I wish I could pull a Dumbledore and tap my head with my wand and gently pull out my memories, stirring them in a cauldron for all to see.  But alas, I am a mere Muggle and besides, I left the wand at home.  But, I am holding out for a Fairy Godmother store SOMEWHERE along our travels!  I mean, really, if there are stores that sell guns/liquor/fur/fireworks/beef jerky, I think my chances are pretty good.

Let me backtrack a bit to give you a Cliff’s Notes version of our days leading up to leaving on our 4-week journey.  It goes something like this – too many mental lists that brain begins to liquefy; frantic catching up with projects you swore you were going to start weeks ago; 1 yard of decomposed granite and 3 yards of bark waiting in front of the house 3 days before leaving; confirm and reconfirm with ‘Good Day Sacramento’ with hopes they don’t keep you in the 6AM time slot; get the dog to the friends, the orange tree to the neighbors and hope you don’t confuse the two; 11th hour cleaning out of the fridge (aka Tilt fridge forward and empty contents into trash can); crazed look on faces as the mad scramble to wrap up all work projects ceases to wane.  I think that covers about most of it.  Just insert a few choice words here and there for color and you’ve pretty much covered our life this past week.

So this early Friday morning, I’m fortunate enough to be sitting at the table of a childhood friend, tucked away off the Avenue of The Giants, deep in the soul of Humboldt County.  I’m attempting to gather my thoughts but find myself replaying yesterday over and over again.  What were the highlights?  All of it.  What moved me the most?  Everything.  So, let’s try this again…

We were asked to come by the ‘Good Day Sacramento’ studio on Thursday for a send-off from one of their news people.  Courtney and Dave came by on Wednesday and did a few segments in our backyard.  Talk about a lot of fun!  You never know what you’re going to get with the “Wacky Bruce” crew, but Courtney was an absolute delight to host.  We’d met Dave (the camera dude) last year at another segment about a kid crawling into a plush crane.  Don’t ask.  Our Wednesday gig consisted of showing them how we pack followed by me cooking them breakfast via JetBoil and sporks.  Okay, I cheated juuuuuust a little and cooked the potatoes in my kitchen before crisping them up with the peppers and olive oil.  Cut me some slack!  I was barely vertical and had just completed the bark project less than 12 hours previous!  Courtney and Dave were truly a delight and stayed for breakfast and swapping of stories.  So when we stopped by the studio on our way out on Thursday, it was like old times when Courtney and Dave pulled up in the news van.  We were hanging out waiting for our “big send-off” which was to consist of us giving the final goodbye with promises of Skype calls and pictures, waving as we pulled out of the studio parking lot.  What it REALLY consisted of was us pulling out of the parking lot, U-turning it back and Dave giving Jack a tour of the studio.  I know, I KNOW, I’m blowing the magic moment, but how do you deny a 9-year-old gear-head a look behind the wizard’s curtain?  In the end, Courtney fixed Jack up a plate of food, we chatted it up with a few of the news people, and suited up for the “real” departure.  No cameras this time around.

Can you guess what is the BIGGEST archenemy of motorcycles everywhere?  Wind.  Gusting, blowing, curse-inside-your-helmet wind.  And today, there was plenty of it.  Shazbot!  We had to make up time on Interstate 5 to get to Highway 20.  I loathe the freeway.  But when we have to get from A to B in a certain amount of time, there is no other option.  So imagine 30 MPH gusts coming from the north, two eager parents and one exhausted child.  We were not in our “happy place”, but we made it through unscathed.  We thought the foothills would provide some relief but they only proved tricky when struck by a swirling gust as we rounded each corner.  Fine.  Whatever.  With a brief stop at Foster’s Freeze in Lucerne, just along Clear Lake, we headed west to the 101, eventually making our way into redwood country.  Oh, how I MISS this area!  Being from Sonoma County, I truly do miss the rolling hills, redwood trees and fog.  Riding along 101 is like coming home for me, and for Terry as well.  He’s a Sonoma boy but could do without the tourists.  That I understand.  But here we are, tourists for a month.  The roll of the road promises to wear out that flat spot on the back tire while the scenery keeps you rolling on the throttle, eager to see what’s around the next turn.  You want to stop and take pictures, but you can’t.  The ride is too perfect.  I assure myself that Terry’s head-cam will capture whatever pictures we should be taking.  With only 25 miles to go, we stopped at a small market along the Avenue of The Giants to stretch.  Jack was pooped and my and Terry’s legs were not yet used to the hours spent on 2-wheels.  That’s okay – muscle memory will prove itself yet again.  Back on the road, we finally spotted the ear of corn alongside the road (you have to trust me on this one) and knew Nette’s place wasn’t far away.  We rolled into her driveway only to be greeted by a toe-headed cherub with tendrils cascading out from her 2-year-old head.  Meet Alma, spitting image of the young Shirley Temple with a spunk that rivals any child I’d ever met.  Holding Alma was a friend I’d know since our band days back in junior high, Nette.  We used to play flute together in Santa Rosa and went through all the awkward teenage years together only to go our separate ways come high school.  Why?  Not really sure, but I’ll chalk it up to “It just happened that way”.  I’ve always loved Nette for her intellect and free spirit.  And this farm that she and her husband, Jay, had acquired through her family reflected everything I’d remembered about her.  Chickens ran free, acres of chard and other greens covered the grounds and an old VW bus sat in the carport, leftover from the days of her grandfather.  She and Jay took over the farm just last year, cutting their life in the south bay and taking a chance on a life less cluttered.  Good choice.  While Alma led Jack by the hand inside the house, the three adults wandered the grounds as Nette told the history of the land, the trees and how floods had changed the life in Pepperwood forever.  Always thinking about pulling the “plug” and gettin’ the heck outta Dodge, Terry and I took in every story she had to tell.  From the old Ford with the lift gate to the 60 foot tree that was once a bonsai to the fig tree heavy with fruit, it was like our own little Wonderland.

Because we had spent the day battling the wind, we decided to punt and not camp on the grounds. There will be camping aplenty in the days to come.  We spent the evening sharing wine, eating a home-cooked meal that included peas just picked only minutes before, and sharing tales from days past.  It was a magical evening.  I do wish Jay was there to join us, but a previous engagement kept him away.  Next time.  I finally had to call it around 11:30PM and hit the sheets.  Terry was right behind me.  Jack had finally given up around 10PM.  I hope the kid sleeps in.  He needs it and we NEED him to sleep in.  If you’re a parent, you understand.

So what will today bring?  Where are we headed?  I know we’re going north, maybe to Brookings, maybe not.  The plan is to have no plan.  We can’t do the regimented schedule thing.  Too many time constraints and it’s just too rigid.  The goal is to enjoy each other and the places and people we encounter.  You can’t do that if you’re always looking to what’s ahead.  We’ve learned to enjoy the now, the moment.  You grow weary of always passing by with promises of returning some day.  Some day.  We hear that term a lot.  So, when will it “officially” be some day?  Will your inner alarm go off at 65 and say, “Okay, Timmy!  Some day is finally here!  Let’s go get that (insert object) now and go take that trip to (insert random location)!”  Sorry, kids, but Terry and I have known too many people whose lives ended far too soon.  And these were the one’s who lived as if some day never existed!  They KNEW how to grab life and enjoy the ride.  Yet so many of us are waiting, just WAITING, for some day.  Why?  Everyone has their reasons.  And everyone has their fears.  I get that.  But the question is what are you going to do about it?  And that, my friends, is your challenge for today.  Cheers.

We’ve been called crazy.  We’ve been called inspirational. We prefer the latter.  In fact, we prefer anything but usual.  Our travels are always different and off the beaten path.   Preferring the dirt trails as well as roads less taken, we crave a good adventure.  We truly love travelling together as a family.  As the Adventure Trio, we are a strong unit that’s constantly learning from and changing with each trip.   We do this because we love it and we know our time together as a family is short.  You only have so many years to raise your kids before you have to let them go.  But we also do it in hopes of inspiring other family to turn off the TV’s, put down the phones and flee the norm.  Unfortunately for this trip, we had to incorporate a little too much of the norm.  Like I always say, you have to keep the boss happy.  You’ll soon learn who holds the reigns in the family.

