tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-548802911248002372024-02-18T22:42:14.510-08:00Biker Chick AdventuresThe stories of a biker chick trying to meet new friends, having fun and maybe finding love. It was about dating, but the novelty has worn off, and now I'm back to writing about riding, because really, is there anything better than riding?Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.comBlogger43125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-24910563621676053092012-11-30T13:49:00.001-08:002012-11-30T13:49:14.892-08:00I'm on a trip to Vietnam to see my son for the month of December. I left yesterday, I think. I'm so messed up with time at this point, I don't know what day it is anywhere. And I'm not even there yet. Here's the story of my trip so far: <a href="http://bit.ly/VjSO1N" target="_blank">Vietnam Christmas - the ride there.</a>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-11658980047267045632012-01-01T19:57:00.000-08:002012-02-03T08:13:54.020-08:00A story about a man and a tattooOn December 23rd, we lost a good man. I know that many people have many stories about Webb. If you want to write one and post it here, let me know. This is mine.<br />
<br />
A long time ago, when I was 19, I was a wicked drunk and made a lot of really stupid decisions. One of those was to get tattooed by some guy at someone's house. And it wasn't a little butterfly in an inconspicuous place. It was a big set of Harley wings in the middle of my back with my husband's name in a banner that descended below the main part of the tattoo. It looked like crap from day 1, and a do-over at Big Joe's in Mt. Vernon, NY didn't help much. Not that guy's fault. There's just so much you can do with a big blue-green blob. Several years later another modification was attempted, this time successfully covering up my now ex-husband's name with a dragon that rested between the wings with his tail extending through the banner below. The name was gone, but I still hated it. And hated it. And hated it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXG-0zKtzzGTQY8cPhNU2rgt4qI_DhGHOoNtVx1kN4txpueBt3WwUCZSdKb4j46uRCZznqXxCe_HsjMxjR2Rsgi5NRBbkpb_YySRB3vcmLmXBEaWSR0FubBiyLHKb46940nu7kU-eWg/s1600/tattooremoval1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXG-0zKtzzGTQY8cPhNU2rgt4qI_DhGHOoNtVx1kN4txpueBt3WwUCZSdKb4j46uRCZznqXxCe_HsjMxjR2Rsgi5NRBbkpb_YySRB3vcmLmXBEaWSR0FubBiyLHKb46940nu7kU-eWg/s320/tattooremoval1.jpg" width="269" /></a></div>Finally, in 2008 (almost 30 years later), I started laser treatments to get enough of it gone that I could get a decent cover-up and be done with it. Damn! That's painful. Seriously painful. The guy I was dating at the time, who was sure he knew everything there is to know, kept explaining to people that it was like someone snapping a rubber band on the affected area. That would have been tolerable. There is no way to describe the pain. And beyond the pain, there's the blistering and oozing that goes on for weeks afterward. Perhaps it's not as bad for that tiny little butterfly in an inconspicuous place, but for a tattoo about 6 inches square in the middle of your back, it's torture followed by the extreme difficulty of trying to bandage a part of your body that you cannot see or reach with blood and puss staining every shirt you wear for a month. I don't think I'm capable of describing just how bad it was.<br />
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In 2009, I was a vendor at the <a href="http://www.realitiesride.com/" target="_blank">Joker's Wild Realities Ride</a>. I was set up near the stage for the tattoo contest. I'd heard that they were having a category for the worst tattoo, with a $100 gift certificate for a cover-up going to the winner. The contest was being run by Joker's Wild Tattoo Studio, and I spoke with the owner's wife about it briefly. With three laser treatments and about 8 months of ink dispersion after the last one, it was clear that I'd tried to kill it and still awful enough that I didn't feel like showing it to a bunch of complete strangers. Vicki, the owner's wife, kept coming by my booth and encouraging me to enter. I finally did. As expected, everyone was thoroughly disgusted, and I won. Yay! The only problem now was that $100 wasn't nearly enough to take care of the problem, and I didn't have the cash to make up the difference. I took my certificate and the plaque with the fake dog turd and went on my way.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMVbE6zALV83CzSFDE9ipU2wGCYygeERXUlOQYSiPrIZiS0LmKw0f4oQljZm0u5jsq3tWdLc7PsXyz3S9YsStPCKHhyphenhyphenl2P4IKxxuLWYSwHFJUaToicpEyNz3g9xa6W0R-TU9T0NM4MIw/s1600/actual.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="173" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMVbE6zALV83CzSFDE9ipU2wGCYygeERXUlOQYSiPrIZiS0LmKw0f4oQljZm0u5jsq3tWdLc7PsXyz3S9YsStPCKHhyphenhyphenl2P4IKxxuLWYSwHFJUaToicpEyNz3g9xa6W0R-TU9T0NM4MIw/s200/actual.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">After the first session</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The following spring I had enough money to get the cover-up. I gave Webb a call and went down there with a printout of what I wanted done. As I settled in for the next two hours, we got to talking about motorcycles and riding and God and riding and seeing as how he was an old biker and I was an old biker chick, we talked about riding and partying back in the day. And riding and spirituality and bikers and God. Webb said more than once, "A pretty girl shouldn't have an ugly tattoo."<br />
<br />
I was leaving for a cross-country trip on my bike the next day to go see my newborn granddaughter in Vermont. Webb said it would be fine as long as I could keep my new tattoo dry on the trip. Of course I completely forgot about that when I went to jump in the hot tub in Illinois or Indiana or Iowa or wherever that was, but I jumped out as soon as I remembered. Vicki and I became friends on Facebook before the trip, so she followed my month-long journey online. I came back for another session on that tattoo and stopped by to chat from time to time. I visited Webb where he was tattooing in Sturgis that year, my first year in Sturgis, and crossed the street to chat with Vicki at a job she was doing there on Main Street during the rally.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii1tifoJ-eMhXYtrkdIZnmU026IBCnhkCk_6e1vtv-2p4mFdsJ5oa3eKhyphenhyphenbnxRPihatSUVJ_6QtGqcVEpzbgmBwMUHE2m4GIFDzOIaHrJXH_xaMfoF_iuAZ4Kth0U8qjK0MOrmyNghOQ/s1600/cherryblossoms.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii1tifoJ-eMhXYtrkdIZnmU026IBCnhkCk_6e1vtv-2p4mFdsJ5oa3eKhyphenhyphenbnxRPihatSUVJ_6QtGqcVEpzbgmBwMUHE2m4GIFDzOIaHrJXH_xaMfoF_iuAZ4Kth0U8qjK0MOrmyNghOQ/s320/cherryblossoms.png" width="320" /></a></div>Webb ended up getting injured at a hotel in Deadwood that year, and tattooing became extremely difficult for him. I went to Webb and Vicki's 25th anniversary party in April, and just before I went to my writer's workshop in Aspen in June, I asked Webb to enhance a tattoo I've had on my upper arm for 20 years. He whipped out some gorgeous cherry blossoms with an amazing depth that weaves between the Phoenix on my shoulder and the Pyong Ahn symbol on my upper arm. It was one of the last tattoos Webb did. His injuries and subsequent treatments sapped the life out of him. He'd been tested for cancer and was fine, and in the blink of an eye he had cancer everywhere. From the time he was diagnosed to the time he passed was less than three months.<br />
<br />
Because my work is very slow in the winter time, and I don't have family around here or any other holiday commitments, I've been able to help Vicki out quite a bit. It's been heartbreaking, but I'm glad I've been able to be there for her. I've been praying a lot for her, and I hope she'll be able to see the light, the good in life, before too long. If you'd say a prayer as well, I'd appreciate it.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-15918223999748796222011-12-12T19:34:00.000-08:002011-12-12T19:34:53.236-08:00Joe16 - truth is stranger than fictionI wasn't going to write about Joe16. I hadn't even considered him Joe16. But when he asked me today during lunch if I was going to write the story, he became Joe 16. I'm pretty sure he doesn't even know about this blog (he will). Not because I was hiding it but because I was so over it. However, even though it turned out to be a fail, it's a good story that should be told. <br />
<br />
We met in a way that is how people should meet. In other words, it wasn't some lame online dating site. My most excellent friend FINALLY got a motorcycle after going through the training and getting her endorsement a year or two before. Yay! She wanted to ride her Buell Firebolt to church, but she has three kids, and she didn't feel confident taking one on her bike. I don't blame her. Her husband was taking the little one, I got the middle child, and they called another guy in for child #3 (or #1 really - he's the oldest). <br />
<br />
I had recently published my book (<a href="http://shovelhead-redemption.com/" target="_blank">Shovelhead Redemption</a>), and the guy and I talked a bit about it, mostly about the fact that we both have a couple of decades of sobriety. We went to church, and while the guys were sitting along the wall, my girlfriend and I sat at a nearby table. At one point she leans over and says, "Ya know, Joe's a really nice guy."<br />
<br />
"Just sayin?" I ask.<br />
<br />
A smile. So the gears start turning. I hadn't considered going out with the guy up to that point, but there was no good reason not to consider the possibility. The day went on, a couple of weeks went by, and eventually we ran into each other at church again. This time we exchanged phone numbers, and I texted him the next day to see if he wanted to go for a ride.<br />
<br />
Things took off pretty quickly. Too quickly. He said that his life was in a strange place and he wasn't going to be in top form for a relationship. I felt that was Ok. I wasn't going anywhere. He could take his time and get into whatever place he needed to be when he got there. So we continued on. He brought up his hesitation once again, and I asked why he considered me to be a roadblock to where his life was going rather than a positive force to help him get there. He didn't deny it, but I could tell he wasn't buying it either.<br />
<br />
We were seeing a lot of each other, and he was being far more thoughtful than just about any guy I'd ever dated, been engaged to, or married. Then almost overnight, everything changed. He came in and made a statement that hurt me. Logically I felt like it shouldn't have hurt me, but the way it came out didn't sit well with me. Long story short, it ended with him telling me that he didn't like me as much as I liked him and me telling him to make sure the door didn't hit him in the ass on the way out - or something like that. I was really hurt. Yes, he'd said he was in a bad place, but he hadn't said he just wasn't into me. He didn't act like he wasn't into me. I was angry. He wanted to be friends. I wanted him to suffer. There was no way I was going to let him off that easily and be friends. That may have worked for every other woman he dated or married, but it wasn't going to fly with me.<br />
<br />
While we had been dating, Joe16 had spoken many times about wanting to get a commercial drivers license (CDL) and get a job with an energy company. He'd picked up the book to study for the permit, and I'd downloaded another copy of the book onto his computer. After we split up, I started thinking that maybe a CDL would be a good thing for me since I'm really sick of being totally broke every winter. I don't want to go back into an office, so getting a CDL seemed like a great idea. When Monday rolled around, I talked to some folks, got a book, went to the DMV, studied while I waited in line, and took and passed the test. The next day I went for my physical and got my permit. I couldn't wait to rub his nose in my good fortune. Take that jackass!<br />
<br />
Within a week, an incident with a different friend of mine got me very upset. Joe16 was the best person to talk to about what had happened, and I broke down and spoke with him. I hadn't planned on discussing my latest career move, but I had to say how funny it was that I had thought I was put in his life to help him, when it was actually the other way around. How ironic.<br />
<br />
I went to the school to find out when I could start the CDL training, and I was told we needed another student. I thought I was getting in on the training grant because I am a woman, but it was actually for anyone who wasn't working. I immediately called Joe16 and told him to haul his butt down to the urgent care for his physical and over to DMV to test for his permit. In addition to the CDL training, they also put us in backhoe training, which is where we were today when he asked if I had written about this.<br />
<br />
So I thought I was put in his life to help him, then realized he was there to help me, and then I ended up helping him. I've enjoyed spending time with him today at training. I like him. He's a good man. I'm OK that we aren't in love. It's a little bittersweet, but it's OK. Tomorrow we actually get to dig up some dirt with the backhoe. Wicked cool!Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-15799268950409392682011-12-12T18:33:00.001-08:002011-12-12T18:34:42.464-08:00Jericho, the Car<h3 class="post-title entry-title"><br />
</h3><div class="post-header">Wow, it's been a while since I posted here. What's interesting is that Joe - I think he's probably 16 - asked if I'd written about this really strange thing that's happened between us. I'm not sure he even knows about 50 first dates or where he thought I'd write about it, but this would be the appropriate place. However, before I do that, I have to post this story about Jericho.</div><br />
I wrote this story in June when I was at a workshop led by <a href="http://www.ericajong.com/" target="_blank">Erica Jong</a> in Aspen. It was an awesome week with some really incredible women. This story was an assignment to write about anger. As with everything else I wrote, everyone ended up laughing a lot, and Erica said that Jericho was a metaphor for me. Ouch. Maybe my love life. Definitely my love life. After this, I'll post the "truth is stranger than fiction" story of Joe16.<br />
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<b>Jericho, the Car</b><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhccnRkuNeLOO9EI1n-3T9KpYaCTlzYuBOxeRuQPXyiHwDrs6TQZTS-jR2-ntILlvJ_K-8uowDfp0tcHUN4cMPr4V51LBkwvtC1zPG6-AmtegF6-SXXlQXA6yuTYhx9Q6saw4SdRk6OIuE/s1600/jerichoplain.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="72" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhccnRkuNeLOO9EI1n-3T9KpYaCTlzYuBOxeRuQPXyiHwDrs6TQZTS-jR2-ntILlvJ_K-8uowDfp0tcHUN4cMPr4V51LBkwvtC1zPG6-AmtegF6-SXXlQXA6yuTYhx9Q6saw4SdRk6OIuE/s200/jerichoplain.png" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Even though I've vowed not to borrow the car again, I'm picking it up. It isn't really clear whose car it is. Joe put the title in my name so he wouldn't have to pay the fee for late registration. I'm not sure how the state can justify charging a late registration fee when it's 2010 and the last time the car was running was in 1994, but they do. So I had the title to this big brown piece of garbage, but I signed it back over to Joe when I left him in January. It didn’t seem right to keep the car. Besides, Joe is a hoarder of anything that runs, and I know that if I kept it, it would be like kidnapping a beloved child. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’ve named the 1980 Dodge Aspen station wagon Jericho. Jericho is the name of a television series about a small town in Kansas that has survived 23 (plus or minus) atomic bombs detonated throughout the United States. I think this car, that runs without computers or electronics and is large enough to live in, would be extremely valuable in a post-apocalyptic world. Until then, it just sucks. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">The car has been nothing but trouble. Sometimes the gauges work. When they don't, I usually run out of gas, hence the gallon can of gas in the back of the wagon. Sometimes the turn signals work. When they don't, I'm flailing my arms out the window trying to get people to figure out what my directional intentions are. I have a toothbrush in the glove compartment that I stick in the carburetor if the car won't start. I've finally learned that if I want to be on time while driving this car, I need to start 15 minutes earlier than I would have if I hadn't sold my perfectly reliable Toyota Corolla at Joe's insistence. No car payment seemed like a great idea at the time. Now I'm just mad.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Joe is a great mechanic, but it seems he doesn't want to fix the car completely. I've determined it's his way of getting me to keep coming back. I want to buy another car, but my credit sucks, and since I have my motorcycle, I refuse to be raped by the "Buy Here, Pay Here" jackals. It's six months until winter. I'll have my finances straightened out before then. But summer has been slow in coming during this crazy Colorado spring, and I need a car. It's raining. It's going to be raining for probably the next week, so I'm going back over to Joe's to pick up Jericho. