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 ***