New Promo Video!

It's Here!!!

I highly suggest that you buy several thousand copies.

It's the prudent thing to do.

Moose-snot Roost? What the . . .

*** continued from previous post ***


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*** the journey continues ***

Perhaps It Was As Bad As We Thought

*** continued from previous post ***


”Wait a second," Donny said, shaking his head, "ya rode a big-ass touring bike up here?" He glanced around at the ladies. "Pah-don my French girls."

I nod in the affirmative and turn back to Stacy. "It would have been cool any other time, but as you know it was getting dark and the darn thing just wouldn't move, and I don't think it would have been so nerve-wracking, but we'd just had the encounter with the bear . . ."

"You rode a touring bike up here in this weather from Highway 40?", Donny asked, with a bit on incredulity in his voice. "Where did ya stat out this morning?" Calgary?"

I turned back to him, and answered, "Highway 40, is that the one that comes from Carnack? Oh, and we had a pretty long day. We left this morning from Galaway's Bay."

"What bear?" asked the woman that had greeted us originally, whose name we would later discover to be Leeza - not 'Lisa', but 'Leeeeeezzaaa'.

"Well, we were coming up the hill and all of a sudden this huge, and I don't mean to exaggerate, but I do mean HUGE bear came out of the woods onto the road --- "

"Let me get this straight," Donny interrupted, "ya rode a Goldwing sized bike up the Carnack side?" As he said this his voice crept several octaves above the normal register. I took a quick glance to see if perhaps Donny had a 'boy-zone' incident of his own. He hadn't, but he was clearly impressed with our mad riding skills.

"Well . . . Yeah.", I answered.

"And you ran into one of the grizzlies?", asked Stacy, fear tinging her voice.

"Yes," Mom added, beginning to pick up on the vibe that had suddenly taken hold of our small welcoming party, "and another one that . . . kind of followed us along the tree-line for a while."

Mom smiled, looking for reassurance that this was a normal daily event in the cavalcade of fun that was Hidden Valley.

Mom’s description of the 2nd bear brought silence and quickly exchanged looks of panic from the staff.

One of the other people, I have no idea who, piped in. "You rode up from Carnack? In the dark?"

"Where the hell is Galaway's Bay?", Donny asked Stacy.

"It's in BC," I answered, "just across the US border. Above the northwest corner of Washington." I smiled reassuringly at the crowd. "Long day. I guess we did about 600 KM."

Other people, some guests, some staff, wandered in to hear what all the excitement was about. Now the small foyer was bursting with Canadians, and we were in the middle. If this were a Tootsie-Pop, we were the chewy-chocolaty center. There were hushed whispers as people brought the new arrivals up to speed on what all the fuss was about.

"And a moose blocked the road?" Leeza added, as if she were trying to make sense of our story.
"Yeah. For a bit. Which, wouldn't have been too bad, but like I said, it hadn't been that long since we'd seen the bear so I wasn't sure how far behind us . . .", I let my voice trail off. There was really nothing more to add.

Fear bathed the room like cheap perfume at the penny-slots in a failing Casino. Hasty looks were exchanged, but without a history with these people I had no idea of the subtext. I couldn't tell if they were afraid FOR us or OF us.

"Jesus," Donny said and excused himself, "I gotta take a look at this bike," and bolted out of the door into the night.

Silence. Curtains rustled on a night breeze. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled. I could hear the steady patter of water as it dripped off our clothes onto the slate floor.

I had to break the silence, for it was beginning to creep me out. "You guys have a lot of bear up here I take it. Lot of moose. So, this is like normal. Right?"

They stared at us. We stared at them. An old man coughed.


*** the journey continues ***

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

*** continued from previous post ***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*** the journey continues ***

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 ***

The Trap & Knowledge I Should Keep From Your Mother

*** continued from previous post ***


As I look around the interior I realize this may be a hologram.