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I get the car and even pay to have the oil changed since Joe couldn't get around to it. As I'm heading back to the high plains on county road whatever, the windshield wipers quit working. I break the law and text my friend Amy while I'm driving to tell her about the latest failure. Amy doesn't speak poorly of anyone, but she's become fed up that Joe can't manage to fix the stupid car so that I'm not risking my life every time I drive it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I keep heading toward my home, the ranch-hand's house wedged between the crops and the cows. About the time I reach the field of Longhorns on the north side of 34, I notice that the heater isn't working any more. Rolling up to an intersection frequented by fast moving semis, steam is flowing from under the hood. Ahh, that’s why the heater quit working. I ignore it. I've got two miles to go. If I pull over here, I'll die. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’m approaching the intersection a half a mile from my house. I’m almost there. Oh come on! The car has quit running. There’s a spot next to the stop sign where there's a wide spot in the road, and I manage to get the car in that space. I jump out, not bothering to put on the emergency brake since, well, it doesn't work. Just as I reach for the hood of the car, it starts rolling backward in a large, perfect arc. The tractor-trailer that was turning down the road I was on stops to view the scene while I throw my hands up in the air. I’m done with this car. I’m just done. Executing the perfect parallel parking maneuver, all on its own, the car gets wedged alongside a barbed wire fence, a good ten feet below the road surface. I call my landlord. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Hey Brad, it’s Abby. I managed to get this piece of junk off in the ditch. Can you come down with the tractor so we can roll it, end over end, back to the house?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Are you all right?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Yeah, I’m fine. I wasn’t in the car.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“How’d it get in the ditch?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Ummm... I’m going to call a tow truck too.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">As I’m calling roadside assistance, Brad shows up with Junior in the flatbed. Junior’s driving because Brad’s had a few cocktails by this point. Despite my extreme frustration with the car and anger with Joe, I appreciate Brad’s tipsy sense of humor.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Hey Abby, I’ll go get the tractor and dig a hole and we can just bury it right there.” He doesn’t realize that I would love to do just that. The tow truck comes and with considerable maneuvering, the car is out of the ditch.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">I finally get Joe on the phone and tell him to come get the pile of scrap metal. I'm angry. He doesn't get it. I've tried to tell him I don't want the car anymore, but you'd think I'm telling him that his son is a loser. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">"Don't condemn the car!" He yells when I tell him it belongs in a junkyard. "It's not the car's fault." </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 12.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; tab-stops: 28.0pt 56.0pt 84.0pt 112.0pt 140.0pt 168.0pt 196.0pt 224.0pt 3.5in 280.0pt 308.0pt 336.0pt; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">Of course my deductive reasoning kicks in, and since it's not the car's fault, and I'm the only one driving it, he must feel it's my fault. He keeps saying it's my fault that I run out of gas in it, that I have some aversion to buying gasoline, despite the fact there’s a leak in the gas tank and no gauge. Somehow it's my fault that the thermostat failed, causing the hose to explode. Apparently it's my fault that the stiff clutch and lack of power steering makes my body hurt, I have to put water in the radiator every time I drive it, and I can't get the monstrosity to start without popping the hood and shoving a toothbrush in the carburetor. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> A month later, it’s back. He says he’s really fixed it this time, but for me, that statement has joined the other list of great lies that include, “The check is in the mail.” Once it’s parked, I never manage to get it started again. A month later, Joe shows up and tells me I flooded it. I find it hard to believe that the gas I pumped into the carb a month before is still in there, but I refuse to discuss it, because I know I’ll blow a gasket of my own. </span></div>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-18296666895330752562011-02-24T09:38:00.000-08:002011-02-24T21:51:45.363-08:00Bigger and better things<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0BtCE13CBOIMAYKGXZHW1BUN6hLdqBO7jkoDgdRlSGFqIxeDrWsbQ4s1IQHEZJOKqGDkN4aD8RsZmIacN1gb3dSOdpAIq3aGUrgLIN1iJ70MqS1OEoue2YLWkmJmzy6KdY2Bw2XLyyg/s1600/alien.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0BtCE13CBOIMAYKGXZHW1BUN6hLdqBO7jkoDgdRlSGFqIxeDrWsbQ4s1IQHEZJOKqGDkN4aD8RsZmIacN1gb3dSOdpAIq3aGUrgLIN1iJ70MqS1OEoue2YLWkmJmzy6KdY2Bw2XLyyg/s320/alien.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture from the Daytona trip - no, it's not Daytona</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I know I've said I'm done before, but I really am now. If all the old sages are right, that means I'll fall in love now and live happily ever after. I don't want it though. Everything's just starting to get good. The plan is coming together, and the plan does not include a love life.<br />
<br />
I left the corporate world almost exactly two years ago, within a day or two. I was planning on leaving the job a month or two later, but I wanted to ride to Daytona for the women's MDA ride, and I didn't have any vacation time left. The only logical thing to do was to quit my job. That trip will go down in history as <a href="http://bit.ly/66OIWi">"The Daytona Trip"</a> although Daytona never made it into the picture. My write-up glosses over some truly Hellish relationship experiences. Why I ever chose to talk to that man or date anyone again after that trip is a mystery. Ever the optimist I guess. <br />
<br />
It's been a sparse two years. The settlement I got last year after getting run over on my bike in '08 helped pay for the last two years of limited earnings. My left hand will bother me forever, but at least I got a sweet new paint job on the bike and haven't had to find full time employment. I am now managing a training site for <a href="http://www.abateofcolo.org/">ABATE of Colorado</a>, which allows me to schedule myself for whatever classes I want to teach. It's one of the perks. I'm busy taking care of business, which includes promoting the site so I have classes to teach.<br />
<br />
Last summer I put together a swap meet at a local biker bar, <a href="http://www.hideoutpatiobarandgrill.com/">The Hideout</a>. It was very successful. That's if you count success by the number of people who showed up and not by how much money I made. I have a whole series planned for this year - <a href="http://danger-curves.com/events.html">Third Sunday Swapmeets</a>, and the owner of The Hideout has agreed to invest in promotion since I did manage to get a good crowd there. Some of the promotional materials have come in, and I'm getting ready to send out packages to vendors. They start in May and go through September, but the extra big one will be in July when the ABATE District 3 event will be held there.<br />
<br />
Through my work as a District Representative for ABATE in northern Colorado, I met Linda McCartney. She is the owner/editor of <a href="http://www.thundercolorado.com/">Thunder Roads Colorado</a>. Motorcycles, writing... I'm all over that. In fact, if you follow the link, you'll find one of my articles on the front page of the website. I'm writing and selling advertising for the Fort Collins area. In addition to that, Linda and I are collaborating on a non-profit with a very exciting project in the works. Once I get the website up and running, there'll be an announcement. Stay tuned!<br />
<br />
The undercurrent running through all of this is the book I've been working on forever. I thought that being self-employed would give me more time to write, but I spend a lot of time trying to figure out how to make money. I took a week this fall and locked myself in a hotel room in Salida to do some writing. OK, I went horseback riding one day, wrote at the riverside park another day, headed up to the Coyote Cantina near Buena Vista and wrote another day, and made an afternoon trip to the top of Monarch Pass a couple of times. It wasn't quite as monastic as I made it sound. I did get a lot done, and I've recently found a place to post a portion of the book for comments and criticism. I've had some great reviews, so I'm very excited. <a href="http://shovelhead-redemption.com/">Shovelhead Redemption</a> is what I plan on calling the book. Of course if a publisher wants to buy it and call it something else... I guess I'll have to consider that.<br />
<br />
Even now, I need to get working on the logo and website for the new project. I have a class to teach this weekend. I want to finish the book. Where does dating fit into this? Nowhere. And that's fine by me. Besides, when speaking with Linda about this blog yesterday, she mentioned that it was funny. It was funny, but around Joe10, I lost my sense of humor. I will keep up the blog, and if a date or two finds its way in here, then so be it.<br />
<br />
The Internet is a great place to get numbers, but blind dating is unnatural, be it Internet or through friends. I know a lot of people have been successful, but I don't like the immediate unspoken assessment that's going on at first meeting. I think it was Joe6 who started telling me all the reasons why we shouldn't date as soon as we met in person. He had his checklist, and I wasn't passing. Had we met at an event in person, we might have become friends and valued each other, even if we never ended up dating. It ended badly, which was disappointing. I know I've been quick to judgment myself. It certainly hasn't brought out my best qualities. <br />
<br />
I better get to work.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-31447029336377847002011-02-12T22:36:00.000-08:002011-02-12T22:37:15.416-08:00Joe15 - I'm done<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpPss82JEpfyiO30JWMh1h7ekNgOSDpmy7yGF1-xZRGXb7oLzZgu9sfN_jdD89ab6S5cm-sEmvzg2rU6osTUccGcg2u8M69EMmeARumbE1RWIFmWcioWiAIVDIlbzr_zAhsKQMcp6Bg/s1600/horsetoothbike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpPss82JEpfyiO30JWMh1h7ekNgOSDpmy7yGF1-xZRGXb7oLzZgu9sfN_jdD89ab6S5cm-sEmvzg2rU6osTUccGcg2u8M69EMmeARumbE1RWIFmWcioWiAIVDIlbzr_zAhsKQMcp6Bg/s320/horsetoothbike.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Horsetooth Reservoir - a much needed breath of fresh air</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I'm really over Internet dating. I hate the interview process. I hate the false hopes. I hate how people can totally misrepresent themselves. If I'd met Joe15 in person, I probably would have thought he was a nice guy. No. Let me be perfectly honest. I never would have spoken to him.<br />
<br />
I haven't gone back to look at his profile again, but I should. It would be helpful to know if I... I just did. No, I didn't read anything into it. He looks at least 10 years younger in his picture. It also clearly states that he loves to ride and goes to Sturgis all the time. Riding is one of three interests of his. Despite the fact that he said he's a good ex-husband and supports his ex-wife (because that's what he committed to), I gave it a shot. We decided to meet on Saturday morning for a cup of coffee. I picked 11:00, because I was hoping that the driveway would be cleared of snow and ice by then. He wasn't sure if his bike would start.<br />
<br />
It turned out that he was walking over because his son borrowed his truck. That was fine. I thought I was going to have to drive, but about an hour before I needed to leave, I went out into the road and picked a path that would get me safely out to the main road. I was going to ride. Yay! I left early because I still hadn't washed the bike since getting caught in the snow. I rode over to JJs and gave it a quick rinse, then I pulled it over to dry it. I texted Joe15 to let him know I was early and took off for the restaurant.<br />
<br />
I never would have picked this guy out as the guy in the picture. He was wearing expensive Harley jewelry. I don't want to eliminate someone altogether because of jewelry, but other than a wedding ring or a watch or maybe a cool bracelet (thinking of Dana's chrome chain bracelet or William's tire-looking bracelet), I'm not crazy about jewelry on guys. Not big gaudy stuff anyway. It looks like the guy is trying to show that he has money in an incredibly tasteless way.<br />
<br />
The money. He told me about all his successful business ventures and properties he owns around town - and how his ex-wife owns half of everything. He talked about motorcycle trips. He seemed surprised that I'd only been to Sturgis once, like that was the mark of a real biker. He rarely looked me in the eye. He's looking for a long term relationship, but he doesn't want to get married. There's a big surprise.<br />
<br />
We got through it, but nothing clicked. When we walked out, he came over to my bike. He said he had an '04 Springer Softail. He asked if mine was a Wide Glide. How does one mistake a Softail for a Dyna? How? I get not being able to nail the modifiers, as in "Heritage" or "Custom" or "Fat Boy", but how do you not see that there are no visible rear shocks and the frame tapers down to the rear axle.<br />
<br />
He proceeded to say that he was thinking about trading his bike in, but he'd be lucky to get $12,000 for it after putting $25,000 into it. I commiserated, saying I'd be lucky to get $5,000 with all the miles I have on mine. I asked him how many miles were on his. 6,000. Yes, this biker has 6,000 miles on his '04 that he bought new. He mumbled something about trailering the bike to Sturgis with the RV while looking away. I got on my bike and left.<br />
<br />
I know that some people don't ride as much as others. Jobs, family, health issues... stuff happens. But 6,000 miles in over 6 years? Again, that's OK if you aren't into riding as much as I am, but for goodness sake, do not try to pass yourself off as a biker on a dating site. I supposed there are women out there that would love to dress up in their biker best and drive up to Sturgis to play pretend badass for a week. It isn't me.<br />
<br />
I'm done with Internet dating. I want to meet friends in places I normally go, doing things I normally do. I'm sick of the posing, the interviews, all of it.<br />
<br />
Time to go to bed and get some rest for a Valentines ride tomorrow. Whoopee!Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-72196175875389294952011-02-12T21:47:00.000-08:002011-02-13T07:14:48.038-08:00Back to it - Joe14: Ape Hanger HaterThis is exactly why I was doing this. Joe13 has a lot of great qualities. He's an amazing mechanic. I'm leery about some of the aspects of Joe13's lifestyle, even though I'm confident that if/when our country descends into anarchy and/or complete financial collapse, Joe13 will be just fine. The positives about Joe13 well outweigh the negatives, but I can't live with the negatives. (edited to add - while they are negative to me, they may not be to others. I want to stress that he's an awesome guy. Love him, just don't want to live with him) I thought it was my lack of trust - no, my total fear of trust - that caused the doubts, and I didn't want to lose such a great guy. So I crossed the line from dating to long term relationship. Exactly what I didn't want to do. Or not that I didn't want to do it, but I knew I shouldn't. I don't know why it's so easy to see looming pitfalls in someone else's life but not in your own. If you figure it out, let me know.<br />
<br />
So here I am again. I wasn't planning on dating so soon, or ever again really, but an e-mail came through on Plenty of Fish, and I clicked. I initiated contact with one guy, and I heard from a few others. Then I turned my profile back off. I managed to date a couple more Joes before getting totally disgusted with online dating once again. Here they are.<br />
<br />
I'm not positive of the time line, but will run with what I've got. Joe14 and I IM'd for a bit one night and spoke for quite a while the next. While he was easy to talk to, there was a conversation about my handlebars that gave me great insight into the man. I can't remember how we got onto the subject, but I told him I had ape hangers. He was quite opinionated about them. I told him that I too once ridiculed ape hangers, but after a short conversation with <a href="http://k99.com/show/charley-barnes/">Charley Barnes</a>, I decided to give it a try. I don't write a lot of dialogue, so bear with me while I recreate the conversation...<br />
