THIS! IS! SPARTA!

*** continued from previous post ***

There arose a mighty din from behind us. Yelling and car doors and possibly a whimper. I had no interest in turning around. I didn't want to see what all the fuss was about. It couldn't be good. I doubt if the bear on the hill had popped into the tree line to retrieve her little hat, tutu, and unicycle to give us a show.

Mom, who had been strangely quiet during this last development leaned forward. "David. Let's get out of here." She cast quick glances right and left, then back to the group of young hikers who were now half hopping, half dancing in a state of modified panic. "This is utter madness."
Oh lord, why does she set me up like this? She knows I can't resist.

"Madness?" I pulled a mighty breath into my lungs and paused for dramatic effect.

"Madness? THIS! IS! SPARTA!" I cried, and twisted the throttle to a roar as we lunged back onto the mushy road.

Mom leaned forward and shouted "What the Hell is wrong with you?"

"Long list or short list?" I shouted back.

"It was a rhetorical question," she said as she sat back in her seat, a remarkable amount of disdain clothed in her voice. Ah marriage. Even after all these years I never knew what was going to set your Mother off.

We rode back to the lodge without further conversation or incident. It took everything I had to plow through the rain and mud but I did so with a genuine feeling of satisfaction. We arrived a bit later at the Lodge. Cold, muddy, and the smell of sweat-fear permeating our clothes like stale smoke from a Rave. But most importantly unscathed, alive, and relatively unharmed. Well, unharmed if you don't factor in emotional damage.

As I stood by the bike, adjusting my cane and putting my gloves away I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. "Hey! Look babe," I said, pointing to the woods beyond the parking lot, "your moose are back! Lucky, huh?"

Mom just shook her head.

Suddenly the adrenaline ran its course and I was exhausted. Legs of lead and all that. Time for a nap.

The question was, would your mom let me in the room?

Time would tell.



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Mission Accomplished!

*** continued from previous post ***

By this time the bear, having no desire to model, had made it over to the opposite side of the road and the base of the gravel bank. She paused there, clearly weighing the pros and cons of snacking. A moving bear is one thing. A stationary bear, and especially one that was having trouble making a decision, was quite another. I eased off the clutch and moved us the 15 feet to the edge of the blacktop.

"Let's go!"

"Okay, okay. Just give me a minute. . ."

The gravel road ran next to a swale. So, from our position we had about 30 feet of gravel in front of us, the width of the road, then a steep drop 12 feet into dense trees and brush. I give you this image so that you'll understand what follows.

As I began to move us away from the insanity, suddenly a hiker popped up the bank and onto the gravel shoulder. When I say 'popped' I mean it. Like he had been standing on a trampoline and took a mighty jump, vaulting himself out of the ether.

This kid couldn't have been more than twenty-two or twenty-three at the most. His eyes were wide - I mean really wide - manhole cover wide - and his hair was matted from sweat making little ringlets on his forehead. One boot was untied and there was mud on his knees and what looked like a nasty bruise blooming on his forearm. He stumbled a few feet onto the road, and then - POP POP POP! Three more hikers followed. Another guy and two girls of about the same age, each one looking like they just crawled off the worst amusement park ride EVER.

"Oh!" I said, because that was the first thing that crawled from my throat. "Y hallo thar."

Some people reach for the bottle in times of crisis. Some to the bible. Me, I'll take a Meme or a LOL cat any day.

The youthful quartet huddled on the edge of the road for a minute, casting furtive glances over their shoulders. The leader - at least I assume he was the leader for he was the first one to scramble up the bank - walked a few paces towards me with a look of utter confusion on his face. Shell-shocked in fact. I couldn't blame him. I mean really, think how it must have looked to them. They come out of the woods in the middle of God-knows-where to be greeted by two people on a spaceship like motorcycle with a tangled mess of tourists behind them. And behind that an agitated lump of muscle, teeth, and claw.

I made eye contact with the leader. He stared at me. I stared at him. He sized up me. I sized up him.

"Bear!" he breathed. His voice was barley a whisper, his breath flowing in delicate little wisps of mist.

"I know!" I pointed over my shoulder, "She just came over the hill and. . . "

One of the girls stumbled over and joined him at his side. "Bear," she said. Although it came out as something between a question and a statement.

"Yeah," I said, "that's why were just about to. . . "

The other couple joined them. Suddenly I recognized the look in their eyes. This was the exact expression that teenage camp counselors wear right before the maniac with the knife ruins their day. If I heard ominous music then I would know we were truly screwed.

The group now milled about the middle of the road, clearly confused as to which direction to make their escape.

"BEAR!" the guy said.

What the hell? Was this a group for monosyllabic hikers? Possibly some support group exercise or wilderness vocabulary training?

"I KNOW!" I said, and again pointed to the bear behind us that had now ambled halfway up the hillside where she paused to inspect a small bush.

"What?" the leader said, confused.

Ah. I must use their language, their syntax to communicate. "BEAR!" I said, craning in my seat and pointing to said grizzly.

The boy shook his head as if shedding a dream. He looked to me, then to the bear, then back to me without a lot of comprehension cluttering his face.

"No," the boy said, "Bear. THERE!" He pointed back over his shoulder to the woods where they had emerged.

Now it was my turn for confusion. "You saw a bear on the trail?"

"Bear." The leader repeated. "Following us." He cast a nervous glance over his shoulder.

In a flash it became clear. We were being rounded up, herded if you will. The grizzles were the cowboys and we were naught but terrified sheep thundering dumbstruck through the woods. I'm pretty sure branding wasn't on their minds as we were now effectively the meat in a grizzly sandwich.