Beyond the slate-tiled entry is a small room doubling as registration / gift shop. Beyond that another room with comfy chairs and bookshelves. The rest of the Lodge is hidden from our view. From what we can see, however, the exterior motif continues to the interior. Very woodsy. Very outdoorsy. Very parallel-universey. Very Canadian.

Before you can say "The Right Honourable Stephan Harper", a small woman with short, dark hair and a semi-hippy casual look about her springs forth from the woodwork - for I have no idea where else she could have been hiding, possibly another dimension entirely - and rushes to our side.

"Oh, my God!" she exclaims, takes a good look at us, and adds a troublesome, "Urk!", to the end of her sentence. "You made it!"

That's curious . . . she seems overjoyed that we are alive. Mom and I exchange blank looks. This is not the greeting we were expecting. It carried so much more concern than we are accustomed to from the hospitality industry in our country of origin. I immediately became suspicious. What's your game Innkeeper?

"Yes," Mom agrees, but casts a slightly scornful glance my way. "We made it."

"We were all so worried! We were getting ready to send a couple of cars out to look for you!"
"Really?" I ask, with true surprise.

"Oh yes . . . we've been waiting for you all day. On your reservation you said you would be arriving in the early afternoon. And then it got later and later and darker and darker and we didn't know which direction you had come in although since you're riding a motorcycle I assume you came up from Highway 40 . . . well, let's just say that this isn't the area you want to be riding a motorcycle in after dark!"

Concern shone in her eyes and relief poured from her body. And this wasn't fake 'how is your day going?' concern. This concern was genuine. Real.

This emotion, coming from someone we had just met, was disquieting to say the least. What fresh insanity was this? My mind worked like a jack-hammer. It was a trap. No human was this friendly. It had finally happened. They were going to kill us. Or quite possibly they were on drugs. In which case I hoped they would share. And was I imagining it or . . . did I detect a slight Nordic accent? I cast a sly eye about for Viking paraphernalia.

Through the addled oatmeal that was my brain, the phrase 'which direction you came in' stuck in my mind like a stubborn raisin on a spoon fourth time through the dishwasher. What craziness was she on about? There was more than one way into this fourth circle of Hell? And more importantly if this was true how could I keep this knowledge from your Mother?

*** the journey continues ***

Ya Cannot Change The Laws Of Physics

*** continued from previous post ***


Anyway I hope we don't frighten the staff too badly, but I have my doubts. Mom's giving me the willies and I live with her.

Back to our story. The front of the Lodge is exactly what you would expect the front of a Lodge in the Canadian Rockies to look like. Very woodsy. Very outdoorsy. Very Canadian.

We make our way to the front and open the massively planked and wrought-iron hinged door with a rumbling squeak. Soft yellow light spills across us. Your mother sneaks a glance at me in this new light and draws in her breath with a quick sucking sound, for apparently I'm not as dashing as I had assumed.

From the interior of the building a wave of warmth rolls over us mixed with the odors of something wonderful cooking. It sucks out what little energy I have left like a junior Congressmen sucks up donations at a PAC luncheon. I am a leather-clad, three-legged, quivering mound of goo. I have hit the wall and pushed through to the other wall that is bigger and thicker and painted an unsightly color. I am all in.

We stumble into the foyer with our clothes dripping and forming puddles on the slate floor around our boots.

Now that we are inside, I see that the building is much bigger than I'd inferred from the parking lot. I believe this to be true of all Canadian architecture. Somewhere, somehow, these tricky - and extremely affable people have managed to break the space-time continuum and are keeping it a closely guarded secret from their brothers to the south. Fine. See if we bail your asses out next time Hitler decides to annex Quebec!

*** the journey continues ***

A One-Eyed Meth-Addled Monkey

*** continued from previous post ***


Before I describe what happened after we entered the Lodge, it would be best to step back and take an objective examination of how we must have appeared to the outside world.

They say that people's opinions are formed in the first 2 seconds of meeting. If so, we were screwed. Mom was a soggy, muddy, bulbous, pale version of her regular self with the added attraction of dark circles and eyes that were open wayyyyyyy too wide.