<br />
When I took my bike over to Charley's, he was thinking about a photo on Facebook when he said, "I thought you had ape hangers."<br />
<br />
"No. That picture was taken by a guy with ape hangers. I'm riding in front of him." <br />
<br />
"That would be really badass."<br />
<br />
"Yeah, it would."<br />
<br />
So thanks to Willie at Righteous Ride in Greeley, I got a smoking deal on the bars and cables I'd need and gave the ape hangers a try. Not too long after, I took off on my 6,000 mile trip around the country. LOVE them. Love them, and I look badass. <br />
<br />
Well number 14 couldn't handle that. He threw up several reasons why ape hangers were bad. I had an answer for all of it. I told him that I had felt the same way before I tried them, but at a reasonable height, they really were comfortable and completely safe. He could not give it up. He was trying to tell me that I was wrong about how I felt about my handlebars. Whatever.<br />
<br />
We were going to meet at his business the next day, but I had other things to do. I made it over the day after. He has a successful business, and it's a cool one. In the hour or so that we talked, he repaired several items. He clearly knows what he's doing and is well respected in his field. He was easy to talk to. By the end of the conversation, we were speaking pretty openly about what we were looking for in our relationships.<br />
<br />
My profile says I want to date. He said he doesn't need another friend. He also said he isn't interested in getting married again. This led me to the conclusion that when a guy in an online dating forum says he wants a long term relationship, that means he wants sex without commitment. Dating would be hanging out. Marriage is a commitment. Long term relationship means you've gotten past the intro and are now sleeping together. <br />
<br />
I like friends. I love my friends. I enjoy riding and playing games and eating out with my friends. I definitely want to be friends with a guy before going "long term." Wink, wink. But you know what? I don't want to cook meals, sacrifice my valuable time, be concerned with someone else's welfare, maybe even help out with kids or grand kids, and give a guy a piece of ass without a freaking commitment. Sure the idea of a live-in housekeeper who meets all of your needs is great. I'm not selling that feature. We can hang out and become friends and see where it goes from there, or you can kiss my ass - figuratively, of course.<br />
<br />
Anyway, we had a lot to talk about, but I felt like he saw himself as the ultimate keeper of all information in the universe. He also has two sons who aren't even teens yet, one of whom was at the business that day because he was "home" sick. When Joe14 called me the next day on his way to work, his son was still with him. He said that the school wouldn't allow him to send his son back. Really? I know things have changed since I was a parent of a school-age child, but since when does the school determine if the child is well enough to go to school. This is on the heels of a couple of days off because it was too cold (0 for a high). I started to say that schools are really going overboard on protecting kids when the phone went dead.<br />
<br />
I was busy. I know he was busy. I didn't bother calling back. Neither did he. I texted him a few hours later and said if he wanted to call later, that would be fine. I guess he didn't. That's OK. Actually, that's good.<br />
<br />
Next!Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-59980793144915413202011-01-19T18:29:00.000-08:002011-01-19T18:29:04.035-08:00Seemed like a good idea at the time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrU6Uo-S94L0ZPh-6KzNUdKZ8pLwKw1H0nyq9Rt21HltRWSkTYWq-aDS3HhNtCQK4fmtGAJ1Pa6_nIuxGy9-ggiRDv1u20QUI6eFcumoXlaoWnwq1ZaPSOCjoKWmffDQHmlUFNvSDXMA/s1600/snowday2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrU6Uo-S94L0ZPh-6KzNUdKZ8pLwKw1H0nyq9Rt21HltRWSkTYWq-aDS3HhNtCQK4fmtGAJ1Pa6_nIuxGy9-ggiRDv1u20QUI6eFcumoXlaoWnwq1ZaPSOCjoKWmffDQHmlUFNvSDXMA/s320/snowday2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span id="goog_1273286603"></span><span id="goog_1273286604"></span>I recently moved into a new place. I had my motorcycle at Joe13's shop until I could get it to the new house. The problem is that the snow doesn't melt well in the driveway and the part of the road leading from the garage to the main road. Thanks to the warm Chinook winds of the last couple of days, the driveway was finally clear. I hadn't planned on moving the bike over today, but when I went upstairs from my basement apartment, the woman who owns the home I'm living in was dressed in leathers and was going to take a ride on her Deluxe. The thought immediately flashed through my mind that I could bring my bike home today.<br />
<br />
I called Joe13 to ask if he'd be able to follow me back home and bring me back to his place to get my car. All good. As I left the house, I noticed some scary looking clouds to the north. Thankfully I was heading south. I stopped at my friend's coffee shop on the way. I wasn't there five minutes and noticed that the sky had become very dark. I figured I should get moving, and when I walked out the door, the snow had started. I called Joe13 and asked him to be ready because of the snow. He insisted it was a beautiful day where he was, not more than 10 miles south - if even that. Although it was starting to snow, I was confident there'd be light flurries with no accumulation. Maybe a little cold, but nothing serious.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSfyldW1Tlyt5CzhaouIlWFChgTF1AGLzz-k_03y0u0459STDuwpb_sxm63GiWhqO7MyzLA69jgm3IW216nJRxSL2mMnooThh3RomDZObtVg-DiwYeppB5vN7Yhvs-qMuspWEZRdFN2A/s1600/snowday3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSfyldW1Tlyt5CzhaouIlWFChgTF1AGLzz-k_03y0u0459STDuwpb_sxm63GiWhqO7MyzLA69jgm3IW216nJRxSL2mMnooThh3RomDZObtVg-DiwYeppB5vN7Yhvs-qMuspWEZRdFN2A/s320/snowday3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>When I got to Joe13's, the flurries had followed me. I raced to put my gear on, pulled the bike out, and got on the road. Joe13 had decided to take the car, and I noticed he wasn't right behind me. I knew that he had a general idea where I'm living now, but he hadn't been there yet. The temperature was dropping fast, and the snow was now blowing across the road. I don't think I'd gone two miles before one of the lenses on my sunglasses was frozen over. My plan was now to get home as quickly as possible, and I'd call Joe13 and tell him how to get there.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvZq5FllhUqASAnYFtxR150LGQJ6Eg0aLfnPpCRTaB8ZpLxR4svZjnxjPhu12jY5hZ2VSxmpRyFqc4X402MJEaD7JyqH5Je7asf6ZG1GqFBzTnx4IhwIqyTNHfiDuSA9uVMx7fUbnp3w/s1600/snowday6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvZq5FllhUqASAnYFtxR150LGQJ6Eg0aLfnPpCRTaB8ZpLxR4svZjnxjPhu12jY5hZ2VSxmpRyFqc4X402MJEaD7JyqH5Je7asf6ZG1GqFBzTnx4IhwIqyTNHfiDuSA9uVMx7fUbnp3w/s200/snowday6.jpg" width="200" /></a>I turned north and realized I was now riding in a blizzard with visibility of maybe a quarter mile. When I turned east, I could see further ahead, but then I was riding with a hard cross wind. Snow was starting to accumulate in the center of the lane. I'd given up trying to clear the right lens of my glasses and was happy with the one good eye. When I started north again, I was losing visibility in the remaining lens. I couldn't tell if it was general visibility or my glasses. This was when I started praying. Seriously praying. I was staying in the track of the car in front of me and hoping that the road wouldn't freeze before I got home. I was praying that the left turn lane I would be using up ahead wouldn't be frozen up. I wasn't far from home at this point, but I could barely see, the snow was piling up, and I was concerned that I'd missed my window of opportunity with a clear driveway.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqGsXl7V9ARQdGpXrNmd80peUR10Sd66pEZfVeBqqHGRmSv0hTephPdhd5ZxB6Q_weGgK7Mvnk41hcVwK1-rrUDsiL7q3SwnINnE4i4KIvEtnKAG7B6wp8uPfcxI1Sw9fs-sZonXW6Sw/s1600/snowday5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqGsXl7V9ARQdGpXrNmd80peUR10Sd66pEZfVeBqqHGRmSv0hTephPdhd5ZxB6Q_weGgK7Mvnk41hcVwK1-rrUDsiL7q3SwnINnE4i4KIvEtnKAG7B6wp8uPfcxI1Sw9fs-sZonXW6Sw/s320/snowday5.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
I was stressed with the left turn. I was counting on any oncoming cars to have their lights on, because if they didn't, I wouldn't have seen them. More prayers. Made the turn, made it around the rotary, and then came up on the house with a nice slick coating of snow on the driveway. I walked the bike up the driveway under power, with the rear wheel sliding from side to side. I stopped at the garage door and went inside to get some help. Before I moved another inch, I wanted someone there in case I started to drop the bike. Fortunately it didn't happen, and my bike was home.<br />
<br />
I'm really thankful I made it safely. I think I'll check the weather report before heading out on a dark January day. Seemed like a good idea at the time.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-58382698296351154402011-01-16T22:18:00.000-08:002011-01-16T22:18:56.192-08:00Good bye, Electra Glide in BlueDear Jeff,<br />
<br />
When I got the e-mail from Dave this morning, my heart was broken. I hurt for Dave. I prayed for your family. And I kicked myself for thinking that since we were geographically so close and have a few friends in common, I could meet you in person any time. I was going to wait until your battle with cancer was over, but it never occurred to me that it would be anything other than a win for you. I'm so sorry.<br />
<br />
I remember your post about Rattlesnake Reservoir. I didn't make it up there to write that time I said I was going to, but a little while later I rode up there with some friends. I didn't know that's where I was going at the time, but when we got up there, I recognized it from your pictures. When weather permits, I'll ride back again and maybe grab a pebble or something to keep in my saddlebag - something to carry with me to keep your memory on the road with me. You also wrote a really cool piece about me and promoted my blog. A lot of people came to my site through yours, and I really appreciate it. I am honored.<br />
<br />
Dave told me that you and your wife loved the quilt I made for you. I'm glad. I wanted you to have something to comfort you through your chemo treatments, and I thought that having the quilt with all of your friends' signatures would do that. I was a little concerned that you might find it to be a sissy thing, but after what Dave said and a couple of years selling quilts at the Denver swap meet, I've come to the conclusion that the only bikers who don't like quilts are those who have never been loved by a quilter. <br />
<br />
And speaking of Dave, thanks for talking him into moving up this way. Our district is so blessed to have him as an officer. He's such a great guy to have around. I remember when he and I rode up to Copper Mountain for a meeting and you posted on my Facebook asking if I was taking care of your brother. I'll try Jeff. I'll do my best to be there for him during this very sad time. I know he's going to miss you greatly. <br />
<br />
So goodbye Jeff. I know there are many people out there who will feel the loss.<br />
<br />
From my heart,<br />
<br />
Abby<br />
<br />
<i>Jeff Mashino was the author of Electra Glide in Blue, a motorcycle resources blog. Jeff just lost his battle with a rare form of cancer. You can read Jeff's blog <a href="http://www.my68flh.com/">here.</a></i>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-37654631137550463682010-12-14T05:27:00.000-08:002010-12-14T06:45:01.906-08:00Flying at Christmas - You can't go home again<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYvgDeAy4EGfgS3K0Xk0zf-HP6CU18PEfKdjulR12ECYwOSuhTVKvaY6r8LEDOIEiuntpbALwArJ7Ya6qTR4wz5rxIdeby0wVkSsYMGhCN9p6LpQa6iwO7w1dvqAVkf4KBIof5rPFOGA/s1600/airport.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYvgDeAy4EGfgS3K0Xk0zf-HP6CU18PEfKdjulR12ECYwOSuhTVKvaY6r8LEDOIEiuntpbALwArJ7Ya6qTR4wz5rxIdeby0wVkSsYMGhCN9p6LpQa6iwO7w1dvqAVkf4KBIof5rPFOGA/s320/airport.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Detroit Airport </td></tr>
</tbody></table>I never did finish that novel by Thomas Wolfe, but as far as I got, I can see how that would happen. With my book, I'm not too worried about going home again. No huge secrets being told or nasty comments. But that's not exactly the kind of home coming I'm talking about. I traveled to New England to see my grand baby once again, only this time I was flying.<br />
<br />
No big deal, right? Eh, I started home yesterday about this time, and I'm still not there. In fact, I'm now west of Denver waiting for my complimentary hotel breakfast at the airport Quality Inn. Bad weather caused my flight from Burlington to Detroit to be delayed about 3 hours. That meant I sat in the Burlington airport for 5 hours. This, of course, caused me to miss my connection to Denver. Using my new iPad in the Burlington airport, I changed my reservation to take me to Salt Lake City and then to Denver, arriving around 9:30. Only four hours later than my original arrival time. No big deal.<br />
<br />
By the time we landed, I had to walk what felt like five miles from the farthest gate in concourse C to the farthest gate in concourse A, and I had about five minutes to do it. Moving sidewalks helped, but it was a long way, there were huge gaps between the conveyor belts, and I wasn't wearing great shoes for walking. I arrived at A73 sweating and almost panting, desperate because there was no plane at the gate. Yes, despite the announcement on the screen in the terminal that said the flight was on time, it was actually going to be another two hours before that flight was heading out. I wasn't the only one that was happy, irritated and exhausted all at the same time. Another wait, and another check to see if I was going to make it to Denver. Nope.<br />
<br />
I talked to the guy at the gate, who had one of the most soothing voices I've ever heard, but there was nothing else leaving Salt Lake City, and he wasn't promising anything. That's fine. At least I'd make it to my time zone. We finally boarded, and I was sitting in the middle seat with a woman and her nine-month old baby boy next to me. The guy in the window seat found a seat next to his wife a few rows back, so I was able to move over, and we had room for the adorable young man between us. Pre-granddaughter, I might have been really tense about the situation. But while I have the most beautiful baby granddaughter in the world, this kid was easily the cutest baby boy in the world. I know his mom was concerned, but I was perfectly happy with playing with him. Besides, there was free Internet on the airplane. How cool is that? I even found an app for my new iPad that allowed me to text my sweetie (Joe 13) in Colorado and let him know I probably wouldn't be making it home.<br />
<br />
Sure enough, I was not making it out of Salt Lake City. A man at the gate told me where to go to talk to other Delta agents. As soon as I walked up, they asked if I'd missed my connecting flight. Yes. She asked for my boarding pass, so I handed her my phone with the boarding pass that had been texted to me in Burlington. In less than a minute I had a voucher for a meal, a hotel room, and my new boarding pass for the first flight in the morning.<br />
<br />
With my $6 meal voucher, I hit the Burger King in the airport. I was the last person there, and the guy cleaning up looked as weary as I felt. Probably even more. When I got up to leave, I left a buck on the table. I know it wasn't much, but having worked for minimum wage plus tips, not too long ago, even a simple dollar can be greatly appreciated. I know it isn't customary to tip at Burger King, but I wanted to know that despite my long and frustrating day, I could still be a thoughtful person and maybe make someone else's day a little brighter.<br />
<br />
I was so happy to see the shuttle show up to take me to the hotel. It must have been apparent. The driver told me that I was the first person he'd seen smile all day. Again, I felt good that I hadn't let the trials of the day cause me to be a dud, like a burned out Christmas light. Instead I was the only bulb lit on the string. A group of three people got on the shuttle with me. They were a generation ahead of me, plus one, but they also rode a motorcycle in better weather, and we talked about motorcycles and rallies on the drive to the hotel. When we got there, I wanted to tip the driver, but all I had was my last five dollar bill. I was hoping to see one of the other passengers pull out a wad of bills so I could ask for change, but nobody was reaching into their pockets. What the heck. I gave the guy my five. It's Christmas, right? I don't have a ton of money, but being able to amuse myself with my new iPad and MacBook and Droid phone on my way across the country, it's hard to feel like I can't part with five bucks for a guy who has obviously had a really rough day for very little pay.<br />
<br />
