The Roman Army traveled with less.

*** continued from previous post  ***


I could see that her resolve ran deep. Crap. "That's fine. But if we can't buy the UberBitchin' Tote 9000 with the computer screen/dvd recorder/expresso maker/queen-sized bed, then most of this stuff is gong to have to go." I walked around the stuff on the ground, giving a quick poke here and there with the tip of my cane. "Now, what shall we leave. Hmmm?"

She took a heavy breath and massaged her temples again, only this time much more vigorously, "Look, tell you what. You've obviously got it all planned out in that head of yours. So YOU do what you think is right. Take or leave whatever. I'm going to go back inside and pack the clothes and the other stuff." She turned to walk into the house and paused, not turning around yet addressing me all the same. "Just don't screw it up."

I thought about replying, I really did. But I realized that no good could come of that, and besides, I WON! Sort of. True, there was no Uber Tote in my immediate future but I could live with that. For now.

Mom walked back into the house muttering to herself. I hoped she was being kind, but somehow I doubt it.

Ha ha! Victory is mine, sayeth the David. I rubbed my hands together in anticipation.

Well, if my travels had taught me anything, we needed the tools. So those went in the 'take' pile. Binoculars would be good for the few days we were spending at the Lodge, and you never knew when you were going to see an animal or a waterfall or a UFO or a bikini-clad supermodel that made you want to grab a better look. We would take one rag, and one bottle of windshield/screen cleaner. First Aid Kit, of course. I would allow one pair of gloves, in addition to what we were wearing, each. Sweaters, silkies, hoodies - into the 'leave' pile. Crushed pop can was small and flat, and you never knew when the ground or asphalt would be too soft to support the weight of the bike on the kickstand so that was a necessity. Didn't need no stinkin' maps. The medicines could be pared back significantly and fit well in a baggy - decongestants and pain relievers would suffice. Medical histories probably weren't a bad idea, but I could carry those in the pocket of my coat. The power of attorney was troubling - I made a note to talk to your mother later about this.

Out went the space blankets, candle, fork, and thermos. The food - dear God, we were not feeding the Roman army. I took one package of peanut butter crackers, more as a token of peace than anything. If we were hungry or thirsty it would force us to stop and take a break. That's a good thing. Sometimes when we had the devil asphalt pumping through our veins we would 'push on' way past our limits. So hunger, thirst, bathroom breaks - these were just nature's way of saying 'get the hell off the bike for a bit before your entire body cramps into a pretzel.
What else? There was no way I was taking a wad of napkins that would choke a Hippo. The flashlights were out, I mean, we wouldn't be in the dark so that was just wasted space. No old magazines, no feather duster. The toilet paper. . . I learned that lesson long ago. The toilet paper was a definite 'take'. The intercoms were useless, and should be sold on Ebay. I wear photo-gray glasses, so I was limiting your mother to one pair of sunglasses. I hope she choose a pair with both lenses because if she didn't - well that would just look sad.

A single handkerchief for her neck, and that she could wear or keep in her pocket. The cards were hopelessly fused together, so unless we planned on using them as a weapon they would be better left at home. If we had no cards, the traveling cribbage board made no sense. A stapler? Really? Out it went. Same with the printed maps, umbrellas, hammer, potted plant and flute. The make-up and feminine products would go along for the ride as a peace offering along with one of the hairbrushes.

I stepped back and took a look. Now that was some fine, fine packing right there. I had whittled down the contents into one, I repeat ONE, zip-lock bag. This was going to be easier than I thought.

It was then that Mom began hauling bags out of the house. Garbage bags, paper bags, cloth totes from bookstores, and a brand-spanking new nylon bag stuffed so full it looked like a sausage on a dare.

I started to say something. To point out the inevitable failure brewing. It was about this time that I realized the sane thing to do was to leave. Leave and never look back. I would let your Mom pack the bike. Whatever she could fit in the bags and the trunk was fine with me. I felt bad for her and I had lost all enthusiasm for the battle.

As I began to slink away, your Mom called out to me, "Where do you think you're going?"
"Ummm . . . thought I would take a little break and go grab some coffee. Can I bring you something? Can of pop? Bottle of water? Anesthesia?"

She looked around at the various bags and bundles. "No, I'm fine."

"Okay sweetie, well you just call me when you need me."

"Mm-hmm," Mom murmured, and I could see the gears in her brain calculating the spatial puzzle spread before her.

In the meantime I went to look up some prices online. Perhaps, with the aid of teh internets I could find the UberBitchin' Tote 9000 on sale. You never know.


*** the journey continues tomorrow