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 ***

I Got The Sugar

*** continued from previous post ***


Yet, spectacular as the view was, this wasn't what had, for lack of a better term, put your mom all in a bunch. There, right below us, and I do mean right below - I could have spit and hit them - not that I would, that's disgusting - was the much touted 'wallow', and a Moose and her calf frolicking about in the mud.

"Oh my god! How cute is that?"

Mom jerked the camera out of my hands, and proceeded to take well over 9000 pictures of mother and child in various poses. It was the equivalent of a Canadian Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. Minus the beautiful girls. And the warmth. And the beach was replaced by mud. Other than that - spot on!

As a side note, what is it with baby animals? Somewhere, in our genetic makeup is the trigger that transforms anything under a year old into cutest frackin' thing on the face of the earth. Really. Think about what I just said. Name me one totally ugly, disgusting baby animal. No, even Naked Mole Rats are adorable, so don't go there. Snakes are precious. Baby opossums make me weep. Okay, I've seen baby pictures of Rush Limbaugh at 9 months - that may be the exception. If we could isolate and harness the power of that infantile essence, there would be no lonely, ugly people in bars. What a gift to humanity that would be.

I stood there, slack jawed, my head about to explode in a cavalcade of candy-canes and daffodils from the damned cuteness of this tiny, adorable, and long-legged wee beastie.
"Oh look! The mother is nudging it out of the mud!"

That's was it. I now needed insulin. We spent the next few minutes in a chorus of 'ooooohhhhsss and awwwwws', punctuated by the occasional gasp of delight.
Another quick side note: maybe it's just me, but I've noticed that cuteness has its limits. About 5 minutes and the miracle becomes mundane. ‘Yes, yes. . .the baby is doing a jig to the soundtrack of 'Oklahoma'. Yes, the top hat and cane are adorable. I told you that 3 minutes ago. Definitely cute. Yep. So . . . what's for lunch?’

As we stood there, we saw other moose make their way through the meadow to the wallow. It's possible that they had to punch a time clock hidden amongst the trees. There were deer as well. And what I now believe to be a lost hiker, but at the time thought to be a hobo seeking a therapeutic mud bath. Man, that guy could hold his breath for a long, long time. I think now that we probably should have reported that, but hindsight is 20 - 20, no?

*** 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 ***

Moose-snot Roost? What the . . .

*** continued from previous post ***


Leeza shook her head as if coming out of a dream. "Well you have had quite a day. Quite a day indeed and as anxious as I am to hear the details I think we'd better get you out of those we clothes before you freeze completely. Stacy, please show David and Suzanne to their room."

Stacy wore two brilliant, neon pink pig-tails on top of her head, exactly like 'Red' from Fraggle Rock. She was pierced in the lips, nose, and eyebrow. I could see tats on her arms and stomach. Heavy blue and black eye shadow completed the look. She was adorable!

Stacy smiled, and took your mom by the elbow, steering her back towards the front door. "Come on guys, let's get you warm and dry."

Mom followed Stacy, and with a brief goodbye to our new hosts, I followed your mother. As soon as we cleared the door, I could hear the buzz of conversation erupt behind us.

"We've got you booked into the 'Moose-Snot Roost' for three nights, is that right?", she asked as we stepped into the darkness. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a flashlight playing over the Vision in the parking lot. Evidently Donny was making a thorough inspection.

"Ummmmm . . .", I stammered. Moose-Snot Roost? What the hell? I'm all one for adventure, but that seldom requires moose mucus.

"Don't be put off by the name," Stacy giggled. It's one of the best rooms in the place. The balcony sits right over the Moose-wallow. You'll be able to watch the moose come and go all day. So close that you could reach out and touch them." She giggled a bit, then stopped in dead her tracks, so quickly Mom almost ran into her, and in the dim light of the porch lamps I could see a severely concerned look flit across brow. "But don't - okay? I mean, don't try to touch a moose. Although they look all cuddly they're wild animals. And sometimes, you'll run into one that's aggressive. Some of them have quite bad attitudes."

"Oh," I said. "We know. The one that was standing in the road blocking our path flipped us off."

Stacy studied us then, trying to decide if she should call for reinforcements when her face brightened. "Oh! You're joking!" She giggled. "Good one eh?"

I wanted to explain that in our Universe, the moose really had flipped us off, but thought better of it. You can only expose so much of yourself at the beginning of a relationship. Otherwise people tend to avoid you. Or run. Or possibly call the authorities. But that's just been my experience, your mileage may vary.

*** 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 ***

Shoot Me Or Sedate Me - Don't Ask Me About The Vision

*** continued from previous post ***

A middle-aged man a bit on the chunky side with a heavy Boston accent approached us with the confidence only found on the East Coast of the USA, and thrust his hand into mine.

"I'm Donny. Anything ya need while you're at the Lodge yah just let me know. My wife's the cook and I'm her lackey," he grinned, pumping my hand up and down vigorously.