We’d been gearing up for our first trek of the year and Overland Expo 2011 for months.  This annual gathering of overland travelers, as well as those looking to learn more about overland travel, was held the first weekend of April in Amado, Arizona.  My husband, Terry, was VERY eager to get a look at all the modified vehicles that tackle the terrain.  Jack, our 9 year old, was just looking forward to getting out of school a couple of days before spring break.  No, seriously, he couldn’t wait to harness up and ride behind dad.  And myself?  I was ready to stalk and get to know some of the world’s foremost experts in moto travel.  Well, that and being able to see how much stuff I can pack onto two BMW GS’s.  Remember, there is a kid involved here and you know how much kids like bringing ‘stuff’.   And for those of you who aren’t in the know, we strap Jack’s guitar on the back of Terry’s bike.  Not kidding.

Oil changed in the bikes?  Check.  Radios working?  Roger that.  Tents looking good?  Sort of.  I’m thankful that there’s an REI in most major cities for those “just in case” moments.  We were 2 weeks out and still hadn’t tackled one major hurdle.  Yes, we burned it at both ends in order to go on this trip.  Yes, we had tagged all the bases as far as work coverage.  But how to get the bikes TO Arizona was the one thing we had yet to figure out.  All of us can plan and check off lists, but even that can’t keep Jack’s schooling and Terry’s schedule from keeping us home just a little longer than we’d like.  We didn’t have the time to ride our bikes there as we only had a little over a week to travel and that was not going to give us enough time to cover the miles.  Boo.  Solution?  Terry would drive a rental truck one way on Wednesday and meet up with a work colleague for a place to stay in Phoenix.  Jack and I would hop a plane after school on Thursday and meet up at said locale. Then, all of us would suit up Friday morning for the 2-hour ride to Amado.  Perfect.  But as any rider knows, you’re constantly buried in that pesky weather site on your phone.  Huh, record temperatures in Arizona and a chance for freezing thunderstorms later in the week on our way home.  Mother Nature must be bipolar.

After a Thursday night of catching up with friends and setting the bikes up, Friday was met with a bit of a head scratcher.  How was I going to carry all of Jack’s so called necessary items?  The drumstick bag, Harry Potter novel and bazillions of Transformers were going to have to head home.  Sorry, buddy, but the minimalist thing applies to all of us.  With a final click of the bungee cord and a thank you to our gracious hosts, we set south once again as a trio.  It’s amazing how the roll of the throttle can instantly change your mood.  Good times.

We rolled in to Overland Expo and were immediately greeted with dust, lots and lots of dust.  No problem.  We’re used to anything at this point.  The wind did give us a bit of trouble when it came to setting up the tents, but what are you going to do?  We bunked next to a lovely girl and a British chap she’d met up with earlier in the week.  She was setting around the states for a couple of months while he was jumping in with both feet and heading to South America.  He had many reservations about going though Mexico.  Don’t worry, cahp.  Trust in the goodness of others and you will be well.

Expo exceeded our expectations ten-fold!  Meeting so many fabulous riders as well as being asked to help inspire other families to travel made it all worth the extra hours.  It always does.  And meeting Ted Simon?  I think I almost curtsied.   Camping in 100+ degree weather on the dirt brings its own set of challenges.  You’ve got a little man to think of as far as shade and a full Camelbak.  But he’s a true traveler and has learned to adjust to any situation.  With sun block slathered and a little store that sold cold beverages, the boy was set.  Throw in some ice cream, too?  Why not.  It’s all about keeping the boss happy.  And what else makes Jack happy?  Playing his guitar for a willing audience.  Tonight’s special guest was none other than Cupcake Carl.  Why Cupcake you ask?  Well, the only way to traverse the darkness back to our campsite was by motorcycle and Terry’s got the bigger bike.  Carl on back equals riding cupcake. Sorry, Carl, but it just fits.  With a meal of spaghetti and entertainment by Jack, it was the Saturday night out we needed.

By the last day of Expo, the winds were expected to gust up to 50MPH.  It was time to arrange for an early exit and start heading back to California. We had the whole week planned and needed to be in, ugh, Disneyland by Thursday.  I know, I know, it doesn’t sound very pleasant or adventurous but you have to remember, KEEP THE BOSS HAPPY!  With our fill of blowing dust met, we rolled north in hopes of making it to Casa Grande, Arizona, for the night.  We didn’t want to push it regarding weather and the Holiday Inn Express guaranteed a pool for Jack, WiFi for Terry and a laundry facility for me.  Check, check and check.  And parking it for the day was by far the best decision we had made yet!  Not 5 minutes after taking off our helmets, I went out to unload in one of the largest wind gusts I’d ever witnessed.  This wave of curling dust came roaring from the west, bending all trees in half and shaking the bikes from side to side.  I thought for sure mine was going to go over.  And Terry and Jack weren’t even there to witness it!  I swear, boys, it was surreal.   Oh, and for your information, a hotel bathroom does double as a kitchen, but not in a Kramer sort of way.  You know what I mean.

With bikes full of clean clothes and a GPS set for Alpine, California, we headed west  on the 8 in yet ANOTHER day of gusting winds.  After a while, you just quit your complaining and learn to ride sideways.  We had hopes of camping along the Colorado River in Yuma, but quickly learned that Yuma is not very, ahem, kid friendly.  Also, the winds were so bad that our chances of setting up the tents were slim at best.  So Alpine it was, home of a friend we hadn’t seen in quite some time.  It was going to be a long day on the road for Jack, looking to be about 7 hours on the bike.  He’s learned that some days are longer than others, that sometimes it’s about making up the miles in order to be able to stop and enjoy our time together.

We rolled into Alpine ready to be done with the gusty winds.  Enough already, I get it!  Our friend’s home was more like Jack’s personal playground.  Video games, air hockey and musical instruments – it was his version of Christmas morning.  Those of you who know me know that in exchange for lodging, you will be well fed.  With side cases unloaded, I headed to my own version of Christmas morning, the grocery store.  I swear I wish I could capture the looks on people’s faces as they watch me load a cart full of groceries onto a motorcycle.  It’s always my personal “neener” to fit it all on including 2-dozen roses tucked safely in.  Okay, did I mention that I couldn’t quite shut the right side case?  Did I also mention that Alpine is a riding paradise of twists and turns?  Let’s just say I came home with 1 dozen roses and that some lucky person out there felt good about giving their sweetheart some beautiful roadside flowers.  Hey, if it’s meant to be, right?  But man, it felt good to toss around an empty bike again.

The fun and catching up can only last so long.  The need to twist the throttle beckons constantly, so off to (AAAAACK!) Disneyland we trudge.  Remember, it is Jack’s spring break and we can think of no better way to spend a day than watching lazy people scoot around in carts and exhausted families hauling around their brood of 20. I’m not joking!   Not the adventure we were looking for, but you’ve got to let the kid get his fill of rides and happy music.  But I’ve got to say, there’s no better advertising to get families out and about then rolling up a hotel on a Wednesday, dirty and loaded to the gills.  Stares from the husbands and glares from the wives…awesome.  Well, we did our best to put off entering the magic kingdom, but we finally headed out late Thursday morning.  So, Jack has never been on nor heard of Space Mountain?  Jack, you really haven’t?  Then we must go there first! And Jack, you’d like to sit with daddy?  You’ve got it buddy!  Trust me, this ride was done PURELY for my and Terry’s entertainment.  I could hear Jack screaming before we even started the climb up.  “And I’d like to announce the winner’s of this years Parents of the Year….”   It took him a bit to stop hating us, but he fully recovered with promises of NEVER going on that ride again.   In all honesty, we did have a pretty good experience at Disneyland.  When the heads of Disney got smart enough and loaded Downtown Disney with restaurants that featured full bars, they were really on to something, purely done to keep the parents happy and willing to fight another day.  But, alas, our time at Wally World had come to an end.  And to the delight and cameras of the people watching us load up, we posed for a few pictures and made our way north on the 101.  We seemed to be a bit of an anomaly.

