAR!", your Mother reiterates, as if this concept needs reinforcement.

"Where? For the love of all that is Holy, WHERE?", I shout, swiveling my head like a possessed Linda Blair. I had no idea it would turn all the way around like an owl. This trip is just one surprise after another. I'm pushing boundaries. I'm testing my limits. When all is said and done, I may need extended care, but for now I'm on a journey of self-discovery.

She pats my shoulder, "Back there on the side of the bank, next to the tree line. It's okay, it just kind of followed us for a while but it's gone now."

"Followed us?"

"Yeah . . . just kind of popped in and out of the trees . . . following us."

Well, isn't that . . . dandy? I have no words left. I just shake my head that I understood.

Five more minutes up the road and I see a sign. A lovely sign. A wonderful sign. It was bathed in a ray of light. Bunnies skampered at its base and there was a blue bird perched on its rim. I may have glimpsed the tall red hat of a Gnome peeking out from behind its wooden supports. (Ha! I knew the brochures wouldn't lie!) It read. . .

"Hidden Valley Lodge. Welcome!"

Mom gives a small squeal and pounds my back excitedly. "We're saved!"

Pfffftttttt. . . . as if there was ever any doubt.


*** End of Chapter 7 - the journey continues ***

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 ***

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 ***

Jaques Costeau Is No Friend Of Mine

*** continued from previous post ***


THE BEAR swings her massive head to look at us. It's not a particularly friendly gesture. She is obviously not frightened - curious would be a more apt description. Annoyed would be another. I jump on the brakes as hard as I can without skidding. The only thing worse than running INTO the bear, would be to tip over and SLIDE INTO the bear. I've seen enough cartoons in my day to understand this would be, according to animated mythology, 'bad'.

It was then that I realize that I should probably inform your mother, for the umpteenth time on this journey, of our impending death.

I reach back and pat her on the leg to get her attention. "Suz, I don't know how to tell you this, but after all we've been through today it looks like we are going to be eaten by a bear. A Grizzly Bear. And a huge one at that. With a big butt. But that's beside the point. I'm so sorry sweetie, I didn't want it to end like this. I will offer myself first. I'm twice your size, and perhaps she will fill up on me, giving you at least a fighting chance for an escape. I love you."

But what came out was a high-pitched girly-girl EEEeeeiiiiiieeeee!!!"

Frantically, I fumble for the horn button. It's somewhere on the handle bars, but damned if I can find it. I do manage to change the headlight from bright to dim to bright again. I think THE BEAR may have interpreted this as an attention getting device for she slowed a bit and turned her massive shoulders towards us with a calculating eye. I'm hoping that the bike is enough to distract her. That she will appreciate the flowing lines that are the Vision. Marvel at its unique design, the subtle engineering, and the beau coup enhancements that escape the casual glance.

No luck, THE BEAR could care less. Evidently, she's more into sport bikes.

I attempt, once again, to warn your Mother.

"Bear. Bear! BEAR!!!", I shout, with each word spoken more distinctly, louder, and in a slightly higher pitch than the one preceding.

The 'boys' - and once again, don't feign ignorance - have not only left the building, but taken a cab back to Seattle and forgot to close the door and turn off the lights. A part of me, the detached observing bastard inside, marvels as the words escape my mouth. Evidently certain death adheres to the rule of three. As in, the Three Musketeers, the Three Stooges, and the three things you shout right before you die. Usually, and this is documented on Wikipedia, (Wait just a second . . . okay . . . it's documented now), the three things most often said right before you die an untimely death is, "Shit. Shit! SHITTTTT!!!" Or, if it is really untimely, just "Shi-. . . "

THE BEAR kind of sways her head back and forth, as if she may be singing to Sir-Mix-A-Lot as well. Or possibly the Foo Fighters. I make no judgment as to her musical taste. The important thing is that I've seen this behavior on the Discovery Channel. To put it politely, we are screwed. This is what's commonly referred to in the animal kingdom as 'Le Dance d'appetite'. Or, in the vulgar, 'I'm gonna boogie me up a hunger'.

Somewhere deep inside a memory bubbles to the surface. I hear Jaques Costeau intone. . .

"But de intrepid motorscooterists are no match for de bare. We shed ze zmall teer as nate-chur, in all her splendor, keeps da balance. Eef it were not for de bares, the landscape wood be over run with motorscooterists. Once again we are reminded dat de miracle dat ez life ez harsh as well bee-yootefull. Now, let's sit back and watch as she mak ze keel."

Frickin' Jaques Costeau.


*** the journey continues. maybe ***

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 ***

The Road Never Gets Wider or Flatter or Better

*** continued from previous post ***


Now, it was about this time that we started seeing the warnings for Bears tacked to sign-posts every . . . oh, I don't know . . . every ten feet or so. I didn't want your mother to worry, so I tried to distract her whenever one drew near. "Hey," I would say and point in the opposite direction, "is that a squirrel?" Or, "Quick! Look over there! What kind of bird is that?" Or, "Look! Carnival rides!" Much to my chagrin I don't believe it worked.

We passed the Nordic Centre, (Motto: "Nothing Sinister Going On Here. Certainly No Cloning. Please Move Along."), and happened on our first bit of good news in what was proving to be one of the longest days of our lives. A sign. Literally.

"Look!", Mom shouted in the first true enthusiasm I'd heard from her since leaving home, "The sign says, ‘Hidden Valley Lodge - 40 Kilometers', we're going the right way!"

I thought about adding, 'You had any doubts?', but decided that silence and a smile were more apropos.

As we passed the Nordic Centre's entrance, the wide, flat tarmac began to narrow. While the surface was fine, the width closed in on itself going from a very wide two-lane, to a narrow two-lane with no markings, to a wide one-lane road. Not a problem. Others had traveled this path. In addition to guests at the Lodge, I reasoned that there had to be delivery trucks, carriers, etc. that supplied the Lodge and whatever else was up there. I relaxed. I felt as though our 'day from Hell' was at last coming to a close.

Then, the road began to climb. Ha. Not a problem. Then the road REALLY began to climb. Still no problem. Then the road . . . well it just kind of ended into a ridiculously steep one-lane gravel path with washboards deeper than speed bumps.

This might be a problem.

Let me pause and give you a bit of advice that will serve you well in the years to come. When you hear yourself saying, "Oh, well I'll just go a bit further, I'm sure there will be someplace to turn around." --- just turn around. NOW. No good will ever come of this situation. The road never gets wider, or better, or flatter. The only thing you can expect to encounter taking this route is madness. Madness and death. I know this now, and I knew this then. So why, in the name of all that is holy, did I push on?

It's simple really. I'm an idiot.

*** 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. ***