The hotel itself was a little rough on the outside, but my room was nice. I spent too much time on the phone with Joe13 when I realized that I had to get up before five to get to the airport in time. I enjoyed my nice hot shower in the morning and packed. Again, I chose to be thoughtful to the person who's probably making minimum wage cleaning my room. I always try to put all my trash in one can in the room. I piled the used towels on the closed toilet seat so it's one less time the housekeeper has to bend over, and I threw away my unused portion of soap. It isn't much. It doesn't take a lot of time. But it does make that job just a little easier.<br />
<br />
I suppose my time last winter working for minimum wage, working harder at nastier jobs than I've ever had, as given me a new appreciation for the people who are stuck doing those jobs their entire lives. Sure the economy sucks, and we have less money and less security than ever, but that's when we need to have compassion. If we can afford to travel or eat out or text on our Internet-enabled phones, we can afford to show a little Christmas spirit to those we don't know, regardless of the time of year.<br />
<br />
--------------------------<br />
<br />
Now that I'm at the gate. I thought I'd add my piece about airport security.<br />
<br />
<b>Denver at 8:00 am on a Thursday:</b> Large airport, never stopped moving, no screening out of the ordinary, didn't see much of anything crazy going on.<br />
<br />
<b>Burlington at 10:00 am on a Monday</b>: Small airport, lots of TSA agents with not much to do. While there were only about 10 of us there, we all got special treatment. I got tested for bomb-making residue, which was totally non-invasive. My bag got a thorough inspection. I think it was the 3 pound block of Seriously Sharp Cabot Cheddar cheese that made them suspicious.<br />
<br />
<b>Salt Lake City at 6:30 am on a Tuesday:</b> Large airport, although not quite as large as Denver. Longer wait just to get to the part where they check your boarding pass and ID. I had to do the thing where you stand on the two yellow footprints and raise your hands. They show you a picture of the detail they'll see. I'm glad I don't have a penis. I just hope my bra was doing its job. Again the bag search and the block of cheese. This time they were interested in what looked like a wrench. Yes, I carry a 10mm wrench wherever I go. It's my rabbit's foot. If you read my cross-country trip blog of three years ago, you get it. If not, you'll have to wait until the book comes out. Anyway, I might hold off on the wrench for the next trip, but I'm sure I'll need it to loosen and/or tighten the nut on a battery if I leave it at home. After much consideration, they decided the wrench wasn't a threat, thankfully. It's my best 10mm wrench with the ratcheting box end.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-60299354555689729102010-08-25T20:15:00.000-07:002010-09-26T19:33:17.436-07:00More fun with Joe13<div class="entry-content"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrymhr3AuXFRjWD8K52QTuYiGMs-LLZtH2_IT7wmNQ-0_gD1B5DNX1iUbuEB-HNSUMwroFUTV07YW58doMpbR6fAgaqvivYVS_QPWnuQrzImu2G2OcONXamxAxe1qi-OnfZWxONQuK8A/s1600/flathead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrymhr3AuXFRjWD8K52QTuYiGMs-LLZtH2_IT7wmNQ-0_gD1B5DNX1iUbuEB-HNSUMwroFUTV07YW58doMpbR6fAgaqvivYVS_QPWnuQrzImu2G2OcONXamxAxe1qi-OnfZWxONQuK8A/s320/flathead.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Joe13 has an impressive collection of motorcycles. A couple of the more late model Harleys he rides regularly. His '46 Flathead has been registered continually for a few decades, but it hasn't been on the road for about a year. As with anything, especially a 64 year old motorcycle, it needed a little coaxing.<br />
<br />
When Joe13 rolled the bike out of its resting place, it needed a little work. Since he can do anything in his shop, this wasn't a problem and didn't take long. However, the kicker gears are just about shot, and because it had been sitting for so long, Joe13 pulled out his homemade... I don't even know what to call it. I would not have believed this "tool" existed nor safely worked had I not seen it in action. And in reality, I didn't see it work, because using the tool was a two-man process, and I was the second man (person). That probably makes even less sense. Let me explain.<br />
<br />
While expecting Joe13 to be rolling out the bike, he took off to the back yard and pulled a small pickup truck around to the front of the shop. Thinking he was suffering from a severe case of shiny object syndrome, I kept my mouth shut and waited to find out what project we were working on now. It was then that he pointed out this strange steel contraption on the floor of the garage. It was about six feet long and two feet wide. Mounted on it were two large rollers running the length of the... thing. I'm still at a loss for what to call this.<br />
<br />
Joe13 had me back the truck up so that the right rear wheel was positioned between the two rollers. He chalked the front wheel of the truck. Then he pulled the Flathead out and placed the rear wheel of the Flathead between the two rollers. He told me to drive. I was sure he was going to die. But he didn't. The truck tire got the rollers moving, which then got the Flathead's rear wheel moving. Within a few seconds, the Flathead roared to life, having been push started without any crazy running around of human beings.<br />
<br />
Maybe you've seen something like this before. I never have. Joe13 made it himself many years ago. While it does require two people and a truck, if you live in the country on dirt roads without any downhill slopes from the shop, or if you and your friends are just plain old, it's a valuable tool.<br />
<br />
Having started the motorcycle, Joe13 took it for a quick spin to clear out the cobwebs. It ran amazingly well. When he got back, I asked if he'd take me for a ride. It had been twenty years since I'd ridden on the back of a rigid frame with such sparse accommodations, and I wanted to reminisce. With the rear footpegs being only about six inches below and six inches in front of my seat, it required a bit of effort to get situated. I reached between my legs to wrap my arms tightly around Joe13 while he took off. It was awesome!<br />
<br />
We rode into town, Joe13 using the suicide clutch and tank shifter as though he'd done it all his life. He's ridden that bike on the street since he was 15, so he has done it most of his life. It was dark at this point, with the moon poking out of some stray clouds, and as we passed the old drive-in, I felt like I was living a <a href="http://www.davidmannart.com/index.html" target="_blank">David Mann</a> poster. Riding like that came back to me quickly. Wanting to shift my weight without throwing off Joe13's balance, I waited until he pushed down on the clutch and the bike slowed slightly to move my butt forward a little on the p-pad. I loved it when he leaned back and threw his left arm over my knee. I smiled when I considered that if I'd seen another woman riding on the back of a bike like that, I'd have been extremely jealous.<br />
<br />
We got gas. Joe13 went in to pay and told me to pump. I took the cap off the right side of the tank but noticed the word "oil" stamped in the tank under that cap. There was oil in there. I replaced that cap and filled the left side with fuel. We took off back for the shop, losing power along the way. The spark plug wires had seen better days, and it was time for a replacement. Despite that small maintenance requirement, the bike ran great. The 99 degree August day had cooled to a pleasant 75 degrees and was finished off with an unexpected ride on a true antique motorcycle. Life doesn't get much better than that.</div>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-78450863355930168082010-08-10T08:47:00.000-07:002010-09-26T19:27:09.434-07:00A quick Sturgis trip with Joe13<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcaPHSd2Fdgg9MzKqQOR6EudiKY0DOUyY9jkU8OQJRvtkjUmWl-tYdg9uOFmEPFbSRiJNJkBWa3dZlFWTN0rO7VgdJ1dWaYuVxRl2rYQcK6E2P0V8d4PGNfzaauk6Jw_iHk4rT6MZdvA/s1600/Sturgisnight.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcaPHSd2Fdgg9MzKqQOR6EudiKY0DOUyY9jkU8OQJRvtkjUmWl-tYdg9uOFmEPFbSRiJNJkBWa3dZlFWTN0rO7VgdJ1dWaYuVxRl2rYQcK6E2P0V8d4PGNfzaauk6Jw_iHk4rT6MZdvA/s320/Sturgisnight.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Last year I wrote about a trip to the Black Hills during the last week of August. it was a beautiful time to be there. Not only were the motorcycle crowds gone, but almost all the tourists had left, leaving some great riding in perfect weather. This year I decided I'd give the rally a try. Having never been to Sturgis during rally week, I figured I'd go for a day to see what I was missing. I'm glad I went.<br />
<br />
I'm glad I went early. Sturgis officially started today, August 9th. I rode up with a friend on the 7th and back on the 8th. It was a last minute decision to go, so no plans were made. We left Loveland before noon, and with a detour to my favorite quilt shop in Hill City, we got to Sturgis just before sunset. We hit Main Street, parked, and walked around for a bit, stopping to visit Webb from Joker's Wild in Fort Collins tattooing at the <a href="http://www.thetattoocellar.net/" target="_blank">Tattoo Cellar</a>. Cell service in Sturgis is terrible, but I was able to text a friend who told us to meet him at <a href="http://www.fullthrottlesaloon.com/" target="_blank">Full Throttle Saloon.</a><br />
<br />
We figured out how to find Full Throttle and headed out. When we got there, we parked next to Geico's Dyna Drags trailer. My friend loves motorcycle racing, so we hung out and watched. They wanted people to race, which was $30 for three runs, plus you got a t-shirt and print-out of your racing statistics. I'm not sure what made me think it was a good idea, but I thought it looked like fun, and I wanted to see what my bike would do. I paid my $30 and went for it. I was the first woman of Sturgis 2010 to race on the dyno. Nobody went while I was there, so I did it alone. I say alone, but the crowd got pretty big. The guys running it were hyping it up, and someone was filming the whole thing. I was nervous, never having done this before, but I had a blast. My last run was 13.25 seconds for the quarter mile, with a speed of 107 MPH and 71 horsepower. Wow! I was so excited all night that I couldn't sleep.<br />
<br />
Oh yeah, sleep. We had made zero plans for a place to stay. Someone told us about a campground a little way out of town where we could get a spot for one night at a time. This was different from a lot of the really big places that only sold week-long spots for big bucks. We had no idea where we were going, and it was getting really dark and desolate, but after a while I saw some lights and a lot of vehicles turning down a side road. Sure enough, I'd found the <a href="http://www.shadevalley.com/" target="_blank">Shade Valley Campground. </a>The rate there is $20 per person, per night. They have a pretty impressive shower house way in the back for the tenters, but beware of cow patties everywhere.<br />
<br />
The next day we went back into town for breakfast, where I was promptly recognized from my run on the dyno the night before. Very cool! We paid $7 for an all-you-can-eat pancake and biscuits and gravy breakfast at a school. Then we went into town, parked on Main Street again, and checked out the vendors. My friend owns <a href="http://twoguysshop.com/" target="_blank">Two Guys Motorcycle Shop</a> in Loveland, so it was a trade show for us. It was a lot of fun meeting the vendors and learning about their new products.<br />
<br />
By noon on Sunday, between the lack of sleep, heat, and crowds, I was on overload and was ready to head home. I'm not a big fan of crowds, and I'd reached my limit. It's easy to see why there are so many wrecks during bike week. It's hard to focus on everything you need to in order to ride safely. Riders are of all different experience levels, and you never know what the person next to you is going to do. I'm glad I went, and I'm glad I went early. I'm not sure I'd be able to tolerate much more traffic and noise, and the official week hadn't even begun! I'll probably go back, but not for much longer than I did this year.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-87546897268349489062010-07-13T09:52:00.000-07:002010-07-13T11:36:36.797-07:00The last day - coming home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3PWsY56yRytooHDsYWsntjFShYii_GkPRrtlExmpnQ1HF6wpRJpP1TB4ohgKbxHlMxE7qZkYfaJiS0HE2vh-T48OGr1gI52kIUH_WQe401w4KpZQ615sK98c4e-5R8g0vtwxAiYuRlg/s1600/castle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3PWsY56yRytooHDsYWsntjFShYii_GkPRrtlExmpnQ1HF6wpRJpP1TB4ohgKbxHlMxE7qZkYfaJiS0HE2vh-T48OGr1gI52kIUH_WQe401w4KpZQ615sK98c4e-5R8g0vtwxAiYuRlg/s320/castle.jpg" /></a></div>I started to throw the last day into a "Joe" post, but as I was writing it, I decided it needed a post of its own.<br />
<br />
<br />
My last day of the trip, riding into Colorado, was the best day of the trip. I wanted to come back through the mountains, so I crossed into New Mexico and over Raton Pass. I missed the exit I wanted to take, but getting off in Colorado City and taking 165 up through the San Isabel National Forest turned out to be spectacular. The weather was perfect. The sky was the most intense blue and the greens of the grasses and brush were more lush than I'd ever seen. I blew by <a href="http://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/2047">Bishop Castle</a>, wondering why all the cars were there. I caught a glimpse of the structure, pulled a u-turn, and went back. I won't go into the details of Bishop Castle here, but know that if you live in Colorado, you must visit. If you're passing through and it's a reasonable detour for you, you really should go. Be forewarned - if you aren't afraid of heights, you might be after climbing that bad boy.<br />
<br />
I took the advice of the super-friendly and beautiful woman in the gift shop, and after continuing north on 165, I followed 96 west into Westcliffe. The view of the Sangre de Christo mountain range is wall-to-wall breathtaking. Westcliffe is a small artsy-fartsy town with several small restaurants and other neat places to spend money. Sitting at my little sidewalk cafe table, I decided to go straight home from there. I'd had a morning full of incredible Colorado beauty, and everything from here out I'd seen before. Reality was calling.<br />
<br />
I went back across US 50 past Royal Gorge and into Canon City (I don't know how to make that little squiggly line over the "n"). Before I got to the gorge, I saw hints of a wild land fire ahead. It went from a hint to a full blown view of flames on the mountainside before too long. I stopped in the same turn off where I met Dowlin Mayfield of the <a href="http://www.meanstreetriders.com/">Mean Street Riders</a> two years prior and took a picture of the scene. I couldn't believe they were letting us pass on the road. The smoke was thick on the road. As I was working through the worst part, I was listening to "Interstate Love Song" by the Stone Temple Pilots: <i>Breathing is the hardest thing to do..</i>. How appropriate.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQd3_VnsgyZVe0Pj_CojUuIgt01tCCd3hGIwPuJuzGbgyBxwpCHBMbGXz-NCNiaO369ZHwpoZcmaBuELpAPdRAaZOno0n_03SIyGFd8D1QpN9LdBjBCrj1yG9RMFrwLWTsUPs7cv7gpA/s1600/fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQd3_VnsgyZVe0Pj_CojUuIgt01tCCd3hGIwPuJuzGbgyBxwpCHBMbGXz-NCNiaO369ZHwpoZcmaBuELpAPdRAaZOno0n_03SIyGFd8D1QpN9LdBjBCrj1yG9RMFrwLWTsUPs7cv7gpA/s320/fire.jpg" /></a></div>There were more fires in the mountains on the way in to Canon City. I stopped at a gas station to fill up and get something to drink. While inside, I heard locals calling others and spreading the news of a possible evacuation. Ash was flying around outside. I decided it was time to get the heck out of Dodge. The rest of the ride home was I-25 to Route 52 north of Denver. I stopped and texted my neighbor to tell her I was almost home. I asked if she had food so I would know if I needed to stop and buy something for dinner on the way home. I was greeted with a freshly grilled t-bone upon arrival.<br />
<br />
Unlike my last cross-county trip, I was glad to be home. Also unlike my last cross-country trip, I was thrilled to call this place my home. This trip was different from the last. I knew I'd never be able to duplicate the experience, so I didn't try. Nor did I have expectations of a life-changing adventure. My motive in heading out with little preparation and few comforts was to create a different experience that I'd treasure as much as the first one. I didn't see anything stunning and new this trip, until my last day in Colorado, just a few hours from home.<br />
<br />
But it was life-changing. My trip back to Georgia put me in touch with some people who had things I needed to hear. That visit, together with the 20 year anniversary of my leaving and stumbling across an old motorcycle license plate, broke down a wall in my heart. I grieved over the loss of my son's father for the first time. Both the loss of his sanity, which eventually necessitated my leaving in order to save the lives of me and my son, and his death. It's amazing the feeling of relief I had while being so incredibly sad at the same time. And I cry again while writing this... Somehow, everything seems brighter and lighter.<br />