Today’s destination?  Monterey.  Today’s actual stopping point?  Not Monterey.   When we ride staggered, I’m Terry’s wingman, calling out certain cars to watch for and lane changes.  Have you ever ventured through the L.A. freeway system?  I don’t recommend it in a car LET ALONE a family of 3 on motorcycles!  Lordy, what a mentally exhausting experience.  Fortunately, Jack is oblivious to what Terry and I experience.  It’s true that when you ride a motorcycle, your peripheral vision becomes much more acute, tuning into certain drivers that just even LOOK like they’re going to do something stupid.  Now imagine our peripheral vision after 3 Red Bulls.  Are you getting the idea?  Never, ever again will I do that but for that day’s ride, it was necessary.  Like I said, never again.  We couldn’t wait to hit south of Santa Barbara and roll along the coastline.  But, I see traffic completely stopped on the freeway.  Surely, you must be joking.  Nope.  Okay, what brilliant CalTrans official thought it prudent to merge 3 lanes into 2 on the 101 not just once but TWICE?  Oh, the agony.  But, oh, the lane splitting!  Fortunately for us, Terry and I have learned to be quite agile on a weighted down bike and are able to maneuver through the crowd.   In all, it has now taken us 5 hours to get just north of Santa Barbara.  Monterey is not looking so good.  And what are those black clouds looming to the north of us, you know, the direction we need to head?  Like I said earlier, pack for everything!  We entered the darkness and were immediately greeted by a wall of water.  Jack has been through this before, but the wind was so chilling and the rain so relentless that we pulled off in Buellton to make the “call”.  Forge ahead to San Luis Obispo or stay and call it a day.  Jack wanted to stay.  Not a problem, buddy.  You’ve been a real trooper.  We got to the hotel just in time as even travelers in cars were pulling in for the night and it was only 4PM.  Yes, the storm was that bad.

The next morning we were greeted by an azure sky and no winds.  Today Monterey!  With one day left in our trek, we took advantage of our time and headed to the ocean.  Jack delighted in the seals and fishing boats.  It’s always a blessing to watch that sort of sheer enjoyment in your child’s face.  We slept lightly that night knowing that our journey was ending the next day.   In the morning, we reluctantly packed our gear for the last time, threw a leg over our bikes and made the solemn journey home to Davis.  Even Jack wasn’t ready to go.  That’s the true sign of a successful family adventure.  When we arrived home, Jack was immediately greeted by a neighborhood buddy.  Oh, the stories he had to tell.  He didn’t even take his helmet off he was so eager to share.

And that’s why we do what we do.  Nothing can replace the memories we have of our travels on two wheels.  We’ve been riding as a family for over 4 years now.  You can’t imagine what a privilege it is to be able to spend time together as a family.  Sure it’s a lot of work, but isn’t everything?  As with all our adventures, we learn something along the way.  This time we learned to slow down even more, to take our time and enjoy the journey, not just the destination.  There’s always going to be storms, there’s always going to be challenges, but what Jack is experiencing is far beyond anything we could’ve imagined.  We plan on keeping it that way.

“You know you’ve hit trip/vacation mode when you don’t remember the day, the time or even care.  It’s a feeling all should experience more than once in this life.”

So, as promised in the last entry, I was going to try and put into words the weather we were doing our best to skirt as we approached our roots for the night, McCook, Nebraska.  Let me try and put a picture in your head…instead of blue sky and fluffy, white clouds, we were headed into satan’s playground.  A glorious mass of ever changing shape, ominous colors that spanned from dark gray to black to green, all pointing to one conclusion – tornado.  Fortunately for us before our trip, Terry had downloaded a weather application to his GPS that show’s, in real time, large storm cells, flooding, you get the picture.  Because our heads were constantly buried in weather.com (when we could GET a Wi-Fi), we knew there was a chance of encountering such a storm; this is why it was McCook, Nebraska and NO FURTHER!  The further east we rolled, the darker the sky became.  Each time I keyed up on the radio, Terry assured me that the weather was heading southeast, and that we would be avoiding its path.  Uh, huh.  I’m not really into the name Dorothy (no offense, Piazza!) and I certainly didn’t bring a little dog.  But, I did have a little child, and that was close enough for any parent.  Ten miles out, five miles out, the sky continued to change, molding itself into an even greater spectrum of colors.  But wait!  It was turning itself further south, away from our intended destination, moving away faster than we had initially anticipated.  WE WERE GOING TO LIVE!  By the time we rolled into the Holiday Inn Express, the storm had broken up (think “Twister” style) and had almost completely vanished.  No joke!  I had heard that Midwest storms came and went within minutes.  All 3 of us were a witness to such a phenomenon.  Stellar.  Frightening.  Exhilarating.  Emotionally exhausting.

There were 2 Honda Goldwings parked under the overhang when we rolled in, both branded with Kentucky plates.  Inside there were to older couples (I’m guessing mid to late 60’s – don’t hate me if I’m wrong, gang) that had just rolled through the mother of all rainstorms.  Tom, Birdie, Gary (Mr. Birdie) and one more lovely female whose name escapes me right now, were all looking pretty dry given the previous wrath of nature.  They were in great spirits, asking if we, too, had encountered such weather.  Not on this leg, but I can tell you some stories!  They were wonderfully chatty, talking of their ride, how they were doing 500-mile days, ANY and all topics that could be discussed.  As Terry and I checked in, Jack was outside holding court, pointing out all of our stickers, telling tales of our travels, not wanting mom or dad ANYWHERE near him as he played the 8 year old adult.  I knew better than to poke my head outside to check in, but I did anyway.  I was quickly shooed away.  Parents!  One of the guys let Jack sit in the passenger seat of his bike.  Wrong move!  Jack immediately sank in exclaiming, “Daddy!  You need to get one of THESE!”  Sure, kid.  Good luck with that.  We chatted a lot with the Kentucky group.  Well, WE didn’t chat much, but we sure did hear some great stories.  Gotta love it.  Now, to find a place open for dinner that wasn’t fast food.  Ick.  The ‘Nice But Genetically Challenged’ lady at the front desk suggested a place in town, a family-style restaurant.  Please keep that descriptor on your brain as THIS story unfolds.  Away we rode to grab some much-needed grub.  Found the place, parked next to a newer Suburban with a California license plate, can’t be all that bad, eh?  Ahem…as the door slammed closed behind us, we were greeted with a female voice behind the counter yelling, “Well, FUCK YOU, then!  Goddamn mother fucker!”  Apparently, she and the cook were having a bit of a spat.  Ah, FAMILY TIME!  Terry and I looked at each other with a raise of the eyebrows, but decided to stick it out.  We were instructed by another, much nicer waitress to sit anywhere.  As we approached a booth, I began to notice a recurring theme within the four walls – couples and families, all very, VERY large in size, all not talking, all slung over their respective bowls of Jell-O/meat surprise/gray veggies.  The walls were adorned with cookie jars, new and old, mostly just creepy.  We ordered our drinks and no, “We don’t have beer or wine.”  Booooo….  That would’ve made this place at least tolerable if not comical.  Jack exclaimed, “This place freaks me out.”  I agreed, saying that it gave me the creeps.  Terry looked me straight in eyes and asked, “Do you want to go?  Say the word.”  I said it.  We were outta there!  Terry gave the waitress some lame excuse, and we blasted out of there as fast as we could get our helmets on.   The classy waitress was STILL lambasting the cook as we headed out the door.  Ah, good times.  A BBQ down the street filled our bellies just fine.  Still a lot of severely obese Nebraskans, but they had Fat Tire Ale and a waitress that didn’t swear.  Ta da!