A thought drifted into my head. This might be the time to make our exit, stage left. Then another thought filled my head: right then I realized my quest had been fulfilled. A warm glow of satisfaction washed over me from head to toe. I had seen the mighty Ursas arctos horribillus in all its glory. Mission accomplished. I didn't need to see any more.



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Ah, The Sweet Contridictions Of Life

*** continued from previous post ***

Then it happened. The most astonishing display of human behavior I have ever witnessed played out before our unbelieving eyes.

As the bear walked behind the cars, the couple that had been smiling at me flung open their car doors and jumped out to take a picture. Seriously. With the bear close enough to whack them with her paw should she desire.

Click click. Flash flash. Maul maul.

"Oh my God," Mom said, once again nailing the narrative square on.

I'm no biologist, but I was pretty sure that jumping out and surprising a slightly confused grizzly was a 'bad' idea. This is why you don't see many surprise parties for our Ursal cousins. I imagine it would go something like this:

Bear walks into a dark room.
'Click' goes the light switch.
"Surprise!" everyone shouts in unison.
Then. . . carnage!

Oh sure, there would be apologies later, but that doesn't really help if you've been bitten in two now does it?

"What the hell are they thinking?" I asked of no one in particular.

The bear, now more confused than ever because she had no idea this was a photo opportunity, lumbered away from the back of the cars never taking her eyes off of the couple with the cameras.

I swear, if they'd had crackers they would have held them out and cooed "Pretty bear want a treat?" as they stretched their arms forward to make it easier for this massive death machine to take not only the crackers, but also their upper torsos. And faces. And heads.

You know how you read something in the paper and say to yourself, 'Now just how the Hell did that happen?’ Just like this, that's how.

In a way it kind of made me happy and sad at the same time. Sad because I didn't want to see anyone hurt. Happy for now Mom and I weren't the lowest fruit on the branch if you know what I mean.

Ah, the sweet contradictions of life.


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We're Tail-Lights! Probably.

*** continued from previous post ***

It's amazing how quickly we can recover from a moment of terror. Now that the motorcycle was aimed in a direction that offered escape I relaxed a bit. Not a lot, but enough so that I was breathing again. I glanced over my shoulder at the bear that was looking a little less angry and a little more confused as to what exactly was her part in this spectacle. First she looked like she was going to go back up the hill, and into the forest, then changed her mind and decided to continue down the slope towards the cars and ourselves.

"Let's GO!" Mom said, with no small amount of emergency in her voice.

"Just a minute. We can rocket off if we need to, let's just watch her for a bit. Get the camera. Take a picture. The kids are never going to believe us without factual documentation."

"Are you serious?"

"Babe, when will we get the chance to see a grizzly this close again?"

"That's what Zoos are for," Mom said through clenched teeth.

"Not the same," I reminded her.

"Good enough for me."

"Just one little picture to show the kids, then I promise we're tail-lights."

"Fine. But if I die I'm never going to let you forget it."

"Fair enough." I said.

During out little repartee' the bear, having reached a decision, was now making a beeline for the cars behind us. I increased the throttle, and eased out on the clutch until it barely grabbed, ready to take off down the road in a split-second if needed. True, the gravel was still soft and messy, but I was pretty sure given the circumstances I could set a world speed record no matter the surface.

Mom and I watched as the bear, having finished her descent ambled behind the cars, and when I say 'behind' the cars I mean she could have touched their "Will Hike For Food" bumper sticker with her nose.

Now that the bear was closer I saw just how big she was. She made the Subaru Outback she walked behind, look like a go cart made from lawnmower parts and tinker toys.

Mom had managed to get the camera out of her pocket and I heard her snap a quick picture for posterity. Well, posterity and bragging rights. I was about to take our leave. . .

Then it happened. The most astonishing display of human behavior I have ever witnessed played out before our unbelieving eyes.

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Prison Would Not Do Her Well

*** continued from previous post ***

The whole time that I'm pushing backwards, balancing a five mega-ton machine to keep it upright, and worrying about your mom, I had one eye on the bear. My other eye, in a panic no doubt, had left the scene. That's what I thought at the time, but later realized that I was scrunching my face really hard as I pushed.

I saw the bear pause on the hillside, swaying back and forth on her front legs, no doubt wondering what Fairy Godmother had visited her unannounced and spread a smörgåsbord of imbecilic tourists for her delight and could she finish it all at once or would she have to get a 'to-go' bag?

One more mighty push of my legs and we were clear. I caught a glimpse of a couple inside the car closest to us. A balding man with a scruffy growth of 'outdoor' beard. A woman with long dark hair. They waved and smiled like this was the most ordinary thing in the world. I managed a smile back but it may have been a bit lopsided owing to the fact of a tremendous burst of adrenaline rampaging through my body. You know, that much adrenaline makes me. . . twitchy.

I turned my attention away from my new-found friends, possibly the last people with whom I would ever have any kind of human interaction, turned the handlebars on the bike as far as they would go to the left and continued to twist even after they came to a stop just shy of the gas tank.

I thought maybe I could just keep pushing until matter gave way on the subatomic level and turned the bike inside out, surrendering to quantum gravitational forces that hopefully would spit us out of this Universe like a watermelon seed from a twelve-year old farm boy's mouth. Hopefully to a dimension where there were no bears.

Now, as anyone that rides will tell you, moving a motorcycle with the forks 'locked' in this manner at slow speeds is one of the most difficult maneuvers to accomplish on two wheels. Let me rephrase that - the most difficult maneuver to accomplish. . . successfully. It's quite easy to start that tight circle and then fall over.