<br />
On my first trip, I found God. This trip brought a recovery I never thought I'd get. Makes me wonder what the next trip will bring.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-73169500723248123442010-07-02T15:44:00.000-07:002010-07-02T16:13:33.035-07:00Texas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIteVJ4IPZt3GXQSfxCrQ8FQ63FCAYk5N9Q2omoZTT-18a_ljVq-1cEte4_kqu_jrET6kfzCa_eMyXCa-r_K-mykiBepdtGt8X_9Tsp5s3mU_BBa6pj6cY_KeaUaDaVnDaMj7YAARdWw/s1600/bikebarn1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIteVJ4IPZt3GXQSfxCrQ8FQ63FCAYk5N9Q2omoZTT-18a_ljVq-1cEte4_kqu_jrET6kfzCa_eMyXCa-r_K-mykiBepdtGt8X_9Tsp5s3mU_BBa6pj6cY_KeaUaDaVnDaMj7YAARdWw/s320/bikebarn1.jpg" width="320" /></a>Great friends in Texas. Great food. Great shops and bars. The worst freaking heat like I never could have imagined for the middle of June. Yeah, I know. Bitch, bitch, bitch. I loved everything about my stay in Texas, except for the heat, and I've come to the conclusion that Texas has the worst cage drivers in the country. Just sayin...<br />
<br />
About 4 miles from the border, my saddlebag bracket broke again. This time I was in the middle of nowhere, Louisiana. My brain was fried from the heat. I called my friend Chuck that I was going to see in south Texas, and he suggested I bungee cord the thing up. Great idea! I had one of these <a href="http://www.rokstraps.com/">Rok straps</a>, which are really great for tying things down on the bike. I only had one because I forgot to secure one last year on a trip and lost half of it. I'd thrown the one in the saddlebag for this trip thinking it might come in handy, and it was the perfect tool for the job. I was able to loop it through the brackets on either side of the bike, tighten up, and take off with the confidence that my stuff would stay with me.<br />
<br />
I eventually made it to the "town" near where Chuck lives and tried to call him, but I had zero cell service from the store. I went in to ask about a pay phone. Remember those? You put money in them and then called people. Back in the day it cost a dime. Then it was a quarter. Then you needed a credit card. Alas, no pay phone. The woman asked what number I was calling, and I showed her my phone with Chuck's name. She told me that her father was a "close personal friend" of Chuck's, which totally cracked me up, but that was a good thing. She let me use her cell phone to call Chuck, and he emerged from the back woods to lead me to his house. <br />
<br />
I pulled the bike in the shop and then ran to the air conditioned house. This was the first time I'd met Chuck in person, but I've spoken to him for tech tips on the bike, and I've corresponded with his wife about embroidery machines. What did we do before the Internet? Yeah, I know. I was there. All this information can be a curse, but it can be pretty cool too. <br />
<br />
I had initially planned on spending several days at Chuck's; enough to get some good headway on the book, if not get it done. I had visions of sitting on the porch during the day, which were promptly shattered when the temperature was 109 upon arrival. Then I started worrying about stuff back home and not sleeping well. I had a great time hanging out with Chuck and his wife, meeting Chrome and Cardboard (I think that would make a great band name), and eating Crawfish Etouffee at the Cajun restaurant in the big city of Livingston. Chrome just returned from the Run for the Wall. It was a lot of fun hanging out with a woman who rides as much as I do. I loved her pictures from the trip, which included one from Wytheville (remember the initial broken saddlebag bracket). We had a good laugh over that. Unfortunately I missed meeting Cowboy, but the road called, and I headed up to Dallas to see a couple of friends before going home.<br />
<br />
The ride up to Dallas, while nice at first, created my new dislike of Texas drivers over all others. I've now ridden in all lower 48 states except Kentucky, Washington and Oregon, and Texas stands out. Maybe being from New England and spending a lot of time in New York, I'm accustomed to outright hostile and aggressive driving. A number of Texas drivers struck me as clueless. There were two memorable ones. The first was a driver without brake lights, which in itself would be a little tough, but was made worse since the drive would choose to slow down quickly at times that weren't foreseeable. Add the logging truck behind me, and it was a thrill a minute. The second was an FJ Cruiser behind me in construction traffic. I'm not sure why he refused to pass me when I pulled over and politely motioned him to pass me after my subtle attempts to get him off my ass weren't working.<br />
<br />
Dallas included a trip to <a href="http://www.theoldbikeshop.net/">The Old Bike Shop</a> with its small but fun museum stashed in the back. After that was <a href="http://www.strokersdallas.com/">Strokers</a>, the mega-mall of all things biker: bike shop, wild customs, all kinds of clothing and accessories, and a bar. I was thrilled to take this tour with a woman I've worked with at a distance, Raine Devries. We both contributed to the book <a href="http://www.redroom.com/publishedwork/biker-chicks-the-magnetic-attraction-women-bad-boys-and-motorbikes">Biker Chicks</a>, and we are writers for Examiner.com. Raine is the <a href="http://www.examiner.com/x-38325-Dallas-Motorcycle-Examiner">Dallas Motorcycle Examiner</a>, <a href="http://www.examiner.com/x-17343-HarleyDavidson-Examiner">Harley-Davidson Examiner</a>, and the <a href="http://www.examiner.com/x-34347-Dallas-Downtown-Examiner">Dallas Downtown Examiner</a>. She is also heavily into film production. This worked out well for me because she knows people, and that meant I got to see a little behind the scenes fun at Strokers. After hanging out with Raine, I buzzed over to the east side of Dallas, on the edge of Lake Ray Hubbard, for lunch with a woman from HD Forums. After that it was back to my friend's house north of Dallas for dinner and a movie. We saw A-Team. So much fun! <br />
<br />
Dallas was my last stop in Texas. I struggled with the need to get home and move, and my desire to take a nice cool ride in the Colorado mountains before getting back to life not on the road.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-19249022192370224652010-06-20T20:11:00.000-07:002010-06-21T03:46:00.001-07:00The Deep South<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmm5Hu6Ks8vjzsJXxSM-LO3tKtZB7Ncr9PIBB2k7SDuDhMwjMjr_IAiG2iOU49ho6A9PVrm3fWEzyUIN0fXig2sBWw4nV8C5hcj_zqWzmC2FvPc6N0ya2Hq_mfXpY8vWvQsbSh5KWdJQ/s1600/umend.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmm5Hu6Ks8vjzsJXxSM-LO3tKtZB7Ncr9PIBB2k7SDuDhMwjMjr_IAiG2iOU49ho6A9PVrm3fWEzyUIN0fXig2sBWw4nV8C5hcj_zqWzmC2FvPc6N0ya2Hq_mfXpY8vWvQsbSh5KWdJQ/s320/umend.jpg" /></a></div>I left off at my first stop in Georgia. I made another quick one before heading back west across the southern states. At the risk of offending the friend I stopped to visit on the west side of Atlanta, I hadn't been expecting a lot. I knew it would be fun to see her and catch up, but I had no idea how much it would mean to me. I previously mentioned how I hadn't been back or spoken to anyone from that ten-year chunk of my past, for the last twenty years.<br />
<br />
On one hand, I'm a very different person. There isn't a need to relive the past. People don't need to know who I was then. But I have to say, it is so comforting to talk to someone who does know who I was. We shared some... experiences, I guess is a good way to put it. Having someone to talk to that really knows what I was up against - priceless. We didn't visit for too long, but it felt like it took years off my life. (Having just re-read this, I think I need to clarify. I mean that in a good way, as in rather than having lived 48 years, I've only lived 45 - like that.)<br />
<br />
I left Georgia on I-20, but I quickly left the Interstate and traveled through Talladega to Montgomery before stopping. It was hot. I stopped at a truck stop, where I think a trucker was trying to pick me up. I'm not sure if talking about taking a shower is the secret password, but it seemed like an odd topic for a random discussion with a stranger. I got on the bike and headed toward Mississippi.<br />
<br />
I had planned to go a little further south and take US 84 west. As good as a nice summer shower sounded, the clouds to the south were looking a little scary. I didn't want to let the rain stop me again, so I planned on riding until the rain got heavy and then waiting out the worst of the storms. Although I was on a small state road, I saw that there would be a lot of opportunities at deserted gas stations, churches, and other uninhabited structures with awnings that would protect the motorcycle and me. I even considered spending the night in one of these places if the rain was more persistent than I was anticipating.<br />
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My first stop was at an operating gas station that was closing soon. The proprietor had satellite tv at his counter and was looking at the weather. I saw a huge storm just north of Mobile and just south of me; the northern edge of the storm I could see out the window. The weather report also showed rain throughout Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana for the next day, which meant I had no desire to hang out any longer than necessary. I decided to keep pushing and at least make it to Mississippi. The storm hit hard but let up pretty quickly, and I was back on the way.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh55k4e5_wYJFPxBoyHkFnox0I1gKPDrUsD6hP11J00y2ddYyQzd0xvn6Ms3_kO0D24y6TKuqfF5-jfZpZLcoJPlVinL17R56gjkqd4rA50gu50bfx8bmqqr79XM-ecmcTtvKKKszfShg/s1600/rainbow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh55k4e5_wYJFPxBoyHkFnox0I1gKPDrUsD6hP11J00y2ddYyQzd0xvn6Ms3_kO0D24y6TKuqfF5-jfZpZLcoJPlVinL17R56gjkqd4rA50gu50bfx8bmqqr79XM-ecmcTtvKKKszfShg/s320/rainbow.jpg" /></a></div>Before too long, I had to stop again. This time it was a dilapidated old gas station, but at least I had cell phone service there and was able to check my e-mail and hang out on Facebook for a bit before moving on. Soon after that, I stopped to check my map since my original plans included riding right into that huge storm cell. After parking the bike, I looked back and saw a rainbow. The skies were clear to the west, and I headed on toward Meridian, Mississippi.<br />
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When I got to Meridian, I stopped at an RV park. It was late and the office was closed. Well, the signage said the office was closed, but it was open. I looked at a map of the campground and saw nothing but RV spots. I thought about pitching my tent in any grassy area, but I wasn't feeling good about the place. I went into the pool area, sat on a lounge chair, and used their Internet to find a KOA nearby. I was hoping the KOA was more in the woods and cooler.<br />
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I don't know if it was cooler, but it just plain sucked. The first clue was when I made the turn into the unlit driveway only to discover it was deep gravel. Nice. Without going into a lot of detail, it was a bad KOA. The site was bad, the bathroom had overflowing garbage cans, the grass wasn't cut. Yuck. Fortunately I'd picked a remote spot, because it was so hot that I left the fly off, which left me lying in my cocoon, without any clothes on, and only the screen between me and the world. It was nice to watch the stars - with my Glock 26 at my side. Despite the heat and exposed feeling, I slept very well.<br />
<br />
I had more plans for US 84 westbound, but my clutch cable had loosened dramatically over the last two days, and as I was heading west out of Laurel, Mississippi, I realized it wasn't going to make it to Houston. I called my friend Chuck to see if he could walk me through fixing it. Chuck didn't answer, and I was overheard while leaving a message for him. A local guy clued me into a shop called 49 Cycles and gave me the number. I soon realized that 49 Cycles was well off my intended path of travel, but my path of travel hadn't been set in stone this far, so no big deal. Besides, I had a feeling that this was going to be one of those times that something good came out of the complication.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjspLbnmrzE2JWnDBK2LLgCU_xjJqOLpVK9ap-qYYm5uHdM-VUig395n6WcUCxZNOK_Sci_eG6rN_pnuu3QtEty9OdCpkggcvGzHTG3ob0pSxwdIHOVpOkaVJrjjzIAlFbhhAC7SAHWwA/s1600/49cycles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjspLbnmrzE2JWnDBK2LLgCU_xjJqOLpVK9ap-qYYm5uHdM-VUig395n6WcUCxZNOK_Sci_eG6rN_pnuu3QtEty9OdCpkggcvGzHTG3ob0pSxwdIHOVpOkaVJrjjzIAlFbhhAC7SAHWwA/s320/49cycles.jpg" /></a></div>I rode on down to Hattiesburg to the shop. Michael took my bike right in and went to work while I chatted with his wife Laura in the air conditioned store. It quickly became apparent that Michael and Laura are Christians and like to share their faith with anyone who's open to it. I really enjoyed speaking with them, and Michael did an awesome job on my clutch. I'm so glad that God threw them in my path that day.<br />
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I made it to Alexandria, Louisiana that evening and got extremely frustrated trying to find the hotel I'd picked from Priceline on my phone in the Burger King. I had to call the hotel three times, and the last time I got lost I'd hit a really big bump that reminded me of the rigid frame days. All my irritation vanished in a moment when another guest that was checking in asked if he could take my picture with my bike. The reason? He has a friend who brags about how badass he is because he has a Harley - an 883 Sportster. How to make Abby forget all her troubles? Acknowledge that her motorcycle rocks. LOL. I met my friend Ranay, who lives in Alexandria, and we went out to dinner. The next morning I left for south Texas.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-34351687559610380812010-06-16T07:13:00.000-07:002010-06-16T07:13:10.989-07:00Piece of cakeI should be leaving, but the friend I'm meeting today just told me he has to make a run somewhere so there's no need to rush. I was thinking about posts I'd made and some comments made by readers, which then digressed into a subject a little more deep. It might not be totally on-topic, but I'm running with it anyway.<br />
<br />
The thought trail started out with me thinking about how some people have told me what they do in certain situations, which caused me to think about something an ex said about my blog on my first cross-country trip. Be assured, I know when I start out on these journeys that shit happens. Sometimes it's good shit; sometimes it sucks. Weather can be great, but more often it's challenging. When I write about the trials of crappy weather, I'm not looking for sympathy. I'm simply talking about life on the road. In fact, I'm usually proud that I encountered these forces and made it through. If every day was a walk in the park, well I'd just take a walk in the park like everyone else and there'd be nothing to talk about.<br />
<br />
This led me to think about people talking about what they do when they run into certain weather, and whether or not they meant it that way (perhaps it's me being overly sensitive), I feel like they're saying I should have done it their way. There are so many factors that make up a road trip: type of bike, accessories, the road you're on, traffic, how hard the rain is falling, protective gear, a rider's past experiences, etc... The list is endless. As we say when we're teaching a class, it isn't one thing that causes a crash; it's an interaction of factors. The same thing is true regarding a person's response to adversities. Really, you can't say what you'd do in a situation until you've ridden a mile under those exact circumstances.<br />
<br />
That led into the deep subject matter I'm about to bring up: domestic violence. People are so quick to say, "She should just leave," and then they proceed to say that she deserves to be beaten if she sticks around and other similarly harsh remarks. They think that clearly she's stupid or weak or any number of derogatory adjectives. She made a bad decision when she hooked up with the guy in the first place. <br />
<br />
OK, let's look at that last statement: she made a bad decision, therefore she deserves what she gets. Come one guys. One of my friends made a comment on Facebook the other day: Women should come with Carfax reports. I don’t profess to know why he made the comment, but it could possibly be that he got involved with someone and found out later that she had some issues that, had he known about them before getting involved, he wouldn’t have. When people are entering into a relationship, they typically don’t present the other person with a list of their character defects. Some people are extremely talented at concealing those defects until the other person has become solidly hooked. It happens to both men and women.<br />
