Pith-less In The Northern Rockies

*** continued from previous post ***


It was then that we made another discovery. A wonderful marvelous discovery. We found that the absolutely, positively, money-back guaranteed water-proof bag - the Fort Knox of luggage - and in which we had stored our clothes and then lashed to the outside of the trunk without a care in the world - because we are from THE STATES and are consumer lemmings that believe every piece of advertising known to man - wasn't so water-proof after all. Or, it would seem, even water resistant. Point of fact, it was rather water-attractable. Water laden would an accurate description. A more appropriate marketing slogan might have been, "The Big Blue Waterproof Bag! Now 50% More Spongelike!".

As we unpacked, I tried to cheer up your mom. "Let's look on the bright side. The clothes in the middle are hardly damp at all!"

Your Mother turned to me slowly. So slowly, that the deliberateness of the gesture made my stomach turn. She grabbed both of my hands in hers, brought them close and kissed them gently. She looked me deeply in the eyes with a soul-penetrating gaze and said, "I love you. You know that. But if you open your mouth one more time before I'm warm and dry I will punch you right in the throat."

Now here's the deal, and you know exactly what I'm talking about because you struggle with the same thing - a million inappropriate thoughts raced through my mind, begging to be given voice. I couldn't help it. You know the Moore's motto: "There is absolutely no situation that can't be made more awkward, more uncomfortable, or more hostile by a well placed smart-assed remark."

Seriously, I'm absolutely pathological. However, in this situation - and you would have been so proud - I actually edited myself. I know! It's amazing! Cigars all around!

As gently as I could I say, "Go take a nice warm shower babe. I'll hang these clothes up to dry." I was going to give her a hug, but that would leave various body parts vulnerable. A business-like pat on the shoulder seemed safer.

Your mom's eyes narrowed. Having spent over 30 years with me, she had a right to be suspicious. "What, no pithy comment?"

"The pith has been leeched out of my bones. I am pith-less. Pith-less in the Northern Rockies,"

I said, then caught myself before I went on a riff and woke up dead with my larynx crushed by a little tiny wet woman in leather and boots.

*** the journey continues ***

I Never Get Lost

*** continued from previous post ***


"Did you get lost?", she asked, as she ushered us into a large and well appointed dining room.

Other staff floated in from . . . well I have no idea. Possibly the ether. They gathered round and studied us, much like I would imagine the caretakers at a zoo would study new arrivals. If those new arrivals rode motorcycles. And were muddy. And wet. And from THE STATES!

"Lost?", I queried, "No . . . not us. Just delayed a bit. It was raining, and . . ."

I looked to your mother for confirmation. She sold me out quicker than tickets to a Cher concert in San Francisco.

"Yes, we got lost."

"Only for a bit," I retorted, trying to salvage some shred of my manhood. Mom gave me the death-stare. "Well, quite a little bit. But that's beside the point. We're here now. I have to tell you, I wasn't sure we were going to make it there for a little while."

I smiled. Or snarled. My lips were tired. And numb. And chewed to bits.

"Oh you poor things. Stacy, show these folks to their room." She motioned one of the young women floating on the periphery over to our little party. "I'm sure you guys want . . . ," and here she paused for a moment, trying to triage our needs, ". . . some dry clothes and a hot shower. We missed you for dinner, but the cook has kept a couple of plates warm for you. Take your time and when you're ready come back to the dining room. You guys look bushed!"

Mom smiled, for what I realized was the first time in hours. Possibly days. "That sounds great."

*** the journey continues ***

Chapter 6 - Dah Bears

Today we begin Chapter 6, one of my favorite chapters. In fact, I'm working this one up into a reading/performance that I'll be testing in the next few months.

Enjoy!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------


September 27th, 2008

Dear Amber,

Okay, I’ll let up on the Pirate stuff. Mom says it’s making you feel bad.

Mom, always with the feelings.

On a brighter note, I ran into that boy you liked so much in high school. I gave him your number. Crazy how we met – it just happened that I was crossing the street in front of the half-way house when I noticed him in a fetal position on the sidewalk. I didn’t even know he was out! Stroke of luck there, eh?