"Pleased to meet you Donny," I replied. "I'm David, and this is my wife Suzanne."

"Pleased to make yor acquaintance," Donny said, finally releasing my hand in order to greet your Mother.

Introductions with the rest of the staff followed, and once all the 'hello's and 'pleased to meet you's and 'oh so you're from THE STATES!' had been bandied about, Donny gave us one final look up and down, and said, "So, what kind ah bike ah ya ridin'?"

No. Please God, I can't talk about the bike one more time today. Shoot me or sedate me, but don't ask me about the Vision.

"Ummm . . .," I stammer, trying to figure a way to make this as short a conversation as possible, "we are riding a Victory Vision." I looked to the group surrounding us for a flicker of recognition. Nothing but friendly smiles and blank stares and an implied "And . . . ?"

"It's a new model from Victory. Kind of a space-agey looking design."

"Oh," Donny said. Silently the group had appointed him the point-man for all inquiries regarding motorcycles, "dual-sport?"

"No," I say, and shake my head. "No, it's more along the lines of a Honda Goldwing. Only more Jetsons-like. And we've learned already," I give a quick wink to your mom, "that it doesn't impress the moose around here." I grin like a loon. If that loon were bald, and horribly, horribly chafed.

"You saw one of our moose, huh?", Stacy said, and began walking / herding us towards the door.
"Yeah," I smiled. "One of the reasons we're so late. Darn moose was blocking the road and we couldn't get around."

"They do that sometimes," Stacy agreed with a gentle smile.

*** 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 ***

Regina Moose - Ritalin Queen of the Rockies

*** continued from previous post ***


Don't ever tell anyone this, but I nearly panicked right then and there.

I looked at that moose, and how tall she was. How long those legs were, how high her belly was off the ground and for a split-second I considered just popping the clutch and seeing if we could zip underneath her. Really. I figured we may have to duck a bit, and the luggage strapped on the trunk may scrape her belly, but I was fairly certain we could make it.

"Don't even frickin' think that you could drive underneath her," Mom warned.

Spooky, spooky woman. Fine. I didn't want to anyway. But I know I could have made it. That aside, It was clear that I had to do something. Hopelessness seemed appropriate.

I literally ground my molars together and said, "Much as I hate to say it, we are going to have to turn around and go back down the mountain. I have no idea what else to do. I know there is a bear back there, but there could be a bear right here, any minute. I would rather be a moving target than a sitting target."

I feel the hope drain from your mother like air from a pin-pricked balloon. "Go back down?"

"I know, sweetie, but we have two options. Stay here, for I don't know how long. How long does it take a moose to get bored? For all we know this one could be 'Regina Moose - Ritalin Queen of the Rockies'. We can't go in front of her, we can't go behind her . . . you've completely ruled out going UNDER her - but we know I could have made it - so we either sit here until God knows when, or we turn around."

*** the journey continues ***

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

*******************************************************************************

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.

*******************************************************************************

*** 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 ***

Maybe The Nice Moosey Will Move

*** continued from previous post ***


"I'll rev the engine a bit. That should get her moving."

You know that I'm not a fan of loud exhaust. The whole "loud pipes save lives" argument never held water with me. Supposedly, a loud exhaust will make drivers in their cars hear you better, and, the reasoning goes, will help them to be alerted to your presence. Which is good because people in cars don't pay much attention to anything smaller than they are. What the loud pipe crowd fails to acknowledge is that the sound coming out of the exhaust is directed BEHIND you. Sure, you have a bit of a rumble zone, but the blast goes out the back, alerting THOSE YOU'VE ALREADY PASSED that you're there.

I know guys that aren't happy until they can rap the throttle and set off a car alarm. And it may piss off those that might ever read this, but I'm calling you out - the reason you have loud pipes is to be cool and scare the straights. To each their own. That’s what America is all about. Me? Well I never saw a reason. I'm confident in the size of my . . . um . . . maleness. However, should one of the many fine manufacturers of after-market exhaust advertise that their products would scare the hell out of a moose or a bear, I'd have my money on the counter so quick you'd think I was a congressman on a fact-finding tour of a house of ill repute five minutes before closing.

So, I give the throttle a good crack. Nothing. The exhaust on the Vision isn't nearly as quiet as a lot of bikes I've ridden, but I might as well be miming my actions for all the response I'm getting from the moose.

I rev again and again. Nada.

"She's not going to move, is she?", Mom says with utter despair.

"It's okay. I'll honk the horn, that will get her moving."

All the while I expect THE BEAR to pounce on us at any moment. I honk the horn. I honk the horn again. I honk the horn one more time, and I can't be sure, but I believe the moose raised her front hoof and flipped us off.

"Umm . . . ", Mom says, "did the moose just flip us off?"

"I believe it did sweetie. I believe it did."

"What are we going to do?"

Good question that. Amazing question. I vote for wetting our pants and crying like three-year olds.

"Well, let's give it a minute. Maybe the nice moosey will move on her own."