<br />
Why doesn’t she leave? Unless a woman is willing to move to a place so far away that she can’t possibly run into the guy or any of his friends or relatives, what’s the point? She’s further angered him by leaving, so he’s now more likely to be more aggressive when he finds her. This is like witness protection. Most people don’t want to leave everything and everyone they know, without any hope of seeing those people again. <br />
<br />
This is where the relevance to my trip comes in. I went to Georgia, the place where I gave birth to my son, lived for ten years, yet haven’t been back to in twenty years. I saw a couple of really good friends I haven’t seen in that long. I contacted a few others that I haven’t talked to since I left. Sure, my husband died nine years ago, but by then I’d moved on. Fortunately I was able to move on. Because my family wasn’t in the area, and we aren’t tight anyway, there wasn’t that issue. I was just losing friends. I couldn’t contact them, because I didn’t want to put them in the position of having to keep secrets – or not.<br />
<br />
Did I think he was a great guy when I met him? No. This reminds me of a comment I made on Facebook regarding scooter trash. It was funny to see that some of my newer friends thought I was kidding. The man was a 1%er when I met him, and after the death of his mother he went nucking futs. So he was a psycho badass. Bad combination. We started dating after he stopped by the strip club I was working at. Were we innocent? No. If you knew us in that situation, you wouldn’t have cared what either of us did to the other. <br />
<br />
But you didn’t “meet” us there. You know me now that I’m long escaped, 18 years sober, have earned both a bachelor and master’s degrees, and basically have my shit together. I’ve found God. I get the feeling that people like to be around me and probably can’t imagine the situation I was in for several years. The thing is, a lot of women can’t pull off what I did. I’m extremely blessed and often know that “there but for the Grace of God go I.” Don’t try to justify why that woman deserves her situation. Consider what it’s like to ride a mile on her bike and say a prayer.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-30975848801531135542010-06-13T18:11:00.000-07:002010-06-13T20:23:34.520-07:00The second "going home again" portion of the trip<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMs52WozcNolV_Gwn1yFi9jq3snQDIpPSvvd5XYdaX6awhsMwrZLJeiglq6t2ZnkQ3Dj7Uplt6f6w7nRY0Zppgjk7S4V0jB5ykIoy6Yu5gqitSwL_fuGhLnTdP8OQJosy71C85EjXMNg/s1600/brpclouds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMs52WozcNolV_Gwn1yFi9jq3snQDIpPSvvd5XYdaX6awhsMwrZLJeiglq6t2ZnkQ3Dj7Uplt6f6w7nRY0Zppgjk7S4V0jB5ykIoy6Yu5gqitSwL_fuGhLnTdP8OQJosy71C85EjXMNg/s320/brpclouds.jpg" /></a></div>I slept really well at the KOA. For the first time on this trip, I slept with the fly open over my head, confident that it wasn't going to rain. It was a beautiful star-filled night, and I even saw a shooting star before drifting off to sleep. <br />
<br />
There were a lot of miles to cover, and I decided to do some Interstate travel before getting back on the Blue Ridge Parkway. I headed south on 26, then west on 40, before stopping at Blue Ridge Harley-Davidson.<br />
<br />
I browsed around the t-shirts, once again frustrated at overabundance of studs and rhinestones covering the selections. If it wasn't that, it was all kinds of weird cuts and strappy stuff that, well, if I was going to wear something elaborate like that to dress up, it wouldn't say Harley-Davidson on it. The two or three designs I liked, nice prints that reminded me of my newest tattoo, had been sold out except for a few in tiny or really big sizes. Clearly I'm not the only chick out there who feels that sparkly stuff belongs in jewelry and not on clothing. Having stretched my legs and filled my water bottle, I hit the road.<br />
<br />
A little further up the road, I exited near Marion and headed up NC 80 to the parkway. That ten miles was easily as challenging as Tail of the Dragon, but there was no traffic, no cops, and it's right off the parkway. Unless you need to say, "Been there, done that," as far as the Dragon goes, find one of these twisties that takes you from the parkway into town and get lunch, then take it back up. Forgo the Deal's Gap congestion. <br />
<br />
When I got up to the parkway, I pulled off at the first scenic overlook. There was a guy from Ohio on a Road King, and we discussed the virtues of traveling alone before I got back on my bike and headed south while he headed north. It was a beautiful ride with some threatening clouds. Riders passing me going the opposite direction were wearing their rain gear. I was resigned to getting wet. I didn't bother suiting up, because it was going to be scattered showers if anything, and I'd dry out before too long. I celebrated a landmark victory when I made it past the threatening clouds without catching a drop. I couldn't wait to write about my day of rain avoidance. As the <a href="http://icanhascheezburger.com/">Lolcats</a> would say, "I can haz skillz."<br />
<br />
I stopped at an overlook where the parkway heads down towards Asheville to figure out where I was planning on exiting the parkway and heading towards Gainesville, Georgia. A guy on a Victory pulled up and informed me that the parkway south of Asheville was closed. That meant change of plans, but because I was running behind (and I've ridden the entire Blue Ridge Parkway before) I was fine with exiting where they forced me to and jumping on I-40 to US 23.<br />
<br />
It was as I was heading west on 40 that I was confronted by dark, ominous clouds again. I was feeling pretty smug, having conquered the curse earlier in the day. When I stopped at a rest area on 23, soaked to the bone, I overheard a couple discussing the hail storm that had appeared out of nowhere. Yeah, it didn't appear out of nowhere. It had lulled me into a false sense of weather optimism and then struck when my guard was down. I checked the radar on my phone and saw that I needed to keep moving if I didn't want to get in serious trouble. <br />
<br />
The roads actually dried up for the most part, with just a few spots over the next 150 miles that were really wet. I was cooking though, dodging walls of water almost the whole way and hoping that law enforcement would be sympathetic should I get busted. Fortunately I didn't need to find out if relations between bikers and cops in that area of the country had improved since the last time I was there. Well, maybe it had. I didn't get thrown in jail for no good reason.<br />
<br />
I have history in this neck of the woods. Not so much Gainesville, but I lived in north Georgia for 10 years. My boy was born in Atlanta. We left in a hurry exactly 20 years ago on June 23rd, escaping from a bad situation. I never contacted any of my friends because I didn't want to put them in the position of knowing where I was, should my husband ask. He passed away the same day my motorcycle arrived at the dealership, nine years ago. By that time, I'd moved on and didn't consider trying to reconnect with anyone. I did maintain a long distance friendship, talking on the phone an average of maybe a couple of times a year, with my friend Richard. Just recently I got back in touch with some of my southern friends on Facebook. That's why I decided to add Georgia to this trip.<br />
<br />
I finally reached Richard's house and have been chilling here for the past couple of days. Richard had a stroke a few months back, which, coupled with the birth of my granddaughter, has me referring to this trip as the "Geriatric Tour." Tomorrow morning I pack up and one of my other Georgia friends on the way out of the state. Next stop, somewhere in Mississippi, God willing and the Creek don't rise.*<br />
<br />
*<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span class="medium"><a href="http://ngeorgia.com/ang/Benjamin_Hawkins">Benjamin Hawkins</a>, and the phrase would be correctly written as 'God willing and the Creek don't rise'. Hawkins, college-educated and a well-written man would never have made a grammatical error, so the capitalization of Creek is the only way the phrase could make sense. He wrote it in response to a request from the President to return to our Nation's Capital and the reference is not to a creek, but The Creek Indian Nation. If the Creek "rose", Hawkins would have to be present to quell the rebellion. I believe that the phrase is somewhere in his preserved writings. <a href="http://ngeorgia.com/ang/God_Willing_and_the_creek_don%27t_rise">http://ngeorgia.com/ang/God_Willing_and_the_creek_don%27t_rise </a></span></i><span class="medium"></span><i><span class="medium"><br />
</span></i></span>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-5797130125978897162010-06-10T18:59:00.000-07:002010-06-10T19:12:34.445-07:00Now THAT'S what I'm talking aboutPerfect day.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-6nwWZD2cU_echyphenhyphenR6bYqVGMnxYNQGsCY0S8ppGB1-tgCKKynILlVGWIrW6SY9XbPLwuW_pB1y1Xcf5txe9Dzba9YwhSpjoXa4QJ0Uk_luVgptvptMBTT1aZJDJBLlRmlAVNCD915M7w/s1600/shiny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-6nwWZD2cU_echyphenhyphenR6bYqVGMnxYNQGsCY0S8ppGB1-tgCKKynILlVGWIrW6SY9XbPLwuW_pB1y1Xcf5txe9Dzba9YwhSpjoXa4QJ0Uk_luVgptvptMBTT1aZJDJBLlRmlAVNCD915M7w/s320/shiny.jpg" /></a></div>Started out early. I was excited to get on the road with nothing but sunshine and the ultimate road ahead of me. In fact, there's absolutely nothing to report, except that I made good time and took lots of pictures and the weather couldn't have been better. I really enjoyed the Skyline Drive, especially the part where they accepted my National Parks Annual Pass. I know most people wouldn't like to pay, but I'm trying to get my money's worth before the end of July. The Skyline Drive was $15 towards the $80 it cost me.<br />
<br />
I was a little taken aback when I saw the the speed limit for the whole road is 35 mph. Maybe it was the fact that it was early on a weekday, but there was nobody out there enforcing the speed limit. Even better was that the road had such great curves I didn't have to exceed the speed limit very much to enjoy the ride. <br />
<br />
The Skyline Drive ends and the Blue Ridge Parkway starts - or vice versa, depending on which direction you're heading. The parkway doesn't cost anything, but it's a bit bumpier. There are a lot of overlooks that may have been overlooks back in the day, but trees have grown up and you can't see much. It's still a beautiful road and well worth it. Skyline Drive goes through the upper part of Virginia, and the parkway covers the rest of Virginia and North Carolina.<br />
<br />
After a while on the parkway, I needed gas and was hungry, so I got off at Buena Vista. While there, I decided to hop on I-81 to take me down to Wytheville where I was planning on camping out. I also wanted to visit the Harley dealership there. We're friends on Facebook, and we've had a little interaction, so I let H-D of Wytheville know I was coming.<br />
<br />
It was really cool when I showed up and the marketing manager came out to see me. We chatted a while, and I went in to pick out some t-shirts. She wanted to take a picture of me with the bike, so we went back out. Wouldn't you know, it started raining. Now there's another person who can chime in on the issue. But the rain quickly became a non-issue when I noticed that my saddlebag was hanging down. At first I thought it had become detached, but I quickly noticed that the bracket had broken. Great. Fortunately I (kind of) knew people there - my new BFF. She talked to the guys in service, who looked at the bracket, and decided it could be welded. The next step was calling around to find someone who could weld it after 5:00 on Thursday night, and we discovered that Homer over on Lover's Lane (not kidding) could do it. She drove me over in her car, Homer welded and painted the bracket while we sat in the office and played with the dog, and we went back to the dealership and put the bracket back on. So there was this beautiful, well-dressed Southern gal right there with me, getting greasy. It was awesome. I know all the guys that were hanging around watching us work wished they could get in on the action. Oh well. Maybe another day. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLa0Z-6uyFzjIDZUerrKd094xcyIJN8Yhzqo4MRcWhB63__C4NVFprN3UFqVT6_K5VHWSLzLNRwgs2M9adP_QcFb8W6fregDue6hRbEYlCTK_SZlaEHWn23CERyofLiWD2ANySDq4kLQ/s1600/hdwytheville.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLa0Z-6uyFzjIDZUerrKd094xcyIJN8Yhzqo4MRcWhB63__C4NVFprN3UFqVT6_K5VHWSLzLNRwgs2M9adP_QcFb8W6fregDue6hRbEYlCTK_SZlaEHWn23CERyofLiWD2ANySDq4kLQ/s320/hdwytheville.jpg" /></a><br />
I'll keep an eye on the bracket. I called National Cycle, and they made me a deal on a new set, which will probably be waiting for me when I get home. Now I'm at the KOA and will be heading out tomorrow for another beautiful day of riding that will put me in Georgia by the end of the day.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-767774029410042662010-06-09T21:01:00.000-07:002010-06-09T21:01:09.524-07:00Looking for a brighter dayI woke up to some chilly temperatures in New Hampshire, but there was no rain in the forecast. I didn't rush out the door, confident I could make it to my planned destination in Pennsylvania without a problem. There's a reason I moved out west, and it has to do with riding in the northeast.<br />
<br />
I had all Interstate planned for the day. I needed to get on my way, and I've ridden most of New England's and eastern New York's back roads. I forgot how much I hate riding in Massachusetts until yesterday. I had to get off for some gas, and did that at Chelmsford. There's a weird kind of rotary to get back on the Everett Turnpike, and I didn't have the experience or knowledge to do that with skill. When I say rotary, it's more like a series of bridges with signs that give you the general idea of where you want to be.<br />
<br />
At one point I realized I needed to be in a different lane and took the opportunity to jump in front of a pickup when he was slow to start. If you want to survive in Massachusetts, you must become a Masshole. That was fine until the car in front of me needed to do the same thing but was too chickenshit. I had to slam on my brakes, which then caused the pickup behind me to demonstrate the air horn he'd installed. I don't blame him, but it did scare me. I have a fairly consistent reaction when I get in a tight spot on the bike. I twist the throttle to get out of the situation. I saw a clear path to the on ramp and took it, accelerating rapidly. Then I got behind someone who must have been from Connecticut, going about 40 just before we needed to merge. Wondering how my carb was going to deal now that it's sucking down a sea level amount of oxygen while jetted for 5280, I cranked it once again, cutting off a Porsche who was also hoping to get ahead. Seems like it handles the demand better at sea level and jetted for altitude than it did the other way around. Meanwhile, I was irritating people left and right. Oh well. <br />
<br />
Despite the lack of rain in the forecast, I found it. It wasn't too bad; just a little drizzle here and there. The clouds looked so pretty and fluffy in the distance. Not so much when they were overhead. I got into Connecticut on I-84, which eventually brought me into Hartford. I was glad I'd been through Hartford a few times before and knew where to be. Before long, Waterbury was approaching. That's when the downpour started. I wasn't seeing well, but there's a section of road where you're under an upper deck for a while, and that gave me a break. It was only worse on the other side, and there were a boatload of trucks. I was riding almost blind by the time I decided to pull over under a bridge. Of course I didn't feel much safer there with the trucks blasting by, but at least I could see. Another rider pulled up. I don't think he cared about stopping all that much but was more interested in the social aspect. He was a young Jap bike rider. We talked for a minute or two, and then the rain let up on the far side of the bridge and off we went.<br />
<br />
I was able to stop and visit a friend in Westchester before getting back on the bike and heading over the Tappan Zee. I wish I could say I blasted over the bridge, but it was rush hour, and it probably took about an hour to go less than 5 miles. Gotta love those Hudson River crossings at rush hour. I finally reached an open road and made it to a campground outside of Allentown after dark. I had to do the night check-in and was glad I could find the tent spots easily.<br />
<br />
This morning I opened my laptop, which I'd brought in the tent with me, to find 100% chance of precipitation. Seeing some blue sky, I figured I should get up and out of there before those odds kicked in. I was on the road about 10 miles before it started.<br />
<br />