However, I was hoping to avoid the whole 'falling-on-the-ground-and-crying-like-a-baby-whilst-being-mauled-by-a-bear' thingee. I know. I put a lot of conditions of life, don't I? I had to accomplish this feat. If not for my sake, for your mom's. She was way too young to go to prison for killing her spouse.

So, I revved the engine, and eased off the clutch as I threw my weight to the opposite side of the bike to counter-balance the turn. To my surprise, and with a 'whoosh!', the bike spun around like a well oiled top and before I knew what was happening we were upright and pointed AWAY from the bear.

This, as Martha would say, was 'a good thing'.


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Where The Hell Is The 'Hover' Button?

*** continued from previous post ***

I tried to look on the positive side. I was grateful there would be witnesses. If I couldn't live to tell the story myself at least there would be others that would share the tale of our passing as a cautionary fable.

We may even eclipse the 'motorcycle hits grizzly' anecdote and become legends of the Rockies. Two Bikers from THE STATES eaten by a bear. It would work on so many levels. It had all the elements. Foreigners. (Which immediately means they are stupid and unaware of the local ways.) Anti-Green. (For we had been riding a loud, gas-guzzling two wheeled death machine.) Stupid. (This would be self evident after we'd been eaten.) Put them together and you have a frame-work for a fine, fine morality tale. Foreigners. Anti-Green. Stupid.

This is not exactly how I had pictured myself attaining fame, but beggars can't be choosers. If my 15 minutes came in the form of a Darwin Award, so be it.

Mom started poking me in the shoulder. First with her finger, then with her whole hand. "Go. Go. GO!"

While this was excellent advice, it was also easy for her to say. She wasn't in control of a huge piece of machinery pointing in the wrong direction. My reflexes kicked in. Without even thinking I pulled in the clutch with my left hand, braced my legs against the blacktop and pushed backwards with all my might away from the bear and away from the tangle of cars.

If I could get enough room I would pull us around in the tightest u-turn possible given the length of the bike and the rake of the forks. As I've told you before usually when I back the bike up like this your mom likes to get off and watch from a safe distance. I fear this is a trust issue but I won’t' get into that right now. I thought she probably wouldn't mind just holding on during this delicate maneuver so I didn't offer to let her off the back. Wise choice. The bike rolled back a bit and I once again braced my legs pushing with all my might.

Sweat poured from my forehead. A few more feet and I would clear the cars. Spaceship bike my ass! Where in the hell was the 'hover' button on this thing anyway?



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That's What She Said!

*** continued from previous post ***

Here, before anything else came to mind, I thought, ‘Self? What the hell were you thinking? You have voluntarily put yourself and your precious bride in danger- once again - all to satisfy some morbid curiosity flitting round your brain. Oh curse you gray matter! Oh curse your inquisitive soul! And while we are on the subject what have the two of you done with my common sense?’

I decided to explain this to your mom so that I could launch a preemptive apology before she saw the bear, saw how close it was, saw the general direction it was loping, and she chose to use any of her numerous weapons to 'teach the idiot that had put her in this situation a lesson'.

Most lilkely stabby-stabby, but it could also be hitty-hitty, pokey-pokey, or my least favorite - burny-burny. I should have never given her that pocket blowtorch for her birthday. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would be used against me. I was thinking a nice crème brouillette. Ah well. It was short, but a well lived life. I opened my mouth to explain the situation to your mom with calm and cool and composure, but what came out was. . . .

"Bear. Bear. BEAR!"

“Wha- . . .” her voice stopped mid word and then her brain digested what I'd said. ". . . bear? Where?" Her head swiveled in a lovely imitation of a woodland owl. "Where bear?"

"There bear." I pointed to a massive reddish-brown mass moving at an alarming gait, which I estimated to be just shy of the speed of light, down the hillside towards the cars, and unfortunately head-on towards your dear old Mum and Da.

"Gah!" Mom said.

So succinct. Such an economy of words. Yes. . . Gah, my dear. Gah indeed!

"Ummm. . ." I said. "MmmmGrrrk!"

Well that's odd, I thought. Evidently my ability to form actual words had been abandoned for a more primitive declaration of emotion.

"Oh my God. . . it's huge," Mom whispered, her helmet clinking against mine.

Without even thinking, and don't think less of me because you have to know this was an auto-response brought on by stress, my mouth opened and out came "That's what she said!"

"What?", Mom asked, genuinely befuddled.

"What?", I replied, staring at the beast, barely conscious of the fact that I had said anything at all.

Life never pauses as it does in the movies so you can take the time to discuss a situation to death. Before we could explore this conversational cul de sac, the bear stopped half-way down the hill. There she stood, surveying the bounty spread before her gigantic jaws in the form of thinly wrapped humans on a motorcycle.



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Now That's Some Old School

*** continued from previous post ***

"Okay, as long as you promise you'll ride with me again once we are back home."

"Honey," she said, squeezing me tighter, "I'd ride with you to the far corners of the globe if that’s what you wanted.” She relaxed her arms and sat up, swiveling her head and looking in all directions. Oh wait," she said, "seems like I already have."

"Cute."

"Yes," she said, "yes I am."

After discussing your Mother's own 'adorability quotient', which, we discovered, was nearly off the chart, I managed to get the bike turned around in the gravel through a combination of prayer and threats. Mostly threats.

It seemed not only had the Elder Gods deserted me but also the more conventional deities. Except for Loki or Coyote. This whole escapade stunk of their work.