*** the journey continues ***

Where The Hell Are Those Vikings When You Need Them?

*** continued from previous post ***

I hit the brakes on the bike and immediately your mother leans forward. At first I'm alarmed because I can smell the fear coming off her in waves. Then I realize it's just the smell of damp, musty, sweaty, human. And it's coming from me.

Mom chooses to conserve her energy lest she have to shiv someone, or something, and speaks one word. "BEAR????"

"No." Although In my mind I can see the bear closing the gap behind us, and after the kill, slipping a couple of bucks to the moose for the assist.

"No, this would be a moose. Big moose. Really big moose. Standing - well, make that blocking, the road ahead. See?" I say, and quickly take a hand off of the handlebars to point at what now looks like a tank on stilts a few yards ahead.

"Oh," your mom says, as if this were the most rational thing in the world. I could have probably told her that we were approaching a band of Mongols playing chess in pajamas and she would have just shrugged.

"Hopefully," I say, "it will not like the bike and move."

"Hopefully," Mom agrees.

I think you can see where this is going. As we crawled closer, but keeping a safe distance, the moose didn't so much as raise its head nor glance in our direction. It just stood there, licking the road. Seriously. Licking the fricking road. As if wet gravel and mud were the Cherry Garcia of the wilderness. It may be for all I know. Next rainstorm, I'm going to find a country lane and give it a try. You never know. Someone has to be the first to try something new. Think of the idiot that ate oysters for the first time. "Hey Thag . . . how oyster?" "Not bad. Like snot. Only fishy. Here. You try." "Screw you Thag. Me still recovering from licking live mountain lion you tell me taste like cotton-candy."
I stopped the bike. Moose in front. Bear in back. Cranky, wet woman sitting behind me. Full on dusk. Happy vacation!

Mom raised her shield. "What do we do now?"

"Cry?"

"Too late," Mom says.

Where in the hell were seven identical Svens and a Hagar when you needed them?



*** the journey continues ***

The Story Takes A Funny Turn

*** continued from previous post ***


We traveled about a half mile up the road and I am not ashamed to tell you that I was a smidgen paranoid. I'm scanning for bears. I'm looking in my mirror. The Pucker Factor came on full. Once again, don't play me like you don't know that a tightening sphincter is rated on a sliding scale. Dear God, you're in Naval Officer Candidate School. I would think your eyes would pop open every morning at about a 5. ‘The Factor’ is usually graded on a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being a pleasant cup of tea with Aunt Marge, and a 10 narrowly missing being incinerated by a falling comet, was pushing upwards and establishing new territory around 15 or so.

It's difficult to balance looking back and keeping my mind on the road ahead. I think for a moment of asking your mother to monitor the situation behind us. ‘Say sweetie, if you feel hot breath, a soft grunting, and spittle on the back of your neck, would you be a dear and tell me?’ I decided against it. Your mom, champ that she is, was near the breaking point. So, I pushed the throttle when I could and hoped for the best.

Fortunately, the road began to level and smooth. It had also become a bit wider, and the wash-boards were less severe. I could actually pick a hard-packed line and get the bike up to a good cruising speed of 25 mph or so. I dared to think, just briefly, that we may get out of this yet. I began to offer supplication, deals, and bargains to whatever higher power may be glancing our way.

Here. Write this down. The problem with most higher powers is that, (now brace yourself for this is the truth), most are ass-hats. Complete knee-biters. Snickering into eternity, comparing stories. Picking out a pair of middle-aged mortals trying to enjoy themselves on a motorcycle, poking each other in the ribs and saying, "Here, hold my beer. Watch this!"

Remember that for the rest of your life. It will serve you well when you get too cocky.

This is where the story takes a funny turn. As we climbed a small hill, and curved round a small bend, I looked ahead to a straight stretch to see --- a moose. Yep, a frickin' moose.

And this was no friendly looking Bullwinkely animal. This moose, which was standing full in the road, looked about 38 feet tall. Seriously. I've never seen taller legs on an animal in my life. It looked like one of the pictures that a child would draw where they get the legs all out of proportion. ("Ah, that is a marvelous drawing sweetie. Nice giraffe. Wha . . .? Not a giraffe? A dog? Well . . . a fine dog it is sweetie. A fine, skinny and extremely tall dog with a loooooong neck.") As with the bear this moose was huge. What the hell, I thought, are there ANY small animals in Canada? Is Alberta the Costco of fauna? Couldn't I encounter an animal with a glandular disorder, so that, you know. . . I could feel superior for even a second?

The moose was completely blocking the road. Crosswise. Just standing there doing moosey things. Possibly calculating next year’s taxes. I have no idea. I am not learned in the ways of moose. I know they like squirrels, have their own University, (Whatsamata U), and can, when plied with applause do simple magic tricks with hats but that's as far as my knowledge extends.

Oh! One more thing. Sometimes if you say the right word ping-pong balls will drop from the ceiling.


*** the journey continues ***