The rain wasn't too bad at first. It was on and off and totally bearable. I was happy thinking that would be the most I'd have to deal with for the day. Walk in the park. Yeah... no. After about 50 miles, it really started coming down. I was back to water boarding with my Full Throttle Coffee House bandanna. I started experimenting with ways I could hold my lips that would enable me to breathe. I found a way that would work, then I'd go for another deep breath and get a face full of wet fabric. Finding ways to breathe kept me occupied for a while, and I didn't notice the water that was finding every possible opening.<br />
<br />
I stopped at one rest area, had a cup of coffee, and talked to a friend on the phone. I got back on the bike and stopped at another rest area when I couldn't see anymore. I was there a little longer. The rain was showing no signs of letting up. There was some tattooed guy there in flip flops who was whining about having to run to his car in the rain. You can imagine what I wanted to say, but I was whining enough myself that I didn't feel justified. It was at this point that I finally realized why this was being so difficult: I don't have a windshield. And while I felt like less of a wimp, I was still discouraged that I had to keep stopping.<br />
<br />
I got back on the road, determined that I'd make it to Lexington, Virginia if the 200 miles took another 6 hours. I didn't think it was possible, but it started raining harder and more consistently harder. I had to stay behind a vehicle so I could see the road. I felt safe because there was a tractor-trailer truck at a comfortable distance behind me, and I felt like he/she was watching my back. We went on like that for at least 20 miles, but then I guess the truck felt the need to move on. I was in Maryland by this point, and I decided to stop at a hotel.<br />
<br />
After driving through Hagerstown, Maryland, I decided there was no way in Hell I would be staying anywhere there and leaving my bike outside. I got gas and whipped out my phone to find a dealership. Surely they'd have some warm, dry gloves and a place for me to sit for a little while to dry out and warm up before heading out again. Williamsport H-D is tiny. They were nice, but they really didn't have a place for me to take off my wet clothes and chill. Nor did they have a good pair of gloves in my size. With no sign of the rain letting up, I found a hotel and headed out. Wouldn't you know it, as soon as I checked in, the rain let up. Very frustrating for me, but after agonizing over my lack of progress for a while, I was grateful I'd made it safely as far as I did.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow is another day.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-68400484027627094542010-06-07T19:14:00.000-07:002010-06-08T06:17:38.689-07:00Riding New Hampshire - all I hoped it would beI was excited about getting to visit some of my favorite places in New Hampshire, but I was also nervous that I'd get my hopes up and then be let down. But it was awesome!<br />
<br />
I met Cheryl and Tom at the Harley dealership in Lebanon. I had seen Marc and Scott at the dealership on Friday, and this time I got to see Dawg from <a href="http://www.hdforums.com/">HD Forums</a>, aka Road-Dawgs1 from <a href="http://harleytechtalk.org/">Harley Tech Talk</a>. I knew I'd seen him before, but he recognized me first. It took me a minute to put the face with name. Well actually, he kept dropping hints, and I was slow. I love running into people like that.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE5G75_d5X2S6jJiwfRHn3uyOTB0qcoWedtmD5vPoqgUfgiiDLYdiJQcADBtpvvrlWIpy2xXJ-wu0zRFaHIo8mKDv5FAUXisGS7_Z4ZXtHZraD9-riqBDO0-ChXzzPBfQKqWivBVXJYQ/s1600/Gracie-NH-sm21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE5G75_d5X2S6jJiwfRHn3uyOTB0qcoWedtmD5vPoqgUfgiiDLYdiJQcADBtpvvrlWIpy2xXJ-wu0zRFaHIo8mKDv5FAUXisGS7_Z4ZXtHZraD9-riqBDO0-ChXzzPBfQKqWivBVXJYQ/s320/Gracie-NH-sm21.jpg" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4pu_itYQ1rk_b9gFc4EXdSuWy34z8bG7aUjVJTJNFeEzBoTsgkG0flvynHRV9ZexHT5iIBsrkDb3c1esDQEyOjWpFz_tPWGcvkzK_FUBixaj-FN8pIMHDSCdG54pgdimaQXM5Ivr_1A/s1600/Gracie-NH-sm20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4pu_itYQ1rk_b9gFc4EXdSuWy34z8bG7aUjVJTJNFeEzBoTsgkG0flvynHRV9ZexHT5iIBsrkDb3c1esDQEyOjWpFz_tPWGcvkzK_FUBixaj-FN8pIMHDSCdG54pgdimaQXM5Ivr_1A/s320/Gracie-NH-sm20.jpg" /></a><br />
When I left the building, Cheryl and Tom were outside scoping out the long line of used bikes for sale in the parking lot. Cheryl has her eye on this sweet blue Road King. She should get it.<br />
<br />
After catching up a little, we jumped on the bikes and headed north through Hanover to Bath, home of the <a href="http://www.thebrickstore.com/">Brick Store</a>, which bills itself as "America's oldest continuously operated general store." I don't care how old it is, they make incredible smoked pepperoni, which they smoke right there. For the first time ever, I checked out the covered bridge behind the store. It's the longest covered bridge in New Hampshire (it crosses the river to Vermont) and one of the oldest in America. Look at the Burr-Arch construction in the picture.<br />
<br />
From there, we headed across Route 112 to visit Beaver Pond and then ride the Kancamagus, which is probably the most popular motorcycle ride in the state. As we were leaving Woodstock, we noticed some evil looking clouds. Sure enough, just after we got over the pass, the rain hit. This is standard when I ride with Cheryl and Tom. Better than our last ride over the Kanc though; no snow.<br />
<br />
After the Kancamagus, we headed south to the intersection of highways 16 and 25, to the <a href="http://www.yankeesmokehouse.com/">Yankee Smokehouse.</a> They get enough motorcycle traffic that there is motorcycle parking against one side of the building. Great food, extremely casual atmosphere. If you're ever in the area, you should stop there.<br />
<br />
Of course it was necessary to stop at the Mecca of quilt shops, Keepsake Quilting, in Center Harbor. From there it was Laconia Harley-Davidson, formerly known as Meredith Harley-Davidson. We managed to take a left out of the dealership, which is nothing short of miraculous at times, and continued to head south towards the Weirs, which is the main drag for Laconia Race and Rally Week.<br />
<br />
We were stopped at a light just above the dealership. When it turned, Tom and I both took off. We were shifting at different times, so when I'd let off the throttle to shift, he'd come up alongside me - just enough that I could see his front wheel out of the corner of my eye. When I squeezed the clutch to bang it into 5th, I expected to see Tom's front end but didn't. I looked into my rear view mirror and saw a minivan instead, with Tom behind it. I was stunned. I didn't see how it got there, but I couldn't imagine any way the minivan got in between Tom and I without doing something that he should be shot for. Figuring that the idiot must be in a big hurry to pull a move like that, I casually slowed to about 25 mph. It didn't take long before the eunuch figured out that if he wanted to go anywhere, he needed to pull over and let the other motorcycle pass. When we got to the Weirs, I asked Tom and Cheryl what happened, and apparently the guy almost took us both out in his need to get ahead.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNWui7dlOmtuTwdsvWMDB8kraFH7dW7zfJVmhT_1OPkTc0a16OKoL-uMIkUAA3yNPqs_X8DOU-OjY_jQb6y5fmAjGj3Ytwkbvw96LLCfU0A_H6fa5wsWQQpHFstRGghvZ3iWFZAMuFow/s1600/weirs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNWui7dlOmtuTwdsvWMDB8kraFH7dW7zfJVmhT_1OPkTc0a16OKoL-uMIkUAA3yNPqs_X8DOU-OjY_jQb6y5fmAjGj3Ytwkbvw96LLCfU0A_H6fa5wsWQQpHFstRGghvZ3iWFZAMuFow/s320/weirs.jpg" /></a><br />
Having survived that, we enjoyed some conversation and pictures at the lake while watching vendors start to set up for rally week. With all the places I wanted to see checked off the list, we headed back to their house for the night.<br />
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Very enjoyable day.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-30948741931475742752010-06-06T18:54:00.000-07:002010-06-06T19:13:25.861-07:00You can go home again...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPT1c44zm-C8wrLQPMRzpOD0GiaQinEg0M2C7FWUDDDgZkeCDclYj1bDMhg_Zjvs3Jdnz_4F2-f_EMiBKx2xkx_W8KF9nGmUzmU8JPzV4zU_FFpGPfNZ1Oj2_37S5rFYk_uRqi_MtD5A/s1600/2010-06-04+10.09.53.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPT1c44zm-C8wrLQPMRzpOD0GiaQinEg0M2C7FWUDDDgZkeCDclYj1bDMhg_Zjvs3Jdnz_4F2-f_EMiBKx2xkx_W8KF9nGmUzmU8JPzV4zU_FFpGPfNZ1Oj2_37S5rFYk_uRqi_MtD5A/s320/2010-06-04+10.09.53.jpg" /></a></div>but it's kinda weird.<br />
<br />
I left the campground in New York on... (what day was it?) OK, Friday morning. Had to check the calendar. I left the campground Friday morning, fairly early, and blasted up I-88 a couple of exits where I stopped to get gas and something to eat. It was one of those exits that advertises services, but then you have to drive five miles through traffic lights, rotaries, and school zones before you can find them. I finally ducked in at a McDonalds - fast and cheap. There was a Can-Am Spyder in the lot, and I parked next to it.<br />
<br />
Going inside, I noticed that this McDonalds doubled as the town's senior center. I wouldn't have wagered a guess who belonged to the Spyder. As I was almost finished with my meal, a Harley-looking guy came in, looked at me, nodded and smiled. You know what? This was something new. He obviously knew my bike belonged to me. One would think this was common, but it's not. There's usually an entire conversation that takes place before someone believes that my bike is mine. I typically have to get into her age and measurements and prove that I have a clue about the pretty Softail. Despite the unusual "don't even ask me the time of day" attitude I'd been having for a lot of this trip, I asked him if he'd like to sit with me when he walked by. He did.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCI58WPj7ob_fwe66tC7iUiQsnSkKFJ-XqRovmOHMhVZDuwhUsoI2oKeRGjH_LkweOGEVQiFXZg0jD4fYpYIUze_eXDARngdwF3bpWGsx2TIUipucPWjuEU39oHgo8ZuOGU7w5bs3CVA/s1600/2010-06-04+08.36.32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCI58WPj7ob_fwe66tC7iUiQsnSkKFJ-XqRovmOHMhVZDuwhUsoI2oKeRGjH_LkweOGEVQiFXZg0jD4fYpYIUze_eXDARngdwF3bpWGsx2TIUipucPWjuEU39oHgo8ZuOGU7w5bs3CVA/s320/2010-06-04+08.36.32.jpg" /></a></div>I'm glad I asked. We had a great conversation about long distance trips. He told me he had gone to a wake someplace west of where we were at the moment and had used the opportunity to do a test run for the <a href="http://www.hokaheychallenge.com/">Hoka Hey Motorcycle Challenge</a>. I've read about this. It's a 7,000 mile race running from Key West to the Kenai Peninsula in Alaska. He's heading down to Key West soon to start the race on June 20th. His name is Heinz, and if you're on Facebook, search for Heinz's Hoka Hey Motorcycle Challenge and become a fan. I left there feeling more like my happy road-trip-girl self.<br />
<br />
I had been planning to make a quick trip of the morning's ride, but Heinz suggested 23 along the Catskills. He was following 23A, but I needed to move along a bit quicker than 23A could take me. Because I can be easily swayed, I figured an extra hour or two wouldn't hurt anything and changed my plans. Yes, all of you out there that have expected me at some time or another and I've shown up a day late... there's your answer. Which is why I don't think the Hoka Hey would work that well for me. I'd see a shiny object or a squirrel or something, and off I'd go.<br />
<br />
So I crossed over the north end of the Catskills, hit I-87, and continued up around Albany to Troy. That's where I got off the Interstate and headed east towards Bennington, Vermont. I stopped at one of my favorite Harley dealers. It's called <a href="http://www.brunswickharley.com/">Brunswick Harley-Davidson</a>. I like it because the building looks like a huge log cabin. The bathroom is really neat too. You can lose track of time sitting there (that shiny object problem again). I have no idea how they are for buying bikes, parts or service. I just like the place because it looks good. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwQOG0QHmVApYdpuvbAI2Fe5inP_4h7rCuu8DKQbPXtKDGn6dVSfbZV6rCI9IRSL9Vf0_WgjWlBJfGqfkjx0ivLpCXzq7bK49axZfwSXHSsMdi0bIywg7B5C_NOC24rAu3gQdw5Rc0KQ/s1600/2010-06-04+13.58.06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwQOG0QHmVApYdpuvbAI2Fe5inP_4h7rCuu8DKQbPXtKDGn6dVSfbZV6rCI9IRSL9Vf0_WgjWlBJfGqfkjx0ivLpCXzq7bK49axZfwSXHSsMdi0bIywg7B5C_NOC24rAu3gQdw5Rc0KQ/s320/2010-06-04+13.58.06.jpg" /></a>After that was the ride into Vermont. I was getting to familiar turf. I started knowing where to turn without having to look at road signs. I was also getting annoyed with the east coast issue of too many vehicles and towns too close together. I thought it must have been a banner year for frost heaves. It was like my bike had the hiccups. The trees were nice though, and I miss the way you can ride down into a shady area with a small creek running through and feel the temperature suddenly drop ten degrees. Just when it gets a little too cool, you come back up into the sunlight and warm again. <br />
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I wound my way around southern Vermont until I got to Chester, the home of my favorite quilt shop. I killed at least an hour there, as well as an undisclosed amount of cash, some of which went to shipping my new future creations home. No room for purchases on this trip.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>After the quilt shop, I started winding my way north until I got to White River Junction and the home of my granddaughter. She's definitely the most beautiful, wonderful baby that was ever created. She loves me. I showered her with several Harley t-shirts, which are additions to the ones I'd already mailed out. Her mother likes her in pink, so I've given in on that and bought mostly pink Harley items. However she is the best-dressed baby I've ever seen, so I'm not sure when it will be t-shirt day. I'm sure I'll get pictures.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlQmsc26JIG12jAEjcQ8CEOUPGhWGh0nCf3y0BqO2yaD4IWr0eypdLy9Bp2vNccvN6OKFeZkGOw2iYF39bG70nzXMGksMRyelWAPLYMWsYYIfSHvRyXA56nrcPxzXTZbjXqAsmQil8lA/s1600/vermontrv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlQmsc26JIG12jAEjcQ8CEOUPGhWGh0nCf3y0BqO2yaD4IWr0eypdLy9Bp2vNccvN6OKFeZkGOw2iYF39bG70nzXMGksMRyelWAPLYMWsYYIfSHvRyXA56nrcPxzXTZbjXqAsmQil8lA/s320/vermontrv.jpg" /></a></div>Because a lot of rain was forecast, I looked into hotel rooms. Very expensive here. I called the KOA to see if they had any of their "Kabins" available. They don't have Kabins here yet, but they did have an RV that was cheaper than any hotel room in town. It's a great alternative to a hotel room. Kitchen, tv, fire pit, picnic table, and the bike parked under the awning next to the front door. I've been loving it.<br />
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The baby is gone. I hope she'll be able to come out to Colorado to visit soon. Tomorrow I head over to New Hampshire and meet some friends to hit some of my favorite spots before heading south towards Georgia on Tuesday. It's been a nice couple of days here, but I'm ready to hit the road.<br />
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I saw my mother and a former co-worker. It was great to see both of them, but that's about my limit for trying to get together with old friends at any one location. When you start trying to hook up with too many people, the trip gets complicated. The weird part is being from someplace else, but being from this area before that. I'm from out of town, but I know where everything is. I'm from Colorado, but I have a local cell phone number. I know a couple of people at the local Harley dealership, but nobody else has a clue. Luckily tomorrow I get all the good parts about being back without all the weirdness.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-11663406107124429132010-06-03T11:28:00.000-07:002010-06-03T11:28:37.117-07:00Finished with flat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7qeEILD5JfF-zvQknkIUN1aK6QWD7SCqdaV3nFUDSQDM6TPJo63aAjxc9sGWbHtImEZKKfoD_nz4JosyJqqMbhDK8SNU44u2fLUnlzZGTHtghOSrc2efrem5rFbm9Jtj6U1sIfRVLZg/s1600/2010-06-02+14.37.54.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7qeEILD5JfF-zvQknkIUN1aK6QWD7SCqdaV3nFUDSQDM6TPJo63aAjxc9sGWbHtImEZKKfoD_nz4JosyJqqMbhDK8SNU44u2fLUnlzZGTHtghOSrc2efrem5rFbm9Jtj6U1sIfRVLZg/s320/2010-06-02+14.37.54.jpg" /></a></div>I woke up the morning after the rain day hoping for a fresh new start. Despite putting on cold, wet boots, it went well. There were low clouds that seemed more like fog that had separated and drifted up a little. Before too long, the day was sunny. I was headed to a friend's house on the eastern edge of Ohio, and she'd mentioned thunderstorm warnings on her Facebook page. I was determined to make it if it took me until midnight. Fortunately that wasn't required. The weather was beautiful. The ride was OK. Back roads again, which were nice, but I was getting tired of flat and straight.<br />