Love you,

Daddio


Chapter 6

Dah Bears!



So we weaved and hummed our way through the afternoon gloom down a freeway that alternated between blinding sun and a very thin, partially suspended flash-flood. I don't mind admitting that, perhaps in retrospect, a marathon day through the Canadian Rockies was --- well, let's just say optimistic at best. The words 'foolish', 'stupid', 'ninny-brained', and 'completely off yer flippin' rocker' could also apply, and your mother, in the days to come, would remind me of this fact. Quite frequently. And with emphasis on the 'stupid'.

Yet, low and behold, we survived, and we were finally on the outskirts of Carnack. Hidden Valley Lodge was close enough to taste. In my head I could feel the softness of the bed, the warm inviting clutch of a hot shower. Inside my damp and pungent helmet my nostrils flared in anticipation of the divine aroma of something other than wet Canadians and muddy roads. Yes, we were close, oh so joyfully close, that for a moment I thought we were already at our destination and this was nothing more than a nightmare, a fever dream of insanity and maple leaves.

Before I go on, I should probably tell you a bit about our destination. I had scoured the internet for lodging that was both unique and wonderful. Remember, our plans were to spend three days using Hidden Valley Lodge as our base to explore all the wonders that encapsulate the adventure that is Banff. I wanted this to be an EXPERIENCE. You know? After all, isn't that what life is about? A collection of experiences? I felt it my duty to create a memory so powerful that I would visit it for years to come, and draw pleasure from each detail etched in my mind. You only get so many chances in life for something truly exceptional, and I wasn't about to let this one slip away. So, with that in mind I had spent days looking for 'just the right place to stay'. Luckily, I found Hidden Valley.

I suppose that some people would conclude that my enthusiasm and lack of attention to detail could be perceived as a negative. Your mother is often in that group. I, on the other hand, like to think of myself as a free-spirit, a generalist that lets the details work themselves out. It's only life, you know? And as long as no one is dead or seriously injured, or in prison, then what really is the problem?

Ha Ha! Take that you conventional thinkers! I am an explorer, a Pirate of life sailing on the outer bounds of human experience. You know, as long as that experience involves a comfy bed and a working bathroom. Oh! And lights. . . I like lights. And heat. And something to eat. And maybe a drinky-poo. But other than that I'm zipping along the edge every day, unfettered and free. OH! And TV and a wireless internet connection.

This is rather a long walk to set the tone for the rest of the story, and, as you shall soon see, I offer this not so much as an explanation but rather as a defense.

So . . . where was I? Oh yes . . . Hidden Valey Lodge. This place looked fantastic. A lodge in Carnack, AB, (please note the "in Carnack"), where the wildlife came right up and knocked on your door. Where your balcony hung over a 'wallow' and the deer and elk and moose would make a daily pilgrimage to slurp the salts that lined the banks of the muddy pit below. An enchanted abode where every room had a fantastic view of a gorgeous mountain valley, full of meadows and creeks and butterflies and rainbows and possibly - yes, just possibly - Unicorns and Gnomes. Although they didn't say that in their advertising, it was strongly implied.

*** the journey continues ***

For I Am From THE STATES!!!!!

*** continued from previous post ***


It's about this time that I come to my senses, and realize I'm wet. Wet and cold. Wet and cold and confused and not entirely convinced that we are not about to encounter cannibals. Don't let anyone ever tell you that hypothermia can't be fun. I wanted to curl up next to the bike, on the black tarmac of that wet parking lot, and take a nice long nap. Slip sweetly into the river of sleep to ride forever on dream currents of fancy. The only thing that stopped me was that nagging urge to pee. The human body is an amazing thing. All kinds of checks and balances.

So rather than drift into oblivion, I busied myself locking up the bike, getting my collapsible cane from the trunk, and making my own way towards the Centre which, although it is less than 200 yards away - or 7892 grams in Canadianeese - I can barely see through the rain and the fog and the mist. But I steel myself for I am from 'THE STATES' and will never give in, never give up, and never. . . ummm never . . . ummm . . . never go to bed without brushing my teeth.