That night around 2AM, I was awakened but the most unheard of storm I’ve ever experienced in my 40, ahem, 34 years.  I checked on Terry and Jack, both sound asleep, and made my way to the window.  Outside our window was what I can only describe as the mother of weather all coming together into one MOTHER of a brew.  The flags flew straight out as constant bolts of lightening littered the sky from every direction.  Crashes of thunder hitting again and again and again as sheets of rain and balls of hail came hurling down.  Man, God was PISSED!  I’d NEVER seen such a thing!  I mean, I’ve always heard about Midwest storms, but I never imagined I’d find myself in one.  I was never so thankful to be under a solid roof.  I watched for a while until it began to scare me, fearing that the window would become shards of glass at any moment.  I ran back to bed, pulling the covers to my chin, hoping it would stop soon.  It did.  Remember, these storms come and go quickly.  The wind died down, the hail stopped, the rain softened.  I could, once again, resume my beauty sleep.  I was going to need it.

The morning brought those bright blues skies and fluffy clouds I was hoping for.  The forecast for the next week – sunny!  Finally.  We loaded up once again to an audience of genetically challenged hotel employees.  I’m sorry, McCook, but this town is just WEIRD.  I know Nebraska is not this way (T-Roy), but this place just gave us the willies.  Time to move on to Kansas!  We had very high hopes for Kansas.  It’s just one of those places that always held the promise of small town life, laid back days, and friendly, open people.  Our hopes were high, especially Terry’s.  Our small-town experiences thus far had proved vanilla with not much to report.  He wanted homemade pies, people waving from porches, the whole Norman Rockwell scene.  I was, too.  Jack just wanted to make sure that we weren’t rolling for too many miles between stops.  Don’t worry, buddy, we’ve got you covered.  And now, Kansas…and they like to wave to ya…

After a brief stop to take a picture by the “Welcome to Kansas” sign, we continued south then east on a two-lane road, rolling along with the hills, our heads on a swivel as we marveled at the natural landscape that was Kansas.  Fields of golden wheat and cornstalks of varying heights enveloped us.  With each new hill came a new scene – flat to the south, hills to the north, farmhouse and silo, horses running along the fence lines.  It truly was the Kansas we were looking for.  Awesome.  We had chosen the small town of Lenora to stop for lunch.  The dot on our map was only slightly larger than some of the others, so we felt it was “the” place to stop.  It was really our only choice at this point.  Terry spotted the sign to our right and with blinkers on, we rolled down the lonely road, passing the town grain warehouse as we entered.  Hmmmm…Doesn’t look to be much around.  A very small downtown boasted a bank, post office, tiny grocery store and several closed businesses.  I couldn’t help but think a Wal-Mart had something to do with these closed signs.  I loathe Wal-Mart, but that’s a whole other story.  There was one man walking the street, so I pulled up along side of him and asked if there was any place to eat.  Yes, the brick building with the hand written sign just a block up.  Handwritten?  Yup, there it was, The Tavern, the sign stating, “We are open”.  Were kids allowed?  You never know, as each state is different and weird about their liquor laws.  Yes, kids were allowed.  Score.   We opened the squeaky, heavy wooden door and entered a whole new scene.  I swear if the jukebox were playing, it would have come to a screeching halt.  All heads turned to watch the newcomers saunter in, odd clothing and all, carrying motorcycle helmets.  The place was now silent.  It was right out of a movie.  We slowly walked in, taking a booth to our right, hoping to not upset the natural balance of the place too much.  Folks soon returned to their meals, some resumed their conversations.  The very nice proprietor notified us of the day’s special, cheeseburger and fries, only $4.95.  Do you have hot dogs by any chance?  Goal!  Jack is more of a hot dog kinda guy.  We watched as several more towns folk meandered in, as it was almost noon straight up.  The women from the bank came in, the men from the fields, it was a potpourri of people with us thrown in just to stir things up a bit.  No one would talk to us.  Some looked our way, a couple smiled, but only one was brave enough to strike up a conversation.  “You ride all the way from California?  That’s great!”  This guy was sitting with a group of other farm guys all dressed the same in their Wrangler’s, baseball caps with the perfectly rounded bill, and button down plaid shirts, some with the sleeves ripped off.  It was the classic Kansas scene we’d hoped for.  Finally, after the first guy initiated the conversation, a couple of others began to pipe in here and there.  Our orders came and you guessed it, it was the size of a $4.95 meal.  A very small, hand formed burger, small side of fries, but it was good and it was fast.  I asked the owner if it was okay if I took a few pictures of the place.  No problem!  The walls boasted pictures and articles about the history of the town.  Headlines such as “Lenora Gets Electricity” and “The New Auto Dealership” hung over each booth and by the bar.  I love small town memorabilia.  It’s honest and there’s no hype unlike the newspapers today that grace our driveways every morning.  The owner asked, “Are you lost?  Because anyone who comes to Lenora is lost.”  “No.  We actually put it in our GPS as a spot to stop for lunch.”  “You did?  Boy, are you lucky.   I just started serving lunch last week and have only been open for 2 months.”  Yes, we were fortunate.  Had there been no restaurant, we’d been forced to buy something at the small grocery next store where the large, sweaty dude in overalls sat on the front steps like a bad hood ornament.  The dude who struck up the conversation when we were eating piped in with, “Man!  I wish I hadn’t lent out my motorcycle today or I’d ride along with you for a while!”  Now THAT would’ve been cool – GROUPIES!  We paid our tab (the cheapest meal yet) and headed back out into the heat to suit up.  The guys from the table came out for a smoke, leaning on the brick building, finishing up their conversations from lunch.  It was a classic photo, one I attempted to take without them knowing it.  We’ll see how it turns out.

Our home for the night was going to be, you guessed it, the Holiday Inn Express in Concordia, Kansas.  Hey, when you’re on the road, a place with a laundry, pool and hot tub satisfies all the members of the family!  Now, if they’d only throw in a mini bar…  And what’s with this humidity thing?  We surely don’t have THIS in California!  Ugh.  It was about 90 degrees with 90% humidity.  Splendid.  I love when my makeup just sliiiides right off my face.   We also noticed all the piles of tree branches that dotted each side of the town streets.  Looks like they felt the affects of the storm, too.  Keeping fingers crossed we don’t get another one the rest of the trip.  After unloading our gear, I looked down at my feet and noticed it was about time for a pedicure.  Just because I’m on a motorcycle doesn’t mean I have to look like ass!  I usually do my own (and I do a very good job, thank you), but decided to support the local economy and get one in town.  Time to make an appointment for tomorrow morning.  We’d passed a place on our way into town that was along the main drag.  Looked nice enough so let’s give it a go.  The place was only 1.2 miles away and it was such a nice day out, why not walk?  Hell, I’ve been in veal mode for too long and needed the exercise.  And the humidity?  Won’t bother me.  I’m tough!  Uh huh.  I made my way through the narrow streets of Concordia, taking in the beauty of the older homes, making sure not to trip over any of the piles of tree branches.  It sure was getting a tad warm.  I really wanted to have at least ONE cute day outside of the helmet.  But today was NOT going to be the day.  By the time I walked in the door of the salon, all my makeup had slid off, my hair was in a ponytail and stuck to my neck, and my pits rivaled any Wall Street stockbroker.  I was officially gross.  But I was greeted by a very young, very nice, very fresh out of beauty school Kansas girl.  I liked her.  We chatted the entire time she filed and painted.  She was not yet 20, got pregnant at 17 and was still with the babies father.  That was good to hear.  She was ambitious, wanting more for herself and her family, soaking in all the stories of our travels, eager to hear more.  She’d never been out of Kansas, with the exception of visiting her father in Colorado.  She needed to educate herself.  She needed to flee.  I told her, you can always come back but you need to leave.  There’s so much out there!   Do it while you’re young and take your family with you.  All the hassle and planning and saving is worth every memory.  I truly hope she takes my advice.  She’s not stupid, just young.  And I do hope her pedicure skills improve with time.