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I had been considering more Interstate yesterday, since my clutch hand was killing me and I felt like I needed to pick up the pace. Looking at the map, I could get out of town quickly and then head up for some scenic riding through the Allegheny National Forest along US 6. I saw the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon marked along the route and decided I'd look for it when I got to the area. After that I'd be heading up US 220 to New York route 17, east into Binghamton, and then northeast toward Albany. I wasn't sure how far I'd make it, but I was going to be happy if I could just get into New York. New Hampshire would be less than a day from there.<br />
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I was in a really pissy mood for some reason. I thought of the conversation I had with the tattooist when he was working on my back a few days before I took off. It's nice that we (bikers) don't get thrown in jail or pulled over for no good reason as much anymore, but sometimes you want people to leave you alone. Everyone wants to be our best friends now. As social as I usually am, yesterday was not the day. I must have had that look, because almost everyone gave me the feeling that they were calling 9-1-1 if I didn't leave soon. <br />
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I caught a glimpse of a sign that said "West Rim - 5 mi" as I was almost passed the turn off. I was making pretty good time, so I hung a right and headed up the road. It was a fun ride; narrow, curvy road with trees overhanging. It was shady and cool, and there was hardly anyone else on it. I messed with the video on my camera and took some shots (I'll upload them later). I was wondering if I was on the right road when I finally came out to the overlook. A few minutes later, another Harley came flying up and stopped. I thought there were two people, but it was just an extra helmet strapped to the top of the guy's T-bag. I guess he hoped he'd get lucky. He was from New Mexico. I found it amusing that there were two of us who lived close enough to the real Grand Canyon to make it a weekend trip, and yet here we were in Pennsylvania overlooking a... valley. It was pretty, but not spectacular. I'd been feeling homesick all day, wishing I was back in Colorado, and this didn't make it better.<br />
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I kept plugging along, made it through Binghamton being a total hater all the way, and got back into a rural area between Binghamton and Albany. I got off the Interstate and checked for a KOA nearby. There was one close enough it was worth calling. She told me I had about 40 miles to go and they had plenty of room. I ate a little bag of Swedish Fish, which gave me the sugar rush I needed to blast through the next half an hour. It was well worth it.<br />
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I have an awesome campsite by a river. I went all out and got firewood, marshmallows and hot dogs. I liked it so much, I considered calling the baby's mother and checking to see if it was OK to show up Friday instead of Thursday. As it turns out, the baby needed to go to a hospital in Boston to have a suspected cataract in her eye checked out, so I stayed another day. I've done a good bit of writing on the book and have enjoyed my day off of the road. Tomorrow I'll get to ride some of my old favorites in Vermont.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-60041046554769879212010-05-31T16:42:00.000-07:002010-06-06T19:18:05.440-07:00Wimped out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsDsn1vrZWPO9e1rfpYWdqYlc63Dg0sCmXBiNkC0b7hXOhuUG4-GCjc23cly6p5rji14IfQxsmHTE8iUl6VMuk__30xhPa-Q8yu-nn6IXxIgAaBxbfrhiCEeyhnQMdmxio8cEBAcXdQ/s1600/rainday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsDsn1vrZWPO9e1rfpYWdqYlc63Dg0sCmXBiNkC0b7hXOhuUG4-GCjc23cly6p5rji14IfQxsmHTE8iUl6VMuk__30xhPa-Q8yu-nn6IXxIgAaBxbfrhiCEeyhnQMdmxio8cEBAcXdQ/s200/rainday.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>My granddaughter made it out of her mother's womb at 2:10 this morning. I don't feel grandmother old, but maybe that's why I ended up in a cushy hotel after about 150 miles.<br />
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As much as I love the back roads, the novelty is starting to wear off. They're great out west, but there's a line somewhere, maybe at the Mississippi, where the speed limit drops, the traffic increases, and the towns are closer together. And while it's nice to know that there'll be gas when I need it, it's getting tougher to make good time. Campgrounds are almost non-existent on the secondary roads. I wish I had the nerve to just stop and pitch a tent somewhere, but I'm not sure how secure I'd feel. Between the pathetic distance I'm getting and the lack of camping facilities, I'll probably be getting back on the Interstate system soon.<br />
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I had planned for around 300 miles today. That would have put me at a campground midway through Ohio, with about 150 miles to go on Tuesday to my friend's home on the eastern side of the state. When I woke up this morning, Weather Underground was showing a 90% chance of thunderstorms in the area. I was surprised; the weather looked great. I called a friend in Fort Wayne who told me that there were some bad thunderstorms in the area. That didn't surprise me, and I figured I might get wet at some point, but I didn't see the storms as a threat to my progress. Boy was I wrong.<br />
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The clouds went from fluffy white ones in the distance to solid walls of dark grey. Then I took a right turn and the skies in front of me lightened up. Even though the roads got wet, I didn't see the point in stopping for rain gear. I'd be through it soon. Then the route turned left. Ugh. Time to stop and suit up. I got a little wet over the next few miles. At one point it got so thick that I thought I might drown from the water soaking the bandanna (water boarding came to mind). I started gulping the water down, trying not to think about whether the water I was swallowing was coming from the sky or off the road. It finally started to let up. In fact, I was so optimistic that I stopped in a nursing home parking lot to check the radar on my phone to see if I should remove my rain gear.<br />
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The radar wasn't looking too bad, but it wasn't time to remove the gear either. I took a few minutes to chat with the old guys sitting on the porch of the nursing home then buttoned up and headed out. I was in front of a grey SUV when I started out from the light. The vehicle passed me, got in front of me, then slowed down. I pulled out and started to pass, but seeing a wall of water up the road, I decided to get back behind the SUV so I could follow his taillights through the rough patches. It started and it came hard. Cars were pulling off on the side of the road. I could see walls of water blowing across the road ahead of me. Even though my guide was only a short distance in front of me, I was losing sight of him until he put his flashers on. At one point I glanced into the wind to see if there was a tornado coming. I wasn't sure what I'd do if there was and was glad I didn't see anything. I dodged lightening bolts, made it into town, and decided to stop for gas and wait out the storm.<br />
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I started to get gas, but there was so much water blowing under the roof over the gas pumps that I didn't dare remove my gas cap. The water flowing along the ground was over my ankles as well as the rims on my bike. I went inside to wait and check the radar again. The radar looked worse than it did earlier. I really wanted to get further than I was, but I didn't want to die either. I waited for a break between storms and headed for the nearest hotel. I'm a little discouraged. I feel like I should have been able to tough it out. Then I think it would be stupid to take those risks and put up with the crappy conditions when I don't have to. Whatever. Here I am in Huntington, Indiana. Boardman, Ohio tomorrow.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-26935313184549664812010-05-31T07:39:00.000-07:002010-05-31T07:59:56.463-07:00Freedom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7WnuyZ1UDFaF8N5NT2nXIg2RB9j_gmM-UBD5mqOHI6dEWkZjd6Yu-SS2B6e3Ytf0hmeC9dqhI6glpft9LzDTr-EXHQW18m7pvufyJMhdQMeUNjkT_z_cJspxIDl48I8vOI8XrLMsdRA/s1600/mississippi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7WnuyZ1UDFaF8N5NT2nXIg2RB9j_gmM-UBD5mqOHI6dEWkZjd6Yu-SS2B6e3Ytf0hmeC9dqhI6glpft9LzDTr-EXHQW18m7pvufyJMhdQMeUNjkT_z_cJspxIDl48I8vOI8XrLMsdRA/s320/mississippi.jpg" /></a></div>I was looking forward to a day with not much worth writing about, and I got it. Other than my surprise at how beautiful Iowa is, at least in the south, not much happened. I rode the back roads and didn't get a ton of miles behind me. It was a nice mellow day. <br />
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The picture here is of me crossing the Mississippi into Illinois. I thought I was taking a video. I've since figured out how to do that, so I can get it working on the fly.<br />
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I passed a lot of towns with flags. I value the fact that I can get on my bike and ride across the country whenever I want. Words will never be enough to express the gratitude for those who gave their lives for our freedom. The veterans who made it through alive have also done a great service to our country, and I thank them as well. Let's pray that we can strengthen the freedom that makes America such an incredible place to live rather than watch it all go down in a cesspool of over-legislation.<br />
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I had one badass moment passing through the south side of Peoria. I've been only in rural areas since leaving home, so the ghetto was a bit of a surprise. I passed a couple of guys on their new Harleys on my way out of town and noticed up ahead that there were a bunch of bikes lining a city block. From the look of the bikes, the building, and the guys out front, I determined it was a clubhouse and figured I'd just keep my eyes straight ahead and cruise on by. While things change, a lot stays the same, including the acceptance of women on bikes in some circles. I get it.<br />
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By the time I got closer, it appeared to be a bar with a lot of guys with shiny black customs all wearing shiny black tank tops and shiny black leather vests. Shiny isn't a word I associate with motorcycle clubs. They were far too polished. Anyway, one guy had his hand half way up in a wave, then must have noticed I was a chick. It's hard to explain the look on his face: quizzical... happily surprised... dumbfounded maybe? I went ahead and waved, since I was being waved to, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a couple of the other guys wave back. I then cranked on the throttle and blasted over the bridge and out of town. My baby is loud and fast. I love her.<br />
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Women riding Harleys aren't unusual at all. I suppose that single women obviously geared up for a long road trip still are. Ladies, you need to get out there and do it. You're riding. That's great. Take the next step. Do an overnight to start out with, but keep pushing yourselves. There's a lot of talk about freedom. There is nothing more free than hitting the road by yourself.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54880291124800237.post-55440114143898083152010-05-29T20:14:00.000-07:002010-05-29T20:14:51.156-07:00Wildlife excitementIf you've read more than three things I've written, you've probably "heard" me say that you can't have a good story without adversity. Some days you don't want a good story. Some days you just want life without any bumps or sharp turns. If you take off an hour on each end of my day today, you'd have one of those vanilla days.<br />
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After a pleasant but sluggish morning at the KOA, I got on the road around 10:30 (9:30 in my home time zone). It was really windy, but I was ready to tough it out with the big trucks. I wasn't on the road 5 miles when a big bug came whipping across the port bow and lodged between my helmet strap and my face. No big deal, until about 5 seconds later when I realized it was a bee. Now it's 80 mph with extreme wind gusts, 18 wheelers, and me trying desperately to unwedge the stinging insect. Another reason why helmet laws suck. But seeing as how my badass self was cruising along with my ape hangers, no windshield, and minimal belongings, I felt it was my duty to forge ahead and not pull off at the rest area I was approaching. I managed to suck it up, and within an hour the pain was mostly gone. <br />
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I had another badass moment at lunch when I shared a parking lot with a couple of Geezer Glides. One of them was a Duracell with a trailer that was bigger than my car. I noticed two helmets with microphones attached. Please tell me what could be so important and so difficult to discuss while you're sitting right next to each other on a motorcycle that you actually require radio communication. I don't know about you, but I prefer to limit conversations to "I have to pee," which can be yelled across the lane to the other motorcyclist when that level of desperation had been reached. Sitting on the same bike? You need a radio? Really?<br />
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We were all ready to go at the same time, and as usual, the motorcycle enthusiasts were curious. Alone? Yes. Where from? Colorado. Where are you going? Uhhh, kinda wherever I end up, but initially New Hampshire. Why are you going east? That is a legitimate question, and checking out my new first grandbaby is a good answer. The copper top's passenger was worried about my safety. I assured her I'd done it before and thanked her. As I wandered back into the truck stop, I heard one of the guys say, "A 40 mph crosswind and no windshield. She has more balls than us." I wouldn't say that, but I found it quite amusing, especially since I am making the effort to go rogue on this trip.<br />
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Even funnier is that I'd had enough of the wind and the stupid helmet yanking my head around like a marionette, and within the hour I decided to bag I-80 and head down to Kansas on a smaller road. The reason I did that instead of toughing it out is because I have this map on my Biker or Not page that shows all the states I've ridden in, and I have four big empty white spots indicating Kansas, Missouri, Iowa and Kentucky as places I've never been on two wheels. I figured I could swing down and take out Kansas and Missouri before heading back north to Iowa. It was only like half an inch on the map on my cell phone. No big deal. It was a beautiful, serene ride, but by the time I finally reached Missouri, I decided it might help if I have a real map for the trip. <br />
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I started heading north on I-35 to get back on my route in Iowa. While on the back road detour, I decided I'd prefer to take more back roads than Interstate, so while I was headed back north, it was not to get back on 80, but to pick up US34 for some west to east action. However, it had been a long day, and by the time I was nearing Iowa, the sun was going down, and I was ready to stop. I was searching for campground signs and finally saw a dilapidated set of painted boards indicating an RV park at the next exit.<br />
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I got off, hoping the park was still there. A sign said to turn left then head north 5 miles on US 69. The setting sun was creating a beautiful glow, so I decided to try and take a picture. I need to interject that ape hangers are really cool because you can fit so much shit between your headlight and the tops of the bars. I felt like Bullwinkle yesterday when I magically pulled a long forgotten camera tripod out of my saddlebag that I could velcro to the top of my bars. I had strategically looped the camera strap around the bar before securing the camera to the tripod, thinking about the time I so gracefully dropped my previous camera in the cup of coffee I was holding with the other hand. So anyway... I got the camera upright and turned on and was fiddling with it while riding about 60 down this back road. Out of the corner of my right eye I saw two deer hauling ass over the grassy bank beside me. I go for the brake and the clutch as the forward deer hits the road about 20 feet in front of me. I was sure the closer deer was going to take me out. Then she pulled a yard sale in the ditch. Totally wiped out - disappeared from view in the deep grass. I probably would have found it incredibly amusing if I wasn't in the middle of a severe adrenaline rush. And wouldn't you know, I didn't get a picture of the deer on the road in front of me. Some badass I am.<br />
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The RV park was a bust. I'm now at a flea bag motel just over the border in Iowa. I made about 500 mles today. Not bad, but not great. If I'd have stayed on I-80 I probably would have done more, but I'd probably be nursing a stiff neck too.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12822652671017930853noreply@blogger.com4