With the road conditions deteriorating rapidly in the weather I had to be extra careful on the way back to the warmth of the Lodge. Driving, or trying to keep the bike on such a narrow track for such a long distance was exhausting, so when I saw a sign for "Annaminga Picnic Area", and a fine looking blacktop road going to these mythical picnic grounds it was like a gigantic magnet for the Vision. Oh tarmac! Oh sweet, sweet blacktop! I didn't care if it only went a few hundred nanograms into the woods. For that brief time we would be cruising in the way we had become accustomed before entering these mountains, which is to say, full of sanity and hope. Why there was this lone blacktop road in a sea of crushed mountain didn't even register as a curiosity in my numbed cerebellum.

I leaned back my head and motioned for your mom to raise her visor.

"Look! Blacktop! Mind if I point her in that direction? Just for a bit? Wouldn't it be nice to feel solid asphalt under the tires even for a few minutes? I've had enough of this slip-n-slide."

Mom didn't say anything but she gave me the 'thumbs up'. So, off the gravel we went and onto that loverly, loverly flat-black ribbon.

The road followed a small ravine cut through a hill. Steep gravel banks with small scrub trees framing the road on either side. I hadn't noticed how steep the road climbed but I also didn't really care. A steep slope on blacktop was no big deal. The road rose for probably a quarter mile, or about 76,000 liters, then crested the top and presumably went down the other side. Or, it may have dropped into a parallel dimension which would be. . . AWESOME!

I came to a stop at the turnoff with both wheels on that rich, black path long enough to wipe some fog from my visor and to figure out what the heck was going on with the three cars that were parked hodge-podge at the bottom. It looked as if they'd been dumped out of a bag rather than parked with any thought, effectively creating a bottleneck to the picnic area. They had left just enough room to squeeze around them on the right side, and I was planning my path when I noticed something funny.

I leaned back and spoke to your mom. "Hey honey? Why do you think those cars are full of people? It looks like they are all just sitting there, waiting for something."

Mom peered around my shoulders. "That is kind of weird. Maybe they're hiking and sitting in the cars to warm up a bit?"

This made perfect sense. Although, why they were all waving frantically was beyond me. "They seem quite excited about something." I waved back at them with my gloved hand. "Probably never thought they'd see a bike like this up here in the middle of nowhere."

Mom said, "I'm not sure that's what's going on. They seem to be pointing at us, then somewhere to their right, then back to us."

"Well," I said, "I don't care how much I'd like to further international relations. I'm not going to amuse them by trying to climb a gravel hill on a touring bike. They can just forget that."

Although the thought flashed through my mind how cool this would actually be. Hill climbing on a Vision. Now that's old-school. I was positive I could make it. . . oh, ten feet or so before crashing spectacularly into a twisting ball of flame. The image was mighty appealing. At least I would be warm.

"I don't think that's it," Mom said, swiveling her head to look around.

"Then what the hell is. . . " And it was about that time I saw. . .

BEAR!

Big bear. Huge bear. Angry looking bear.



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Insert Your Insult To The French Here

*** continued from previous post ***

Anyway, we eventually got on the bike and I managed not to kill us getting out of the parking lot. Boo Yah!

100 kilo-yards from the Lodge and all was going fine until we hit the main road. Funny, and I'm just telling you this in case you find yourself in a similar situation, torrential rains on the gravel road had left it - squooshy. Oh, and slick. So when I turned the bike and we hit that wide gravel path the back of the bike wanted to go north, while the front was headed east.

Unfortunate really, because I wanted all of us to go west.

After a few moments that your mom would later describe as 'some crazy slippin' and slidin'', I managed to get the bike fairly upright, mostly upright, and pointed generally in the right direction. The problem was that there were two narrow tracks, the width of a car tire, that were navigable. To either side was soft, soft gravel and certain death. No, I exaggerate. Soft, soft gravel and certain painful injury. So when I say I was careful, you know I mean that I was nail-biting, teeth-grinding, shoulder-cramping careful.

I managed to relax after a bit, hitting the rhythm of the bike and the road. The cold hardly bothered me at all. Hardly. Mostly. The sun had taken a permanent break long before we geared up, and now the day was not only gray but misty again. I suppose it would have been enchanting if I were in a car, with a heater. But alas, I was on a big-honkin' bike with a mesh jacket and a little woman behind me that at the first signs of me being frozen would lean forward and say, 'told you so.'

Still, it was marginally better than staying in the room, and we did happen to spot moose butt slipping into the trees on the side of the road at one point, so. . . not a total loss.

We'd been cruising for a time when two things became apparent:
One - it was beginning to rain again.
Two - the road was getting worse the farther we traveled from the Lodge.
C - I was unable to feel anything below my neck.

I don't know how I managed to steer the bike. I have a theory. You know how they say when you lose one sense, the others become heightened and make up for it? Evidently since my entire body was numb, my psychic abilities had taken over, allowing me to corner and accelerate solely with THE POWER OF MY MIND.

"Honey, why don't we call it a day before you get so cold you can't remember your A B 7s" Mom asked. "Okay?"

What heresy was this? I had not yet seen a bear. Defeat was not in my vocabulary. But I was going to look it up and add it in as soon as we got home because I was really cold.

“Yeah. I guess we might as well. I was just hoping that we would get to see . . . more wildlife."

Mom leaned forward and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, clasping her hands below my neck. Her visor clinked on the back of my helmet. "You mean you wanted to see another bear."

I laughed. "Yeah I did. A little."