Terry and Jack met me for lunch afterwards at a Mexican food restaurant down from the salon.  Food!  Was it good?  So-so, but we were full.  And speaking of food, I’m sooooo tired of restaurants!  We all were.  But wait!  The hotel had a huge gas grill just outside the pool area.  Are you thinking what I’m thinking?  Those of you who know me well enough know that I’d rather cook than go out.  I’ll feed the masses anytime.  It took very little convincing to get Terry and Jack to agree to a night of BBQ, healthy, California-style.  Off to the local store we go!  Chicken?  Yes.  Bread?  Yes.  Corn?  NO?  Are you KIDDING ME?  We’re in THE corn capital and not an ear to be found.  Bummer.  Heavy sigh.  Okay, red peppers and mushrooms it is.  I couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel.  While Jack and Terry headed to the pool, I did all the prep work in our bathroom.  Remember, our “kitchen” is in the Givi top case on my bike.  Spices, a knife, Jetboil, I had it all!  And now, for a well earned home-cooked meal.  With my kitchen set up on the outside table, I found myself right at home, like I was grilling in my own backyard.  Ah, felt good.  Jack had made a friend with a girl, Hannah, so we invited her to join us for dinner.  Her mom and some other people joined in for some wine and conversation.  As the sky turned to nightfall and the clouds gathered and darkened, you could see lightening off in the distance.  Man, not again!  And was that a raindrop?  Thankfully, we were already done and ready for hit the sack.  We bid goodnight to our new friends with promises of keeping in touch.  I really hope they do.

The next day we were off and rolling, hoping to make it to Kansas City, Kansas, to stay for the night before crossing into Missouri.  On the advice of T-Roy, we set the GPS for Lawrence, Kansas, home of the Kansas University Jayhawks, as our lunch stop.  Did I mention the humidity already?  You could wring the three of us out like a sponge and our riding suits ready to walk by themselves.  Ick.  We were ready for some lunch and a very cold beer.  And what a really cool downtown Lawrence was!  Reminded me of Davis with that university, small town feel.  Thanks, T-Roy!  We parked in front of a hotel and on the advice of a local, headed across the street to the local brewery.  Perfect.  Beer AND air conditioning.  After a while, we each admitted that we were pooped and tossed around the idea of staying in Lawrence for the night.  But Kansas City was only about 35 miles away!  Doesn’t matter.  You couldn’t get me back in that suit right now for anything.  We Googled the local hotels and found a historic place right on the main drag.  AND, we were already parked right in front!  Score one for unpacking.  Once again, we unloaded our gear onto the bell cart and headed to the third floor.  Nice place!  Reminded me of a Kimpton hotel.  We left Jack in the room to some iPhone games while we took the bikes around the corner to park in the lot.  But what’s this?  A parking ticket on each bike?  But we paid!  There’s still time left on the meter!  Three dollars each, please.  And look, you can put the money in the envelope and deposit it right into any of the handy yellow boxes that lined the street.  I smell a scam.  This was confirmed by more than one of the locals.  They ticket you for everything.  Nice welcome wagon.  We moved the bikes and promptly headed to the hotel bar for a belt and some advice on the hap’s that night in Lawrence.  A jazz quartet was playing downstairs in the bar/restaurant that night.  Are kids allowed?  Yes.  Looks like we have our evening planned.  Nice and low key.  We headed downstairs around 7PM, Jack toting his guitar, just in case.  In case of what?  Don’t know, but he likes to bring it along when there’s live music to be had.  The group consisted of drums, stand up bass, guitar and trumpet.  And they were good.  We slowly made our way to a table close to them so Jack could get a better view of the gang.  After a couple of breaks, the band resumed once again, this time asking Jack if he wanted to come on up and play with them.  Now, as a parent, how cool is that?  OF COURSE he’d like to come on stage!  Up he went, confidant as ever, and strummed along with the guys, the bass player shouting the chords out to Jack with each change.  He was in his element.  But hey, there’s an open mic night just down the street after this.  A couple of the guys and special guest, Mr. Mustard (don’t ask), were heading down soon.  Did we want to bring Jack so they could all play together?  Hell ya!  So, at 11:30PM on a very humid night in Lawrence, we took Jack to his first open mic experience.  Terry signed him up at the door with hopes of Jack and the guys going on soon, bedtime and all.  But the guys weren’t there yet and they wanted Jack to go on in 10 minutes.  Little man began to panic ever so slightly.  But the boys rolled in before true panic could ensue.  They all trekked on up, Jack in tow, Mr. Mustard at the mic.  Jack perched himself on the barstool and took the lead as man in charge.  Restaurant lights dimmed, stage lights on, he was the man of the hour.  I cried.  How could I not?  Proud.  Proud.  Proud.  They took Jack’s lead that eventually led them to a fabulous rendition of Eleanor Rigby.  The guys LOVED it!  All were smiling, laughing, enjoying the moment.  I cried some more.  When their time was up, Jack hopped down, beaming proudly, surrounded by other musicians who came to play.  They patted him on the back and gave him praise like you wouldn’t believe.  These are the moments he’ll never forget.  Hell, WE’LL never forget.  All were impressed with his talent and maturity on stage.  I finally stopped crying.  I looked down at my watch – almost 12:30!  Yikes!  Time for bed, Clapton.  Yawn.  We made our way to the hotel and poured ourselves into bed.  What a night.  I couldn’t stop smiling.

So, class, what have we learned today?  If you don’t take a chance and put yourself out there, you may never GET another chance.  You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.  You may make an ass out of yourself once in a while, but at least it makes for a great story.  Trust me, I used to hate change.  I loved the usual.  It wasn’t until Jack was born that I realized I needed to do something for him, to better myself, to explore beyond my usual.  And I liked it.  And now, I crave it.  Monotony is my kryptonite.  Promise yourself to take a chance.  Start with small steps; it makes the transition easier.  Just move forward.  Take care of yourself and you’ll be better at taking care of those you love.  Cheers.

“Do one thing every day that scares you.”  Eleanor Roosevelt

I know, I know, I’m so behind on my entries.  But you must realize, I’m riding 5-7 hours a day, unpacking the gear, setting up camp or checking into a Holiday Inn Express, searching for the best/least offensive meal and dealing with a hot, crabby 8 year old.  I do apologize for my tardiness, but there are days I’d rather lay down with a cold brew and watch the latest “Still in Theaters” flick.  Haven’t done that yet but, dammit, I’m gonna!  And now, to spew forth with our final days in Colorado…

Early morning in Grand Junction, CO, and we (as always) have our faces buried in weather.com.  Remember those nasty wind gusts?  We’re trying to make sure they don’t come sneaking back to take us down.  Evil, evil wind…  Packed up, laundry done, and with bellies full of the free toast & peanut butter breakfast at the hotel, we set forth east on Highway 70.  Destination?  Breckenridge, but that could change.  We only had about 160 miles to go, but we may want to burn some extra just to get further out.  I knew the stops I wanted to make along the way.  My heart was set on Vail.  Why?  My first memory of even HEARING of Vail was at Comstock Junior High.  A toe-headed kid named Andy walked into my geography class sporting a Vail t-shirt.  “What’s Vail?” I asked.  Andy proceeded to regale me with stories of a small town tucked in a valley surrounded my mountains of snow and skiers making their way through the village, telling tales of the days’ runs down the slopes, sipping hot beverages and waxing their K2’s.  I knew someday I wanted to see it for myself.  But it’s summer…and there’s barely any snow…but there’s a village and a severe lack of tourists this time of year.  I’m in.

Highway 70 through the middle of Colorado is a dream ride as far as highways are concerned.  Turning, swaying and loooooong tunnels that echoed just right when you honked the horn.  Come on, you know you do it, too.  We were literally riding along the bottom of a very, very narrow canyon, surrounded by sheer mountain drops, passing through ski villages boasting mountain bike trails and things you don’t need.  But, why is the traffic stopping?  WHY?  I’m enjoying the ride and this REALLY cuts into my down time!  Yup, we were completely stopped smack in the middle of one of those cute little villages.  We sat for a bit, sweating too much, eyeing the people splashing in the roadside hotel pool.  This sucked.  Terry and I both had the same idea and the same moment.  The shoulder’s clear and if we don’t get some airflow going soon, his bike will overheat.  Yes, boys and girls, we’ve became those assholes on motorcycles who ride the shoulder during stopped traffic.  Seriously, it’s no joke about Terry’s motorcycle!  We hit the right blinker, scoot over and made our way down the right shoulder, Terry’s flashers on, my head buried in the rearview for signs of a light bar.  Man, this was a long line of pissed off drivers!  We swerved around road signs, still checking for pork, making our way to the source of said backup.  And what were they doing?  Oh, spraying down the inside of the tunnel and striping the right lane shoulder.  Huh?  All that for a line and a clean tunnel?  Whatever.  I’ve got some time to makeup.

