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 ***

Hold On . . .

*** continued from previous post ***


As the tires hit the gravel, and the nose of the bike pointed toward the Orion cluster, I hear your Mom utter one hushed word that summed up the situation precisely.

"Shit!" she said.

Yes. Shit. Shit indeed.

I was now in a situation where the burden of choice had been removed. Even if we were not at a ridiculous angle, on gravel, the road was too narrow to turn this beast around.

I leaned back and whispered to your Mom the only thing I could, "Hold on."

I don't know if you've ridden the equivalent of a GoldWing up the side of a steep mountain, on marbles, and a cheese-grater surface, but it's really not as much fun as it sounds. The dynamics of the ride change dramatically. Imagine riding a jack-hammer - pogo-stick style - up the steep side of an icy glacier. Now add a rhinoceros strapped to your back. Make that rhinoceros an epileptic. Just for kicks, tell the rhino that he isn't getting into medical school because there is a 'quota' on rhino doctors and you know that it's unfair but he can always go home and take over the family business which happens to be eating grass and dodging poachers.

I leaned over the handlebars of the bike, bringing my feet behind and underneath my body. This gave me a bit of an advantage, allowing me to counter act the fish-tailing motion of the rear of the motorcycle as it skidded over the gravel washboard. I didn't look too far ahead - it made my stomach turn. Because - and this is where it gets funny - the road was not a straight path as I had hoped, but turned into a series of switchbacks. Hairpin switchbacks. Gravely, certain death, hairpin switchbacks that became progressively steeper and steeper.

Mom leaned forward, "Are we doing okay?"

I would have liked to have said something witty, but I was concentrating too hard. "We are okay. We are upright and that's good. Just try to relax back there and keep your weight steady."

"Okay."


*** the journey continues ***

649 Liters Per Hour in the Rain. Again.

*** continued from previous post ***


So I closed my eyes and change lanes at 649 LPH. LPH. That's Liters Per Hour. Finally, I'm getting the hang of this Satanic measurement system. My eyes are closed because I'm not stupid. I don't want to see death coming. After a few seconds of leaning I figure I'm either in the right lane or on the shoulder about to plummet into a ditch. Either way we are coming to a stop, the question is how fast? You know how much I like surprises.
The gods were favoring us and I maneuvered safely to the right turn lane and gently braked to take the exit to the Centre. I breathed a sigh of relief. I hadn't realized how tired I was, or how much I needed to use the Loo until we were circling the building, looking for a parking spot.

This wasn't a rest area - no small port-o-potty for this place - it was a huge building with a parking lot that could accommodate more than a few large buses. However, only a few cars populated the stalls nearest the building and we had our choice of where to put the bike. I pulled into a slot a bit away from the other steaming vehicles. Mom hopped off the back the second the bike stopped moving. Evidently she wasn't kidding when she said she her need was urgent.

"Sorry. Come and meet me inside," she said, and sprinted in the direction of the door. Although 'sprinted' may be too strong of a word. She hadn't even stopped to take off her helmet. Which was probably a good thing, for now there was no rain - we were simply living in a lake with tiny air spaces between the water. How can I convey how she looked as she semi-bolted towards the rest room? Words fail me but I shall try my best. She looked large, bulbous, and sported a cherry-red helmet-shaped head. Layers of over-sized outerwear. Frogg-Toggs that look like a haz-mat suit, and a strange, strange waddle to her walk that I can't erase from my mind to this day.

I turn away. I can't look anymore. What have I done to the woman I love?

*** the journey continues tomorrow ***

Volcanoes of DOOM

*** continued from previous post  ***


Thankfully, that was the last incident before we pointed our metal steed over Chinook pass. Ah, Chinook. We are truly fortunate to reside at the base of the Cascades with their miles of great riding roads and spectacular views. Well, unless you count that whole "You're sitting at the bottom of an active volcano - an ACTIVE volcano for God's sakes!" thingee. Wimps and wusses one and all.

Personally I believe thumbing your nose at nature adds to the excitement of living here. I mean, seriously - how many people have this conversation several times a week?

"Mt. Rainier sure is beautiful today."

"Why yes it is. Absolutely gorgeous. I never grow tired of the view. The sunlight on the glaciers - just stunning!"

"That it is It’s like an old friend that always there to greet you."

* Insert Long pause*

"Of course, you know that it could blow any second, and we would have no chance at escape. It would be certain death from the pyroclastic mud flows raging from the melting glaciers."

"Oh I know! We would be screwed! No chance to run."

"Yep screwed. Dead in minutes. So . . . you going to the Daniel's party this weekend?"

Plus, and you know this because you lived it, how many kids get to put together a 'Volcano Emergency Kit' for school every year? That was always a little creepy. Oh, not the peanut-butter crackers or the juice boxes, those are fine. No, it was the 'sealed note' that we, as parents had to write you every year to place in your bag in the unlikely event that you would, at some point, need comforting. I mean really, what can you say as a future dead person to your living child? We never let you peek, but I guess that now that you're all hoity-toity and Naval I can tell you now what we wrote in those letters. I can't remember exactly, so I'm paraphrasing here, but it was along the lines of, 'Hi! We're dead. Don't forget to brush your teeth.', or something like that.

Good thing you never had to use that, huh? Couldn't have been easy for you though. Remember that one special day in third-grade when they would sit you down and explain to you what a volcano was and what volcanoes did - chock full of useful charts and maps and pictures of Mt. St. Helens and Pompeii - and then walked you over to the window and pointed to this huge time-bomb ticking on our horizon? I always knew when they had reached that point in the academic year. It wasn't hard to discerne. Watching a whole herd of eight-year-olds walk out of the class teary-eyed, shell-shocked, and trembling - well, it was obvious. Either they had just had the 'Volcano Talk' or Jimmy had finally choked to death eating the paste. And we all know how the class felt about Jimmy. Wanker.

Anyway, back to our trip.


*** the journey continues tomorrow