Had I been that obvious? After careful consideration I decided that more than likely I had. Subtlety was also not in my vocabulary. Hmmm . . . if you added those two ‘not in my vocabulary’ words together you would almost have a sentence. A subtle defeat. It's one where you lose but no one really notices. That's my kind of defeat right there.

Two. . . three . . . four . . . In this space you may insert an insult geared towards the French with my blessing. Way too easy for a pro such as myself.

"I'm sorry sweetie," she said patting me on the back. "Maybe next time."

See? This is why I adore your Mother. How many women, after being on the journey I'd put your mom through, would even consider a 'next time'. That girl’s got spunk I tell you! I think she's a keeper.



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Arachnid Gangs Traumatized My Youth

*** continued from previous post ***

"Where are we going to go?" Mom asked.

"Well, I thought we would head back the way we came in."

Mom's eyes widened. "If you're planning on going DOWN that hill, count me out. I'll ride it if I have no other choice but not for fun."

"Babe, let me assure you, I have no intention of riding back down that hill. We will turn around long before then. I thought we would ride down to where the meadow opened up. Just kind of take in the scenery. It was a little dark when we came through the other evening and I wouldn't mind getting a good gander at our surroundings."

"Yeah. A little dark AND a little scary."

"Well yes. Prolonged panic does tend to color your appreciation for beauty," I said.
Mom looked me dead in the eye. "Ya think?"

"I wouldn't know of course but I've heard rumors. I have nerves of steel myself. Solid as a rock."

"Yeah, a rock that screams like a little girl from time to time."

"My dear," I say to her, "that's not fear. That's the Tourettes." And here I gave a small 'squeak!' to hammer home my point.

"Does Tourettes make you scream and swoon when you see a spider?"

Gah! How dare she turn my own phobias against me?

"That's just prudent. It's a proven fact that arachnids are driven to utter terror by the sight of a middle-aged bald man yelling and hopping from one foot to the other as he cries for his wife. It's an aggression ritual. Much like the subtle interaction twixt men, I'm simply asserting my dominance."

She looked at me long and hard.

"If that's the story you tell yourself to get you through the day it's fine by me sweetie," she said, kissing my cheek.

Superman has kryptonite. The Green Lantern has the color yellow. Hannity has Combs. And I, although I'm loath to admit it, have a little thing for spiders. It's not my fault. I was traumatized by these eight-legged devils as a child. Rogue groups of spiders would regularly beat me up for my lunch money. Then, to add insult to injury, laugh at my outdated shoes. Spiders have no morals. No compassion whatsoever. Frickin' spiders.


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Paparazzi For All Things Bearish

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As we readied ourselves my pulse began to race. I had it all planned in my head and it was going to be spectacular!

We would ride down the road a bit and there in the meadow, standing not too far, but certainly not too close, would be the majestic Grizzly. Your mom would spot the bear first, and we would stop in the road letting the bike idle.

This giant, knowing that we meant her no harm, would continue on her routine providing us a glimpse into the fascinating world of North America's largest carnivore. Oh, it was going to be glorious! We would snap pictures as if we were Paparazzi for all things bearish. She would pose, a sly look on her muzzle as she turned this way and that, showing off her mighty physique. She would then in turn study us, wondering what manner of beast bore our weight. After both her and our curiosity had been satiated, we would trundle back down the road to the Lodge where we would sup gourmand and entertain our table mates with dashing tales of our ursal encounter.

I could hardly wait.

"Why is your face all flushed? Are you feeling okay?"

"Fine sweetie. Fine. Just a bit of excitement over taking a little ride. I didn't realize it, but I was coming down with a slight case of cabin fever."

"You know," Mom said as she slipped on her leather jacket, "I didn't want to say anything but I was more than ready to get out of our room for a while."

"Then M'lady," I said as I zipped up my own jacket, "your steed awaits." I bowed at the waist and pointed towards the door.

"Why thank you kind Sir," she said and opened the door into the gray afternoon.
We walked the short distance from the Lodge to where sat our baby. Did I detect a quiver, a slight shake of the handlebars as she anticipated release from this flat-gravel prison? I did my best to wipe the water from her seats but the effort was futile. I swiped most of it off, which was drier than it had been in three days, and that would have to do. I started her up, and did a quick inspection of all of the mechanics as I waited for the oil and motor to warm.

Which would be a good thing, because it was frickin' cold. Not just a little cold, I mean really cold - like the temp gauge on the bike was hovering around 50 degrees. Suddenly my mesh jacket seemed a tad on the skimpy side.


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Chapter 11 - Hikers! They're Not Just For Breakfast Anymore!

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We were sitting in the fabulous "Moose Snot Roost" gearing up for what I hoped would be a fine adventure. I hadn't shared my hopes of running across another grizzly with your mom. Why, you may ask? Because I'm a coward. Plus, the disappearance of the animals in the wallow weighed heavily on her. She was becoming more agitated by the minute for lack of all things moosey.

If I've said it once I've said it a thousand times, your mom's heart, when it comes to animals, knows no bounds. I feel the exact same way. Where your mom appreciates them in their natural environment, I prefer them between two slices of bread with some mayo. Yum!

"I mean," she said as she zipped her chaps, "that it's a little weird that yesterday there was a regular moose freeway outside our door, and today nothing!"

”Perhaps it's some high-holiday for our antlered friends. Possibly Rosh HaFauna. The day that God created the first furry, antlered, dewlap-ridden progenitor of the moosey race."

Mom paused mid zip. "Rosh HaFauna. Sure."

"I suppose they could be attending a convention, showing the latest in antler care and musk gland grooming. Or it could very well be that they're running motivational programs and self actualization courses for the lazier denizens of the woods. Like the Martin. Complete louts Martins. Slackers and knee-biters. Or, they could be negotiating a labor dispute twixt the beavers and the mountain sheep."