I looked way better than she did. I was a soggy, muddy, bald-headed and goateed man on a cane, wearing leather chaps and bulky upper garments.

Protip: A guy that is fairly large and muscular, in his late forties, bald, wearing leather, riding a motorcycle, and walking with a cane garners mad props. Mad props I say! I highly recommend the look. It might be tough for you to pull off, being 22, blond, and a girl, but I think you could manage. No one ever comes up to me and asks what happened, but you can tell they assume it to be a motorcycle-related injury. As I walk past, or pogo-cane-hobble to be more accurate, they cast furtive glances, and try not to make eye contact. I can read their faces. Their expressions say, "How hard-core do you have to be to crawl back on one of those murder-machines once it's crippled you?"

Ha! Works for me. Think they would have the same attitude were they to discover that whomever writes the sorry scripts for this thing we call life had decided I didn't need cartilage in my spine? Arthritis is not a party story. Well, not a fun one at least. Fleeing police at crazy speeds on your bike with a bottle of Rum in one hand, a saber clamped twixt your teeth and a one-eyed mangy meth-addled monkey riding on the sissy-bar flinging poo and flipping off everyone we pass - that is a party story. Discussing the nuances of arthritis is - well, just so damn pedestrian.

*** the journey continues ***

I Have Become French

*** continued from previous post ***


Where was I?

Oh yeah, Mom returned with a suitable rock, and once in place I grabbed my collapsible cane off of the trunk. Whereupon, the spring-loaded demon that it is, once free of its constraining tie, quickly expanded and straightened with a loud 'shooook-CLANK' - - - and promptly thwapped me in the only place on my body that wasn't protected by leather or Kevlar or multiple layers of clothes.

Yes sir, smack-dab right in the boy-zone.

Mom watched me squirm and contort for a minute. "See, every time that happens, it just makes me a bit more thankful that I'm a woman."

That's nice," I squeaked in a gnome-on-helium voice.

”Looks like it hurts."

"Mmmmmmmmhummmmm," I manage.

"Yep, definitely looks very painful."

She shakes her head and gives a little click of her tongue for emphasis as she folded her arms across her chest.

I was able to suck in a partial breath. "Enjoying this, are we?"

Mom looks me up and down. Apparently she has a bit of buried resentment and is blaming me for this day. I have no idea why. It's obvious that she's irrational from fatigue.

"Why no", she says, "No, not at all."

I narrow my eyes and point my finger at her in a grand accusation. "LIAR!" I shout.

Only the 'boys' are still fox-holed and deeply entrenched, so in my exuberance it comes out much like the sound a squeaky-toy makes while being ravaged by a spiteful dog.

"Come on," she sighs, and gently tugs my arm, "let's get inside where it's warm and dry."

I start to protest - just for kicks - but then I fold and follow obediently. I have a small, resilient nugget of attitude deep inside, but that is all. No strength. I have no resistance left in me. I am all wiggly gelatin. I believe myself petulant, but in reality I'm just sad. You see where this is going of course. Yes, I - through the trials and tribulations of the day - have become French.

*** the journey continues ***

Ignorance Is Our Only Defense

*** continued from previous post ***


I straightened up, and small firecrackers went off up and down my spine. I steadied the bike, and allowed your mom to climb out of the saddle. The ground was very soft, so I had Mom look for a large, flattish rock to place under the kick-stand so that the bike wouldn't sink in the mud and tip-over during the night. That would put, what we professionals call, a 'damper on the party'. We carry a flattened aluminum can for just such a reason (HA! You thought I packed it for nothing!), but it was currently residing at the bottom of the saddlebag and it seemed way too much of an effort to dig it out when we were surrounded by rocks that would suffice just as well.

Mom walked a few feet away, and bent to pick up just such a rock. Then I saw a hulking shadow glide through the trees behind her, but thought it best given the day and the current situation not to scream.

I decided, and convinced myself, that this was naught but fatigue and a trick of light. Later, we would discover that it was more than likely one of the many moose that visited the lodge throughout the day. Mostly more than likely. Hopefully more than likely. Yet in my heart I knew it was a bear.