Vail, only a couple of miles ahead.  And thanks to Shane for telling us the proper exit.  We pulled off the freeway and into a Swedish wonderland.  Nestled at the base of a mountainous valley, Vail was a long, narrow world of European style buildings, flower-lined streets and friendly people.  It was just as I’d hoped.  The main town center was closed to traffic.  We parked 1/2 block away and meandered our way town the cobblestone street in search of an outdoor lunch spot and a cold beer.  Found it!  With a table on the patio at a little German-style place, we sat in awe of the beauty this place held.  It really was all that Andy had said, minus the snow.  We finished our burgers and brew, took some pictures and geared up, a crowd of people gathering to watch from the sidelines.  Always a pleasure.  Back on 70, we continued east but started to rethink our destination plan.  As much as I wanted to check out Breckenridge, I was afraid that we needed to get some miles in.  We’re skipping Breckenridge and heading straight for Denver!  Done.  Decision made.  And, they have a Kimpton hotel in downtown Denver, the Hotel Monaco.  Never stayed at a Kimpton joint?  I highly recommend the experience.  Look them up!  It’s worth the extra couple of dollars for a late-day wine reception and European design.  But were the Rockies going to be in town?  I hope so.  I’ll have to look into that one a little later.

With the bellhops scratching their heads at the site of us, we unloaded each bike in front of Hotel Monaco in downtown Denver, just 2 blocks from the 16th Street Promenade.  The inside of the hotel boasted a Tim Burton-esque style with a splash, just a splash, of old Europe.  It was perfect and the little bit of spoiling we were searching for after so many days on the road with bad weather.  And we arrived just in time for the free wine and hors d’vores from 5-6PM.  Timing is everything!  So, there we stood with the hoitie’s and the toitie’s, sipping wine, reflecting on the past couple of days and looking to swipe a bottle to bring upstairs.  We didn’t.  Karma.

What I did do was scope out some “Man vs. Food” restaurants in the area.  Lo and behold, there was the ‘7-pound breakfast burrito in under an hour’ joint, Jack-n-Grill.  Jack and I did our best to get Terry to attempt this eating challenge and Man!, he really thought about it on the ride over in the cab.  We pulled up to a very colorful, packed almost full eating joint.  It was obvious that this place held a special place in Denver’s heart.  It was booming with locals seeking to savor more of what the menu had to offer and tourists hoping to catch a glimpse of the next food challenge sucker.  After a scan of the menu, Terry decided against trying the challenge.  What?!?  You’re here, man!  Give it a go!!  Why not?  Oh please, don’t let a dozen-eggs-per-burrito scare you.  Come on!  Don’t let a case of the exploding colon’s scare you either! You know what, I don’t blame you.  We DID order some of the best Mexican grub we’d ever eaten.  It was fresh and flavorful with a side salsa that was just so tasty!  No “regular” ingredients were used for this particular flavor.  I’m still trying to put my finger on it.  I’ll get there, I promise.  After our delicious meal, I took a walk around the restaurant to their “Hall of Fame” wall in search of Adam’s picture.  Not only did I find his pic, I found about 60 others who had finished the behemoth burrito, including several females of varying age and size.  I’m talkin’ SKINNY girls!  One other thing this place boasted was that if your name was Jack and you provided a copy of your birth certificate, you will eat free for the rest of your life!  Dude, had I known, I’d of packed Mr. J’s and PROUDLY handed it over.  “Sorry, son, you’re going to college in Denver.  Why?  Because your meals are paid for.”  Ta da!  A stroll down the 16th Street Promenade after was just what we needed after a belly full of tasty grub.  It reminded Terry and I both of a smaller, cleaner San Francisco.  Because traffic was closed in either direction, with only a shuttle bus running from one end to the other, each block was outfitted with several chess tables, benches and a piano.  A piano?  Yup!  Each piano was painted up in beautiful colors, a different theme for every block.  And every piano was singing the song of a different musician.  Random people pulled up the bench and played jazz to Mozart, blues to rock.  How could you not love such a scene?  Dug it.

Our last full day was not going to be complete without one thing – Rockies game!  Yes, the Colorado Rockies were in town playing the Milwaukee Brewers and you KNOW we had to take in a major league game while in town.  After a day of people watching and Toy Story 3, we geared up in our new Rockies t-shirts and rode the bike taxi to the game.  Poor Scott!  Scott, our bike dude, had us 3 stuffed in his “cab” and it was a nice, warm night out.  Of course, I packed a backpack full of sweatshirts, anticipating the usual Bay Area breeze or roll of fog.  Didn’t happen.  Wrong city.  But the ballpark was really, REALLY nice!  Now I see why the A’s are rallying for new digs.  Everything was modern, there were no huge ramps to trudge up and the food choices ranged from Mexican to BBQ to usual ballpark fare.  I was impressed.  So was Jack.  We didn’t get any foul balls, but that’s okay.  We had a great night at the park and didn’t get even a bit chilly.  Next time, I’ll know not to pack for that just-in-case fog roll.

Reluctantly, we packed up the next morning in search of camping in Rocky Mountain National Park.  I know, it’s a BEAUTIFUL place to land, but we really enjoyed Denver.  Promises to return in the future.  I informed Terry that we had to get there via Boulder.  ANYONE who’s anyone KNOWS that Mork and Mindy lived in Boulder!  Come on!  Rainbow suspenders, Shazbot!, getting eggs to fly, Nano nano, Robin Williams whacked out on coke…it’s a classic scene!   God, I loved that show as a kid.  And now here we were, stuck in traffic in downtown Boulder.  Weee.  Next!

We began the winding climb through the lower Rockies.  Now THIS was a motorcycle road, if only that damn trailer would pull over!  Breathe, Sandy, breath…you’re on a trip.  Relax, enjoy, take it in.  And I did.  The view with every turn proved more beautiful than the last.  Tahoe-style homes dotted the mountainside every couple of miles.  And the smell, you ask?  It reminded me of Shasta, but a strong stench of exhaust was beginning to ruin my groove.  As much as I’ve always wanted to visit this wondrous place, I had to remember that we didn’t exactly choose the ‘right’ time to visit.  Think Yosemite in the summer.  Got that mental image?  Ya, I was livin’ it.  But, I’m here to take it on my terms, collectively our terms, and come away with memories of our own creation.   So, away we go!