"That's a stretch, don't you think?"

"Not necessarily," I said. "Moose are known as the "Facilitators of the animal kingdom".
"I did not know that."

"Oh yeah. Granted, they're not terribly good at facilitation, but hey. . . you know. . . moose. What do you expect?"


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Back To The Bike

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Mom stood and stretched. She walked over to the doors to the deck and looked down into the wallow. "You know it's funny. But there still aren't any moose or any other animals using the mud."

Even though I couldn't see her face, I knew that her brow was furrowed with concern. "Do you think they're okay?"

"Who," I said, "the moose?"

"Yeah," Mom replied. "I just hope nothing has happened to them."

I could see where this was going and I needed to divert her attention ASAP. Otherwise, I would find myself on a moose rescue party, beating the woods and brush for a hint of dewlap.

Now I'm not proud of this next fact but I think you'll appreciate where I was coming from.

It was simple - Mom was worried about the moose. I wanted to take a ride and possibly, just possibly, see another bear. If I played my cards right I knew victory was in my grasp.

"Tell you what babe. If the weather holds maybe we'll pop out on the bike - just for a bit, and see if we can't find them. I'm sure they’re around here somewhere."

Mom studied the clouds. "If it's not raining a little trip might be nice."

It was like taking candy from a baby.

I know! I'm a bastard. But a clever one.

Mostly.


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A Bandolier Of Carrots May Be My Demise

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We'd packed a lighter lunch than the day before because at this point in our stay I was dangerously close to not being able to fit into any of the clothes I'd brought on the trip. I tried to convince your mom that my rapid weight gain wasn't due to the massive amounts of food I was consuming, but actually a hold-over from our trip up here. I was simply swollen from the rain. All of the Moore men had a certain sponge-like quality I explained.

She said she would believe that if I took three extra cookies so she wouldn't look like a complete pig. It seemed a small price to pay.

We returned to our room and settled into the morning. Mom sitting in her window, watching the birds and the squirrels, reading her book, and I on either the couch or the bed reaching out through cyberspace to see what I'd missed on Woot.

See, I'd been trying for a Woot 'Bag of Crap', or as we in the know say, a 'Bandilier of Carrots' FOREVER and a simple thing like being in the middle of the wilderness on a wireless connection in a foreign country wouldn't stop me. Shoot, I've sat up for two days straight trying to capture the elusive 'BOC', so this was nothing. As soon as I logged on I knew there was going to be trouble.

"Suz, listen to this. . ." I then played the “Woot Off” theme for her.

Your dear Mother responded much better than I could have hoped.

"Oh, you have got to be frickin' kidding me! You are NOT going to spend the next two days in front of the computer so you can buy a box of broken crap for a buck."

"But sometimes there are good things - nay, great things inside that Bag of Crap! You want me to miss that?"

Here she paused for a moment, and it took me by surprise because I think she was actually weighing the pros and cons of watching me obsess for the next 24 hours. Finally she said, "You can do what you want, but there will be plenty of Woot-Offs to come." Here she paused and took a breath, "Having said that, if you want to spend your vacation refreshing a website every 30 seconds I won't stop you."

Oh damn you Woot! Damn you and your elusive Bag of Crap! How dare you infringe on my domestic harmony whilst on vacation? This called for a strongly worded letter to the Woot staff. A strongly worded letter indeed! Full of large words, and coherent ideas. And rhymes. Possibly some stick-figure crayon doodles in the margins with lots of 'Pew pew pews' and 'Krack!" and "Plonk!!" to illustrate my disdain.

But this was her vacation too, and despite what had transpired since we left home, I really did want it to be a good one. I, against all of my better judgments closed the lid on the computer. "You're right. I must someday learn to break myself from fear-based consumerism. Might as well be today."

Mom laid her book by her side and came over to where I sat on the couch. "Thank you." She leaned over and kissed my forehead tenderly.

"Bah, like I need to spend more time on the interwebs."

Which actually I do because I'm way behind in my thesis on Memes, and whether they reflect a genuine cultural zeitgeist or are simply hilarious. Plus, as I've said before and I know you can relate to this, I REALLY needed to find out if the walrus ever found his bucket. Poor thing. It was haunting me to no end.

Mom sat down beside me. I put my arm around her and she leaned in close to lay her head on my shoulder. We sat that way for quite a while, watching the brilliant yellow sunlight burst over the scenery from our window and then just as quickly fade to gray as the clouds moved in. It was mesmerizing. I have no idea how long we sat like that, but it wasn't long enough.


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Sometimes I Speak In Tongues And Here There Be Monsters

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After they'd gone Mom and I sat alone at the table, marveling at the beauty of the mountains and the setting and thoroughly enjoying our tea and coffee. Especially since everyone else had scampered off to do whatever it was they had planned for the day.

Let's see if I could pull off this next bit with a straight face.

"So," I said, after a few measured beats, "what's up with the paranormal dogs?"

"What?"

"You know," I said, "the Kirlian Bear Dogs. What's up with that?"

"Honey, what are you talking about?"

"You know, the guy whose going to give the talk tonight. The Kirlian Bear Dogs."

Nothing. Blank stare. Not a hint of recognition on your mom's face. It was as if she had no understanding of what I was saying. There are times, not many, but a few when I wonder what happened to the woman I married. To discover such a basic deficiency in her Scientia of Occultus made me sad. Plus, it ruined the joke. Which was much more important. I could see it was going to be a long trip for a short bit of humor but I had nothing else to do at the moment.