Did I mention this place is big? Huge. As I approach the massive, wood framed double glass doors I see a family milling about the entry way. Milling is like loitering only with more hand gestures. The family consists of three kids - two adults. Or maybe two adults, two kids and an evil troll - I didn't get a good look. Concern is written on their face like talentless graffiti on a police car window. Have you ever watched a dog trying to cross a busy highway? That was them, trying to make a break for their vehicle between deluges and sprint for the car.

As I do the three-prong shuffle to the door they held each other close, the adults clutching their children's shoulder with the grip of a paranoid hawk. Evidently I was the deciding factor in their little dilemma. Right before I stepped up on the sidewalk they made a dash, flying past me with brochures touting "See Canada's Unspoiled Wilderness", and "Visit Lake Louise in Banff National Park", and "STDs The Canadian Way!" positioned over their heads like cub scout pup-tents.

Before you ask, I have no idea what's the difference between Canadian STDs and regular, good ol' USA STDs. I don't think the family picked them for their content as the publication was large enough to shelter at least two of the trolls.


*** the journey continues tomorrow ***

Chapter 5 - THE ROAD TO HELL IS PAVED WITH CANADIANS

*** continued from previous post ***

September 27, 2008

Dear Amber,

I’m really having a hard time letting go of you being a Pirate.
Is it too late to change your course of study?

Love,
Daddio

PS. You may want to ignore any notes posted to you by your friends on Facebook or in email. I couldn’t sleep last night and I found your password and login, so I posed as you for a bit. Ever notice how sometimes things that seem hilarious at 3 AM, seem a little crude the next day? Ah well.

PPS. Um . . . I may have taken a bit out of your bank account as well. It’s ok. You owe me.



Chapter 5


The Road to Hell is Paved with Canadians



Did I mention it was raining?

As I said before, most of the trip was a blur. Literally. Riding in the dense mist of a rain-soaked road with spray kicked up by thousands of tires - did you ever see the freeway during rush hour with a good rain pounding the pavement? If you're not driving through the thick of the storm it really is an amazing sight. A gray tunnel of dirty spray. But we WERE driving through it, and it took A LOT of concentration just to keep the bike going down the road. We were wet, tired, cold, and, as Mom pointed out, for some reason when she gets tired I get cranky. Luckily our communication was kept to a minimum, for each time I raised the shield to try to say something - surprise! A mouth full of oily Canadian road juice. Yum.

So we droned on and on and on. Through mountain passes. Through small towns. Through the heart of the Canadian Rockies. I don't remember much other than the recurring thought of 'Hey! We’re going to die!', yet there were a couple of interesting moments worth mentioning.

At some point in the trip, I can't tell you exactly when, or exactly where, because I may have had an out of body experience wherein I was having warm tea and crumpets with the Queen, or Bob Dylan - it doesn't matter really except if it was Bob Dylan I should probably get some therapy because roving hands from the Queen is one thing, but from Bob? . . . but I digress. The fact is at some point mom had to pee.

Fine. I'll just whip this baby across three lanes of certain death and find her a bathroom because that's just the kind of guy I am. Far be it from me to point out that she has a bladder the size of a grain of rice. Did I mention I may have been a tad cranky by this point? Did I mention how hard it was raining? Take that and double it. Visibility was only a few hundred feet at best and often much less.

*** the journey continues ***

It Was A Dark And Stormy Ferry Ride

*** continued from previous post ***


After the mandatory, "Well, good luck with all that, eh?", I can finally turn my attention to your mother. Her group has scattered like a bag of dropped marbles, and all that is left of her entourage is her and motorcycle girl. The time has not been kind. Mom - how can I put this gently - no matter how you slice it, she's not a pretty sight. Her hair is wet and matted and clumped to the side of her head like day-old oatmeal. Her mascara is running down her face giving the appearance that her eye may be leaking ink. Or dark, dark tears. I vote for the tears. We make eye-contact, and a silent thought passes between us. A shared observation between long-term companions that is understood immediately - there is no need to give it voice.