We went through Estes Park, basically the gateway into RMNP.  Damn!  It was worse than Sonoma during harvest!  The tourists (fat, dude, FAT!) were just going from store to store to store buying crap they didn’t (and probably made in China), meandering along, blah, blah, blah.  Not a whole lot of happy looks on the husband’s faces (aka Poor Bastards).  Just a lot of lollygagging and sensible shoes, neither of which I subscribe to.  Onward.  We passed the KOA Park that was perfectly lined with motorhomes and trailers, not a tree in sight but a view of a mountain.  Onward.  Ah, the entrance to the park in 1 mile.  Let’s try for that last minute campsite.  We rolled up to the park dude in the little box, handed him our national park membership and asked if there were any state campgrounds that were not full.  Hmmmm, nope!  All lower campgrounds were full.  Okay, Plan B.  And what was that?  Ride up to each campground and see if they had any cancellations.  It was worth a try!  No cancellations?  Ride around the campground and look for that lone motorcyclist and see if you can “bunk” with them for the night.  The worst they can say is no, and I’ve heard the worst.  I don’t like it.  The first campground we spotted was Moraine Park.  The very sweet looking girl in the wooden box peered out from under her ranger hat.  I asked, with a hint of desperation, if there by chance was a cancellation.  Lo and behold, my fellow adventurers, there WAS a cancellation for 1 night!  Timing, people, timing.  We originally wanted to stay for 2 nights, but who am I to question the karma bank!  And what was the site number?  Lucky #13 right by the bathrooms.  Not bitching just pointing it out.  As the boys set up the campsite, I headed into town to do laundry and find something to cook (singe) for dinner.  I’d spotted the laundromat and store earlier on the outskirts of town.  Oh thank god, I don’t have to go back to in the vat of tourists!  After 1 1/2 hours of domestic duties, I returned to find Jack playing with some other kids and Terry half asleep in the tent.  Poor thing, he had just fallen asleep when I rolled up.  He did his best to appear alert but instead just looked red eyed and a bit fuzzy.  On tonight’s menu?  Hot dogs, of course, with salad and fruit on the side.  Perfect.  I did end up hanging out with a bunch of parent’s and their little squirts that hailed from Ft. Collins, Colorado.   A very, very cool group who was more than happy to take me into their conversation.  You know how you don’t want to interfere just because your kid is playing with their kids?  Tinley was kind enough to widen the circle for me.  Thanks!  I was able to return the favor the next morning when I heard her husband proclaim, “We used up all the coffee yesterday morning.”  They had 2 very young kids that they’d been camping with for a couple of nights, so I KNEW the caffeine desperation level was at red line.  Peet’s Ground French Roast from California to the rescue!  I gave them the bag and they were very thankful.  I totally get the parent/kid/camping thing.  If I’d run out of Peet’s, I would’ve cried.  See, karma points!  We got the site for a night therefore I pay it forward.  It’s not hard; it’s just being human.

But before I did the coffee thing, I walked down about 3/4 mile to take some pictures of the mountains.  I knew we’d be shoving off today, so I didn’t want to miss taking some shots of the grandeur that enveloped us.  If you haven’t been to Rocky Mountain NP, go!  But, just don’t go when it’s summer time…think Yosemite.  Too many people!  That was another reason we decided to stay one night.  We weren’t there to be surrounded by people; we were there to be AWAY from people.  Enough!  I did get some pretty stellar shots in the early morning light.  Hey, if I’m already awake at 5:30, I might as well use my time wisely.  Back to camp I trod, slowly.  See, I realized several years ago while attempting to summit Mt. Shasta that elevation is REALLY not a friend of mine…not at all.  I get altitude sickness, and I’d had a headache ever since Denver.  NOW I was even closer to the heavens and beginning to feel a bit queasy.  Not cool.  I had a feeling it might happen, so I had enough forethought to get some Dramamine at the pharmacy in Denver.  Aaaahhhh (tapping forehead with finger), thinking this time…  After a healthy dose of morning drugs, I began to feel better.  Not great, just better.  Time to jam.  We packed up our gear and gave a high sign to all the Ft. Collins group, with our sights set on McCook, Nebraska.  Why there?  They had a Holiday Inn Express.  AND, we couldn’t go any further because of the weather.  And what kind of weather had we not yet encountered?  Remember, we are in the Midwest by this point.  Guess you’ll just have to find out next entry…neener…

Flee the ordinary tomorrow.  It’s good for the head.  Trust me.  Healthy Head = Healthy Mind = Healthy Family = Healthy Marriage.  Everything’s a balance.  In every encounter, you are the only one that chooses how you react.  Can you learn from it?  Can you take a piece of it for future use?   I don’t know.  It’s your path.  I’m working on mine right now.  Are you?

“Do one thing every day that scares you.”  Eleanor Roosevelt

The adventure begins when things stop going as planned

I’m sitting outside the laundromat in Estes Park, Colorado, just one mile east of the entrance to Rocky Mountain National Park.  Yes, laundry is one of those mindless duties necessary on trips like this because, well, we smell.  But, it does give me time to reflect and spew forth the events of the past several days.  We’re already on day 9, and I’m doing my best to remember everything.  Maybe if I stopped sipping so much whiskey at night it might come easier.  Naaaaa…

I awoke the morning of day 6 six waaaaaaay too early.  I’m tellin’ ya, when the sun hits the tent, I’m up!  And these days, the sun is hitting at around 4:45AM.  Lovely.  I did manage to use the facilities (aka ‘Forest behind the tent’ – TMI!) and stumble back into bed for another 1 1/2 hours of not-so-blissful slumber.  The semi’s in the parking lot next door tend to wake a gal up, but I was too tired to let it really bother me.  Jack emerged earlier than I expected, around 7:45.  He and Terry slept in the same tent as it was “daddy’s turn” to share a bunk.  And our goal for this day?  Why the Delicate Arch, of course!  You know the arch.  It’s the one they use in EVERY SINGLE Utah advertisement.  Oooohhhh, that one!  No need to fully gear-up today as it was going to be quite warm and the park was maybe 5 miles away.  Off to breakfast at Zax for some much needed sustenance and away we flew with t-shirts, shorts, hiking boots and helmets as the day’s attire.  Oh yes, sunblock, too.

Man, what a gorgeous day!  It was going to be about 85 degrees and it was warming up fast.  The breezy ride in was a welcome air conditioner as we rolled our way through the entrance of the park.  Have you ever been to Moab let along Utah?  YOU MUST GO!  You don’t even need to take the 2-wheel transportation, just go!  The pillars and formations, colors and elevations make you feel so, well, insignificant.  You feel like a speck in a sea of giants.  We made the right to head towards Delicate Arch and followed a barrage of cars, minivans (Ick!) and motorhomes to the parking lot.  Jack was jonesin’ for a hike, so we decided to first go to the lookout spot.  Hmmmmm.  We’re pretty far away.  And I see people HIKING TO THE ARCH!  This spot is sooooo not good enough for me.  Come on, kids, we’re goin’ up!  But wait!  There’s a Suburban coming up a washy, dirt road.  Uh huh, you guessed it.  Strap in kids; it’s going to be a bumpy ride!  Terry, unfortunately, is unable to stand on the pegs as he has Jack on the back, but he’s a very good dirt rider so he shouldn’t have any problems staying in the saddle.  I, on the other hand, stood on the pegs and let that back tire squirm and sway with every rock and wash.  Man, what gleeful fun!  Remember, don’t touch that front brake or you’ll pull a Fowler!  Yes, dude, that one’s for you…  I led the ride, down a short wash, across larger rocks, through some sand puddles and finally came to a gate.  Must the ride end now?!?  A truck came up behind us and opened the gate, motioning towards us as if to ask, “Are you coming through, too?”  We weren’t sure what the deal was, but it did appear as if it was public land; they just wanted to make sure that the gate stayed closed when not in use.  Hmmmm.  Time for us to turn around and discuss our plans in the parking lot.  Back we went to the sea of tourists.  After a very brief discussion, we declared, “Fuck it!” and headed back down the dirt trail and past the gate.  Jack was kind enough to hold it open for us.  Quite the little gentleman.  He hopped back on with Terry and away we went seeking out more trail fun.  After about 1/2 mile, we rode up behind some people with their Ford Escape stuck in a very deep wash.  Ha ha!  Suckers!  You just know that car was a rental! It was high centered and not going ANYWHERE until they could dislodge it from the boulder.  The two chicks were outside rocking the top of the truck while the guys were inside doing whatever it is that guys do when they don’t want to get out of the car.  Sometimes it’s just fun to sit back and watch what happens next.  They finally got the truck to move forward and out of my way.  I was practically shaking at the chance to blast down and up the other side, especially when my bike was completely unloaded and light.  Well, 425 pounds light.  Down I went, ass over the back tire, choosing my path wisely, and gunned it up the other side, leaning over the handlebars and shifting my weight, as I got closer to the top.  Nice!  Can we do that again?  Well, we’re going to have to as the dudes got the car stuck AGAIN in another wash!  Way to go, fellas!  Maybe you should let the chicks drive and you can shake the car around.  And here I was, having to make an Austen Powers turnaround in a sea of sand about six feet wide and on a slope.  Forward a bit, back a bit, brake.  Forward a bit, back a bit, brake.  Rinse, repeat.  It took a while, but I managed to turn around.  There really was no alternative.  You mean I get to go down and up the wash again?  WEEEEEE!  So back to the parking lot we went in search of the trail that led to the arch.  I was going to hike there, dammit!  We didn’t ride all this way to pull a Griswold (think National Lampoon’s Vacation and the Grand Canyon scene…did ya get it?)