"Kirlian. Kirlian Photography. Now, how dogs do it, and how it relates to bears is a mystery. And one that I'm eager to solve."

"Okay," Mom said, "I'll bite. What is Kirlian Photography?"

“Surely, mon petite livre, you jest. How long have you lived with me now?"

Mom calculated in her head. "Thirty-two years. Did you just call me your 'little book'?"

"Possibly. Sometimes I speak in tongues. Back to the point. Have you paid me no attention in all that time?"

"Sweetie," she said, and put her arm around my shoulders, "I tend to scan if you know what I mean. I do listen. But after a while. . . ." she let her voice trail.

I thought about that for a minute. I started to build a fine indignation, a pout of mythic proportions, but then I put myself in her shoes. Suddenly, I knew exactly what she was saying. It wasn't a particularly nice realization.

"Point taken. Well Kirlian Photography was all the rage in the 1970's. I know, you're much too young to remember the 1970's, but for argument's sake let's pretend you do. Anyway, what they did was take a photographic plate, lay an object on top of it like leaf or something, then charge that sucker with high voltage. In the resulting photo the leaf would glow around the edges with a visable aura. If you ripped a piece from the leaf, then photographed it again, you'd see the outline of the whole leaf. Kind of simplified but that the jest of the process. It was suggested that what was being photographed was the 'aura' or 'life force' of the object."

"And you think this has something to do with the talk tonight."

"Well. Maybe."

"About dogs and bears."

"I admit," I said, "it's a stretch. But not impossible. We're off the map here. We are in strange lands." I gave a quick glance right and left and said in a whisper "Here there be monsters."

"Excuse me just a moment," Mom said, and walked over to Stacy who was clearing tables. I couldn't tell what they were talking about because they were whispering. However, they did keep looking over in my direction. Each time they did I would smile and wave like a drunk Prom Queen on the Senior float. I figured your mom was explaining the basic photographic process to her. I supposed any minute they would both come to where I sat, seeking further illumination. They spoke in whispered tones for a long time. After a few minutes they both shook their heads and Mom returned to the table alone.

"It's not Kirlian, it's Kaerlian, and has nothing to do with the paranormal. It's the breed of dog." She looked at me blankly. "They come from Finland."

"Oh," I said. "I see."

"Yeah."

"Well damn it. That's a whole lot less interesting."

"No, Stacy says that it's really is an entertaining talk. He brings a couple of the dogs in with him and he has a ton of pictures of the dogs and various bears from the park."

"Still," I say, trying to hide my disappointment, "it's no study of bear aura, is it? No concrete proof of a universal force." I placed an exaggerated look of disappointment on my face. "The mysteries will have to remain. . . unseen."

Then for emphasis I hummed the theme from the Twilight Zone.

Mom's eye narrowed. "Wait a minute. You knew that all along, didn't you?"

"I know not of what you speak my dear."

Here Mom actually slugged me on the shoulder.

"God. I should have known. Good one there, Mr. Funny Guy."

Oh oh. I had crossed a line. I was being referred to as 'Mr. Funny Guy'. That comes right before 'Mr. Sleep On The Couch Guy', which in turn is followed by 'Mr. Dead In His Sleep Guy'. I put on my best smile. My look-at-how-cute-I-am-and-I-meant-no-harm-so-you-can't-be-mad-at-me smile. It didn't work.

"I want you to get up and walk to the door."

"Why would I do that?" I asked.

"So the entire Lodge can hear me shout 'Dead Man Walkin'!"

"Okay, now that's funny. I don't care who you are."

"It's a good thing I love you so much," Mom said, and leaned over to kiss my forehead.

"Honey," I said, leaning into the kiss, "I count my blessings every day."


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Stupidity Has Done Wonders For My Social Status

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Anyway, Robert and Jackie had seen several local grizzlies in the wild, but nothing you could call close. Although to me, anything that didn't have a 12 inch plate glass window, or a 90 foot trench between me and said bear was 'close'.

Since our encounter was not only very, very close but on a motorcycle to boot I scored extra-bonus man-points. I tell you, it may not work for everyone, but stupidity had certainly done wonders for my social status. We then heard, for the 9000th time in two days, the story of the 'motorcycle hitting the grizzly' with the addition of the ominous "and they were riding a cruiser" spoken in hushed tones by Jackie. I think if she'd had a flashlight she would have been holding it under her chin, shining the light up into her eye sockets and using a spooky voice.

Donny came around with a coffee pot and a tall pitcher of water for refills. He stopped at our table, refilled our cups and glasses, and said "So, David and Suzanne. . . you guys made it out for a ride yet?"

"Funny you should say that Donny. I was just telling Suzanne, oh, every five minutes or so, that it sure would be nice to take a little ride. See sweetie? Now I have confirmation."

Donny laughed and to my surprise your mom chuckled as well.

"I told David that I would love to go for a ride, but I think I'll wait until it dries up a bit. I don't mind riding in the rain if we are out and the weather changes, but starting out in the rain . . . ugh. I haven't rested enough for that yet."

Just then the sun broke through the clouds and painted the meadow, valley, and surrounding hills in the most brilliant light I've ever seen. The grass became neon, the stream a thin line of silver sparkles winding its way past the Lodge. Your mom looked outside, then at me, then outside and back to me again.

"Odd coincidence, wouldn't you say sweetie? I think the Universe wants you back on the bike for a bit."

The timing was so surreal that we all laughed.

"Donny, did you plan that?" Mom asked.