Really - it was probably best that we were clueless.

You know, that could easily be the title of this entire trip - "It Was Probably Best That We Were Clueless."

Yep. That sums it all up. Sums a bunch of things. In fact, I’ve decided that’s what I want as my epitaph. ‘It was probably best that I was clueless’.

You should write that down. That is some deep shit right there.

*** the journey continues ***

An Update On Posting

Well folks, there may be some long breaks in posting over the next couple of months for which I apologize in advance.

My book proof - which looks outstanding by the way - was delivered Thursday morning.

Thursday afternoon I was diagnosed with Stage 1 Prostate cancer.

I'm going to be fine. They caught it early but it means that I have some crap to go through in the coming months so posting bits to the blog - while still a priority - isn't my TOP priority at the moment.

I'm mulling over posting the cancer process on another blog. I haven't decided yet.

I know that there is no good time for cancer, but with the book coming out it could have chosen a better time. I'm busy. I don't have time to be sick.

If you've been following along on the blog, you know that it's hard to keep my humor in check. This situation is no different. I like to think that I'm not really sick - I just have one of those 24 hour cancer bugs that I can't seem to shake.

Here's a hint of my real world: Sitting in the urologists office and having just received the diagnosis, we were going over the various treatment options and the 'down time' involved with each course of action.

I looked at Suz. Suz looked at me. A shared thought passed between us: 'Damn. This is going to seriously cut into our riding season.'

Oh, and as a side note most specialists have NO sense of humor. No humor at all.

Guess I'm going to have to change that, eh?

David

Home Sweet Lodge

*** continued from previous post ***



Not a hundred yards past the sign was the turn-off to the Lodge itself. Here the road was extremely muddy - just mud, no gravel - so we had to take special precautions as we bounced up the small hill into the parking area opposite the building.

The place looked gorgeous - the part we could see in the dusk anyway - and now that safety was but a few steps away the day caught up to us - in a hurry. Every muscle, every square inch of my skin was tender and achy. All I wanted was a hot shower, something to eat, and a clean bed. Your mother wanted the same thing, but also to be more than 6 inches away from me for an extended period of time. She didn't tell me this, but later when I tried to hug her she hit me with her rock. Not hard enough to do damage, but more than enough to get her message across.

Oh your mother - ever so coy and demure.

There were 7 or 8 cars in the parking lot. Well, not cars really, but SUVs and trucks. All 4-wheel drive. No other motorcycles. Fancy that.

I collapsed into a quivering heap over the front console of the bike.

"No giving up now. Let's get someplace warm, shall we?" Mom said with false cheer, framing her sentence not so much as a question but a demand.

"Good idea," I replied from my prone position between the handlebars, "do you want to unpack now?"

"No," Mom said as she pried off her helmet, "let's go check-in first."

"Capital idea, my dear."

*** the journey continues ***

A Journey of Self Discover

*** the journey continues ***


The rest of the journey, thank the Gods, was fairly uneventful.

Except one particular part where your mother leaned forward and said, "Bear. Bear! BEAR!!!"

"GAH", I reply. "GURK", I say, trying to form a word.

"BEAR!", your Mother reiterates, as if this concept needs reinforcement.

"Where? For the love of all that is Holy, WHERE?", I shout, swiveling my head like a possessed Linda Blair. I had no idea it would turn all the way around like an owl. This trip is just one surprise after another. I'm pushing boundaries. I'm testing my limits. When all is said and done, I may need extended care, but for now I'm on a journey of self-discovery.

She pats my shoulder, "Back there on the side of the bank, next to the tree line. It's okay, it just kind of followed us for a while but it's gone now."

"Followed us?"

"Yeah . . . just kind of popped in and out of the trees . . . following us."

Well, isn't that . . . dandy? I have no words left. I just shake my head that I understood.