Up the main road a bit was the sign for the Delicate Arch trailhead.  Water?  Check.  Snacks?  You betcha.  Putting an 8 year old in charge of his Camelbak?  Not the smartest thing to do.  After about 1/2 mile into the 1 1/2 mile climb, Jack declared that his well runneth dry.  Delightful.  My Camelbak was about 3/4 full and had to cover Terry and I.  Now, I was the camel for all three Borden’s.  Time to ration!  No big gulps, please!  And man, you should’ve heard Jack BITCH the entire hike up, declaring, “I’m going to die!  My legs are SO tired!  I can’t do this…..BWAAAAA!”.  Those of you with kids know this tantrum.  You also know you’re ready to put them up on Craig’s List, if only you could get a signal on your fucking iPhone.  I just about left him, but Terry had the right head for Jack’s shenanigans.  I, on the other hand, did not.  This is why it takes 2 parents’ to parent.  Brooke and all you other single parent’s, I bow to you.  I don’t know how you do it.  We managed to lose the trail (idiots) but quickly found it to our left.  It was marked with Blair Witch statues, Ronni!  How did we miss that turn?  With only a little bit more to climb, Jack began to now jump from rock to rock.  Legs don’t hurt now, do they you little @*$&!  But the tears, the screaming, the lack of water was all worth the scene that unfolded before us as we made the last turn.  The arch stood majestically, so much larger than I could’ve imagined.  We all stood in awe for a while, taking in the view, appreciating what nature had to go through to create such a masterpiece.  I, too, was figuring out the best route to get to the arch.  You see, there’s a very sloped, slightly steep, red sandstone curve that you had to trek to get to the other side.  Not many people were doing it, especially after the dude standing next to us declared to all that “There’s a sign down there saying that people have died because they misjudged the steepness”.  Thanks, buzz kill, but I’m goin’ in!  Like I said before, I didn’t come all this was just to look at it.  I needed to touch it, sit under, take it in.

I took my time in assessing the best way to tackle the curve and slope.  Fortunately, I brought my Asolo’s, my most trusted hiking boots.  Grippy.  Terry hung back with Jack while I drank the Kool Aid first.   I made my way around, being careful not to run due to sheer excitement, and reached out with my left hand to touch nature’s gift.  It was worn from years upon years of weather.  It wore varying shades of red as well as yellows and white’s.  It was huge!  I sat under it in its late day shadow, marveling.   Lucky for me, those fools on the other side were too afraid to make the trek.  I welcome a challenge as the reward is always worth the effort.  I motioned for Terry and Jack to join me.  We sat in awe, scanning the 180 degree view of the valley, pointing out the dirt road we had just rode and taking in the visual candy.  Words and pictures will not do this marvel justice.  Guess you’ll just have to go see it for yourselves.  I dare you.

After about 20 minutes of awe, we decided it was probably a nice idea to leave so others could take pictures without our sweaty bodies in them.  Heavy sigh.  Time to leave.  But that’s okay; we were here.  We got to take in a wonder of nature.  Back down we strode, making sure to stay on the trail this time.  As we made our way down, I noticed all the fools who didn’t bring enough water/food/sunblock/babysitters.  Child complaining now?  Wait a couple of minutes.  Good luck with that.  Our bikes welcomed us with toasty helmets and scorching seats.  Time to rehydrate and grab some grub.  After a stop at the visitor’s center for water, we headed back into town for food then back to camp.  But wait!  The night is still young!  A walk for ice cream was necessary after such an accomplishment.  We found gelato (even better) at a local brew house filled to the doors with tourists bearing sensible hairdos and sandals with socks.  Classic.  We finished our gelato OUTSIDE and headed back to camp.  But what is that we spy to our left but a GO KART TRACK!  I’m in!  But let me first set the scene for you…

Okay, close your eyes and think back to Star Skate in the 80’s; carpeted walls laden with black light popping planets and stars, the wall lined with all the latest video games, your favorite song FINALLY being played for all-skate.  Now, imagine if you will, they never, EVER vacuumed, fixed the games or picked up a sponge!  Dude, you should’ve seen this place.  Mr. Clean could retire on this place.  But it all made sense when you met the cat who ran the joint.  He was a tad filthy in a slightly homeless kind of way.  He did have teeth, but only half of them.  No, no, I don’t mean he was missing some; I mean that half of each tooth was rotted and a delicate shade of coffee grounds brown.  Splash in a 5 second delay every time he answered a question and ladies and gentlemen, you have our host for tonight’s festivities!  We’ll just call him Cooter.  Ol’ Cooter had 5 cars total, 3 of them working.  Cooter also thought to hang a fabulous array of Christmas lights around the track.  To start said working cars, well, just think lawn mower.  But hey, for $5 a head, we’re still in!  And Jack didn’t care about the place; he just knew he got to drive a car all by himself.  He led Terry and I around and around, never once crashing his car.  And this kid has his foot in it all the way!  Good boy.  We rode for a good 10 minutes till Cooter noticed we were still there.  Good boy.  We walked out of there laughing, enjoying our experience, knowing there was a great story to be told.  Back to camp we skipped and climbed into our respective tents.  Nighty night.

Morning came too early.  We packed our camp, chatted a bit with the Canada girls, and headed out for breakfast.  With destination Grand Junction, Colorado, on the GPS, we took the road less traveled, twisting and turning along Highway 128.  It was like driving along the bottom of the Grand Canyon.  Terry and I felt puny being as we rode past  mile high walls of rock and sandstone.  We paralleled the Colorado River for most of the ride, honking and giving ‘thumbs up’ to all the long- range cyclists along the way.  But, it was starting to get a bit breezy.  And that statement turned into the understatement of the day!  Once we hit Highway 70, we weren’t but 60 miles from Grand Junction, but dammit, the wind!  We rolled into the Holiday Inn Express just in time.  Not 1 1/2 later, Terry called me to the window to check out the scene.  Was it raining?  I don’t remember seeing that on weather.com.  Nope, not rain!  It was a full-on dust storm.  With trees at a 90-degree angle, a wall of sand and dirt rolled its way across the town, completely eliminating any view of the buildings not 100 feet away.  Man, did we get here in time!

Did I mention why we stayed in Grand Junction?  To see Shane, of course!  Shane is an old friend from back in the day that we haven’t seen in over 10 years.  All of us used to hang in Santa Rosa and jet ski at Lake Sonoma together.  We moved, Shane moved, lost contact, reconnected via FB and BOOM!, here we are rolling through his town.  You know how cool it is to see someone after so long and they haven’t changed a bit?  That is Shane!  Awesome.  He picked us up at the hotel (in the same white Dodge truck he has in S.R.) and we jetted over to a BBQ restaurant, Famous Dave’s.  I decided that we had to order the trash can lid dinner.  Huh?  See, it’s a meal that serves 4-5 people, boasting an array of BBQ and sides, all neatly served in the lid of a metal trash can.  I mean, duh.  How can you NOT order that?  After filling our guts, Shane drove us around Grand Junction, showing the sites and eventually ending up at his place to continue the chat.  Once 9:30 hit, I hit the wall and needed to get to bed.  After he dropped us off, Jack and I headed up while Terry stayed down to continue catching up with his friend.  It was a great night with promises to stay in touch and see each other whenever we’re in the other’s backyard.  Thanks, Shane, for staying you.

Well, folks, there you have it!  Whew!  So much to tell and so few opportunities to put it into words.  Any of you making you plans to flee yet?  Why not?!?   Come on, it’s fun!  You get to know your family in such a different way.  There are a few moments you’d like to hop the next Greyhound home, but those are the moments you need to step back, take a deep breath, and learn how to maybe deal with the person or situation in a different manner.  We all are always learning.  If you aren’t, then you’re doing “life” wrong.  Cheers for now and more to come hopefully sooner rather than later.  Now go!

“Do one thing every day that scares you.”  Eleanor Roosevelt