"Oh no. . . don't go lookin' at me. I had nuthin' to do with it," Donny said with a grin. "Now if you gentlemen and you lovely ladies will excuse me I'd better get back in the kitchen before I get into trouble with mah better half."

We sat and sipped coffee and asked what Jackie's and Robert's plans were for the day. They said they were going on a hike up to one of their favorite lakes. If they got back in time maybe a short ride. They returned the inquiry and we told them that we were going to do the same thing we did yesterday - eat, read, eat, play cribbage and nap. They said they thought this sounded like a fine plan and they hoped they would see us at dinner. They then excused themselves and went to make their lunch.


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Oh, I Have Questions . . . Plenty Of Questions

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As the meal wound down, but before we made our box lunches, Stacy walked in and rang a small brass bell to get everyone's attention.

"Hey folks, just wanted to remind you that tonight in the library we have a special guest that I think you'll all enjoy. His name is Randy Dale, and he works in cooperation with the Parks Service to control the bear population in this section of the Park using Kaerlian Bear Dogs. He's worked here for the last 10 years and has some excellent stories to share as well as talk about basic bear behavior and how you can be safe in bear country. He's a great guy and very entertaining! So if you're staying with us tonight I would highly recommend that you come and listen to him talk."

Immediately my interest was piqued: Why would dogs be involved in paranormal photography and how would that help with problem bears? Would they photograph the bear's auras, and then point out spiritual deficiencies? How the hell would you get a bear to hold still, or actually cooperate with something like that? And that begs another question - just how strong are the bears belief in the metaphysical?

Oh, I was going to be at the talk alright. Wild hedgehogs couldn't keep me away. I had questions.

Jackie said, "Oh, that sounds like fun!"

All three of us agreed with her assessment. Our foursome then launched into a lengthy talk regarding every bear sighting, every bear encounter we'd ever had. This was kind of lopsided, because the only good and entertaining bear story of our own had happened just the day before.

Well, that's not true. We once saw a bear on I-90 just outside of North Bend that ran like linebacker towards the freeway - then promptly smacked into a chain link fence, bounced off, and without so much as a pause took off hell-bent-for-leather back into the woods. It was a Three Stooges moment in the wilderness. I can only imagine the bear trying to explain the chain-link fence pattern that was impressed on his face. If he were an adolescent bear, it would probably become fashionable amongst his peers and before you know it a steady stream of black bear would be bouncing off fences all over the Northwest causing biologist all over the region to say, "WTF?"

And who could blame them.



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Where is the $%#*ing BACON?????

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Just then, a minute too late, Stacy and the staff began the breakfast service.

I shan't recount the details because I'm sure you're getting tired of my gustatorial ramblings. Lord knows I am. Suffice it to say that it was all natural, all prime, and all delicious. Still no bacon. Bastards. If this kept up I may have to lodge a complaint.

Come to find out Robert and Jackie, like all of the people we've met in the land of warm beer and cold temperatures, were very nice people. We spent the next hour sharing stories, combing the fabric of each other’s lives.

You would be proud - I didn't even flinch when I found out that Robert was a lawyer. We all make mistakes. I myself have made a few. (I know! Hard to believe but true.) Jackie and Mom hit it off rather well finding common ground in the 'why my husband is a lovable imbecile' thread of conversation. We discovered that they lived in Calgary, rode a good amount, and loved to hike in these mountains. They came for a trip each summer, taking a break from children and work to 're-discover each other'. I had no intention asking them to explain that, as several highly inappropriate images readily sprang to the front of my mind's eye and I was sure one of them were correct. I just hoped it wasn't the one involving badgers.

But chacun a son gout, no? I know you speak Itallian, and not French, but come on. . . a Romance language is a Romance language. Okay fine, I'll translate - People are insane. Wait. . . that's not right. It's 'to each their own' or something very similar. I would look it up but that takes a lot of effort. Before you go criticizing me for intellectual laziness might I remind you that we live in an age where news is fabricated, sources don't exist, and plagiarism is what all the cool kids are doing for fun.

I should be different?


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Oh, I'll Pull The 'Brain Tumor' Card If Needed.

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Well, nothing could change my man-status except your mom.

I may have to pull the 'brain tumor' card from the hat to regain their respect and put the Universe back in balance. I'm not above it you know. Oh sure, the damn tumor is benign, and easily controlled, but really - does that matter in casual conversation? When someone says ‘Hey, I have a brain tumor!’ is the first question you ask ‘Is it benign?’ No. Owing to our dismal public education system the first question you ask is ‘Is it contagious?’ To which, if you have any sense at all, you answer ‘Yes. (cough cough) Yes it is. May I have a sip of your drink?’

But I digress. Back to your mom's question.

"Evidently there is another way," I laughed. I raised my hands to my shoulders palms up, and grinned a grin full of love and forgiveness, "Who knew?"

You know the really bad-ass black-hat gun-slinging poker-player from every Western you've ever seen? Mom's look would have made them tinkle. Where the hell was Stacy with some hydroponically-grown-fair-trade-organic-carbon-footprint-offsetting-bran flakes when you needed her?

Even though Robert and Jackie sat there silently through this exchange, in their heads they were jumping up and down, pointing at me singing ‘Nanny-nanny-poo-poo you're in TROUBLE.

Mom shook her head. "Let's talk about this later."

No good ever came from a sentence that starts with "Let's talk about this later." Perhaps a short solo ride, immediately after breakfast and while there were still witnesses about was in order.

Perhaps I would be lucky and a rogue grizzly would wander into the dining room and mistake my bald pate' for a giant marshmallow. I could hope.

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