Five more minutes up the road and I see a sign. A lovely sign. A wonderful sign. It was bathed in a ray of light. Bunnies skampered at its base and there was a blue bird perched on its rim. I may have glimpsed the tall red hat of a Gnome peeking out from behind its wooden supports. (Ha! I knew the brochures wouldn't lie!) It read. . .

"Hidden Valley Lodge. Welcome!"

Mom gives a small squeal and pounds my back excitedly. "We're saved!"

Pfffftttttt. . . . as if there was ever any doubt.


*** End of Chapter 7 - the journey continues ***

Donner? Party Of One?

*** continued from previous post ***


I turned that bike back around like it was a hovercraft on ice. Lickety-split. Easy as pie. Quick as the impending collapse of the US economy.

By the time I was finished, and we were headed back in the right direction, I was panting, aching, steaming, and experiencing tunnel vision. I forgot my name for a few minutes. I had a nice little interlude in my head where the days were warm and sunny and the roads were dry and clear.

Then - BOOM - I'm back on the bike in the Rockies being a moron.

I turn half-around to your Mother. "Let me ask you something . . . if we had stayed there too long, and I know you only packed a few crackers because you tell me every 10 minutes or so . . . you'd have eaten me, wouldn't' you? A little Donner Party of one. Amiright?"

Mom sighs. "Just get the bike moving."

Sage advice that. So, without further ado I put the bike in gear and we are once again hurtling down a rainy, dusky, gravel road towards oblivion.

Things do begin to look up though. The track in the road gets better. I can get the bike up to about 35 mph now. The stretches are long and straight with plenty of visibility ahead. I suppose the area is gorgeous, but at this point I could not care less. I'm dead. Beat. Nearly defeated. But I would never admit that to anyone.

Umm . . . until now I guess.

Dang.

*** the journey continues ***

No . . . You're done.

*** continued from previous post ***


Mom doesn't say anything, but I know she doesn't want to stay sitting any longer than I do. I turn the bars on the bike, brace my feet, and with all of my might push backwards. The gravel slips under my boots and I lose traction but I quickly recover and the bike, the giant that she is, begins to slowly roll backwards an inch at a time. Or a deca-mile. Whatever. Mom usually offers to get off the bike when I'm trying to wheel this baby backwards, but she doesn't offer this time. She knows that no matter what, she's safer on the back seat than standing alone. I strain and grunt, begging the bike to turn far enough that I can straighten the front tire to ease the push. All I have to do is get it backed crossways in the road, then I can ease on the clutch and finish pulling the bike around, pointing it in the opposite direction, and head down the mountain. It all sounded so easy in my head.

Unfortunately, pushing a hella-big bike, loaded with gear, backwards with the front wheel turned on soft gravel during a rainstorm while you are sure that you will be eaten at any moment is not as easy-peesy as it sounds. Before I got the forks straightened out, my thigh muscles were cramping into what looked like lumpy oatmeal. I kept looking at the moose, but she wasn't moving. So, finally I get the bike back far enough that I can give it a little gas and before you know it we are pointed in the direction of Bear Mountain death.

As I sit there, the full realization of what we have to do - to drive back down that treacherous slope in what will be in a few minutes pitch darkness - hits me like a blue-haired lady backing 1980 Lincoln Continental out of a parking stall as the Mall.

We are screwed.

I stop the bike, grip the brake and the clutch, trying to get my nerve up to move when your Mother says - - -

"Hey! The moose is gone!"

Well of course. Of course it is.

"Now we can go!" She says with a voice full of hope that somehow hit me wrong.

‘"Okay. Good. Go we shall. Well, I'll just whip this baby right around and we will continue on our way because it's SO FRICKIN' EASY TO MANEUVER THIS THING!"

Damn you Victory engineers! What the hell about skipping a reverse gear on the Vision sounded like a good idea?

"WHAT A JOY! I WOULDN'T MIND DOING THIS ALL DAY. IT'S A PIECE OF CAKE, IT IS! ISN'T THAT RIGHT MISTER LEGS? YOU DON'T MIND TEARING THE REST OF THE TENDONS FROM THE BONE, DO YOU?"