Although, had we chosen to speak, our communication would have been a simple "FUCKIN' A!!!".

Yes, that sums it up rather nicely.

I feel bad for the poor girl on the bike. With the enthusiasm of youth beaten out of her, she looks like the family dog that's been caught chewing on the baby one too many times.

I approach your Mom cautiously. Tentatively. Careful not to make any sudden movements. "Hey babe, how you doing? Have I told you today how beautiful you look?"

To your mother's credit, she didn't punch me in the throat. I love vacations!

"Little wet, little wet," she says, in a voice that is the einsiest, tiniest, itsy-bittiest four or five octaves too high.

"Yep," I reply. It seems like I should add something else, but, as I said before, I got nuthin'.

The ferry picks this moment to blast its horn. I look around, dumbstruck, forgetting where I am for the moment. Then it comes back to me in a flash. I'm in Hell. And not a regular Hell, but a maple syrup swilling north-of-the-border-down-the-rabbit-hole Canadian Hell. I expect Gordon Lightfoot songs over the ferry's speakers system at any moment.

"Looks like we've made it to the other side," Mom says. "Do you want to dig out our rain gear, or should we wait to get off the boat and then pull over?"

I notice that we are HAULING ASS into the dock. It looks like we are about half-a-mile away, but everyone on board has started their engines. I trust they know what they are doing. But it may be that they just want to turn on their heaters. The temperature has dropped from a pleasant 77 degrees, (that's Fahrenheit - in Celsius it would be like 10 kilometers), to a chilly 60. Sometimes I really regret having a thermometer on the Vision's instrument panel. I KNOW I'm cold, I don't need it quantified. And lucky us, the skies are looking angrier and more foreboding with each passing minute.

"Guess we should put on the rain gear but I don't think we have time. Looks like we will be at shore in a couple of minutes. I'll pull over once we get off, and we can put the Frogg-Toggs on then."

Mom nods approval.

*** the journey continues ***

Roid-Rage of the Rain

*** continued from previous post ***


Within seconds a few pitter-pats of God-juice turned into something much darker, much uglier and definitely much wetter. Think of a drop of regular rain. Now give it steroids. Make it do dual workouts at the gym. Give it a subscription to "Bodybuilder’s Monthly". Got a picture? Good. Now put seven of those together, squeeze them into a ridiculously small space like a Japanese commuter on an afternoon train, and you begin to see what I'm talking about.

When rain's big brother started falling, it actually stung my head - I kid you not. The drops were easily the size of quarters. And not wimpy Canadian quarters either, big burly 'real money 'Merican quarters' from THE STATES.

Ordinarily this would be no big deal. But I believe I have come to understand how a rock star feels: Groggy, confused, and unsure of their gender. No wait, that's not right. Unable to get away from people even when death is imminent, that's what I meant to say. I could not get my crowd of Canadians to shut the hell up long enough to put on some rain gear. Srsly. I am not kidding.

Each time I tried to make my way to the saddlebags, someone would come up with another question about the Vision. Or query my views on the nature of being, and whether we live in a self-constructed reality built from a mathematically provable 'fuzzy-cloud' of possibility spawning alternate dimensions that break from our own universe at every juncture of choice, or, are we simply existing in an illusionary prison of pre-determined fate. No lie. I thought that was a pretty insightful question for a third-grader. But apparently, other countries actually educate their young in the public schools, unlike in THE STATES where we are happy if they don't shoot each other. At least during social studies.

And, since I was trying to maintain my new-found image as, "the-guy you-think-is-living-the-life-you-dream-about-and-is-having-more-fun-than-you'll-ever-have-because-he-has-a-really-cool-bike-and-a-nicely-shaped-head-while-I-have-to-work-pushing paper-for-people-I-hate-and-am-horribly-worried-about-that-lump-I-found-under-my-arm-when-I-took-my-shower-this-morning-oh-God-it's-cancer-IT'S CANCER-I-just-know-it!!!!!", I just stood there like a moron and got wet.

*** the journey continues tomorrow ***