Mom lets a few beats pass and says, "Are you finished?"

I grind my teeth. "Maybe I am and maybe I'm not. Let's take a wait and see attitude."

"Okay," she says, "well let me help. You're finished."

And then, and I swear this is true, I heard the soft snuffle and grunt of something in the trees.

*** the journey continues ***

Regina Moose - Ritalin Queen of the Rockies

*** continued from previous post ***


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*** the journey continues ***

To My Readers . . and Then The Story Continues

First off, thank you all for sticking with me. :)

So yes! The book will, in the very near future, be available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc.

Did I plug that enough?

However, I'm going to continue to serialize the book on the blog. Eventually I'll put the first 3 chapters available for download from this site.

Why? Because I hate a 'bait and switch'. As a reader this would, to put it in the common, piss me off to no end were I following an author's work only to have them stop part of the way through and say 'Oh hey, you want to read the rest of the story you're gonna have to buy the book'.

So, starting today I will get back to my regular nonsense and keep posting to the end.

Enjoy!

Oh yeah . . . and buy my book when it comes out. :)

David

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

Now, if you'll remember, we were sitting exhausted, wet, cranky and panicked high in the Canadian Rockies with a Grizzly behind us and a moose that was blocking our way to the Lodge.

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*** continued from previous post ***

So we sit there, two idiots on a touring bike in the middle of the Canadian Rockies, with the day dying around us, bookended by an insane killing machine dressed in a bear costume and a moose with a bad attitude. Prisoners awaiting execution have been less nervous. The moments tick by. The gloom deepens. It becomes readily apparent that Mrs. Moose, (It could be a Mr., but for the sake of the story let’s assume it's a female.), is in no particular hurry. Visions of us sitting in the dark, awaiting our death, come to mind.

"Hey, do you have cell phone reception here?", I ask, clinging to some futile hope.

"And just how is that going to help? You want to call the kids and say our last good-byes?"

"Good point."

Mom sighs, "We can't just sit here. This isn't good."

I honk the horn. I rev the engine. I hurl moosey-taunts into the evening air.

"Moose's scientific name is an echo! Alces alces? I've heard better names for Naked Mole Rats!" I squeal. "Moose so stupid she thinks the interwebs are a series of tubes!"

Zip reaction.

"Moose so stupid, they think . . . umm . . .", my mind draws a blank. I need a dynamite ending, and I'm reaching for air. "Umm . . . so stupid they can't use 'self-check' at the grocery store!"

Ha! Recover from that one, oh tall, brown, and lanky one!

"Do you really think that's going to help?"

"I have no idea."

Mom looks up the road, "Well it didn't. So, I ask again, what are we going to do?"

My mind races. "Okay, cross your arms, take my hands, and on the count of 3 throw them up in the air and clap against my palms while we shout, and this has to be in unison, we shout, 'Wonder Twins power activate! Form of a giant sloth!'”

Mom took a long time to answer.

"Did you ever go outside as a child, read a book, play a game, or did you live in front of the TV eating a steady diet of mental drek?"

"Drek? Drek? The Super Friends were, and are, not drek. As to my emotional and mental growth, and general well-being . . . well, that's a debate for another day, my dear. Right now, in case you haven't noticed, we are in, what the professionals like to call, 'a bit of a tight spot'."

"What 'professionals'?", Mom asks with what I thought was more than a bit of sarcasm.

"What?" I reply.

"You said 'professionals'. What kind of professionals would call this 'a bit of a tight spot'?"

Oh . . . now it made sense. It was clear your Mother, bless her little pea-pickin' heart, had been driven to insanity and I knew I had only myself to blame.

I slumped over the console, head to the side, revving the engine, honking the horn, flashing the lights. It was not my finest moment. Perhaps this display of patheticism would prompt the moose to find pity in its big, moosey heart and move on.

The moose looked at us and yawned.

*** the journey continues ***

Well I'll Be Damned

Coming soon to Amazon, Barnes & Noble, etc.