Old Hobbits Die Hard: Epilogue

While sitting with the entire lower half of my throbbing body encased in medicinal ice, I had some quality time to reflect upon our little outing. Several things have come to me which, in the interest of keeping other would-be adventurers safe and happy, need to be shared.

The number one thing that comes to mind which I did mention in passing but which bears repeating is, please remember to bring your own water supply.

Number two is that walking sticks are not for the faint of heart or inexperienced. I can say this with the utmost of confidence because I am a seasoned hiker and yet twice during our fiasco adventure I somehow managed to get it tangled up in my feet and not only trip myself up but nearly take out Bunny as I lurched forward to catch myself. Please don't try these things at home, rookies. You must keep in mind, Bunny and I are professionals!

The third thing I will share relates directly back to number one. Next time I will NOT forget to bring the urine purification tablets, just in case we run out of water again. You may just want to make certain you carry a large supply of H2o!!

And last but not least, number four. The trail was beautiful and magical and I must share it with you. So until next time then, please enjoy these. ( click on the individual photo to enlarge.) 

( F.Y.I. Bunny is resting up and the doctors told her not to worry about the numbness and the limp....said it most likely isn't permanent. )

 

Old Hobbits Die Hard

If you made her stand on my shoulders we still wouldn't be able to reach the ceiling fan in the dinning room to change the light bulb without an extension claw of some sort.

We are little people. Short. One might even say hobbit-like. But, as the post title would suggest we are very sturdy and what we lack in stature, we more than make up for with intestinal fortitude! Never let it be said that we can not finish what we we think we thought we started!! (???)

Heres the thing. Back in our hey-days we were something to behold. We could, while grocery shopping, carry a kid on each hip while dragging the third behind us with a string of black, sticky licorice dug out from between the cracks in the carseat, all while tossing needed food supplies into the only grocery cart that had a wonky wheel! I, myself, can fashion a large leanto or a small combustion engine with toothpicks and chewing gum. But I digress.

So, when Bunny and I took to the hiking trail yesterday, not only did we do so armed with bug repellent, whistles ( you are welcome Bunny) diamond willow walking sticks ( only the best for Besties ) binoculars, zoom lens cameras, a wild flower reference book ( thank you Bunny ), lunches and water bottle,( note that it is not plural), we were also packing a heck of a lot of natural bravado. We had done this simple hiking stuff back in the day with kids in tow, carrying all camping supplies on our own backs while singing Julie Andrew songs and knitting sleeping bags to be used at the evening campfire that we would have brought to flame using our spectacles and the sun!

Let me just say here that when Hobbits age, it isn't pretty.

We opted for the 7.8 mile hike. We could certainly do that with our eyes closed, hopping on one leg and do it in about 2 1/2 hours.

Imagine our surprise when, 5 hours later, we were just arriving back to the park office from whence we started.

The energy, optimism and bravado that had led us to take the first strong steps onto the "red" trail had been abandon for whining and fits of uncontrollable laughter brought on by sheer exhaustion and insufficient water intake. ( The fact that I forgot my water because I was fixated on remembering the afore mentioned diamond willow walking sticks can not be overlooked. However, we would have never made it out alive had we not had those walking sticks to lean our small hobbit-like bodies onto during those last 2 1/2 miles, hydrated or not!)

The fact that we had started our adventure identifying the flora, admiring the view and nature's displays of "art", ( click pic. To enlarge ...it is worth it to see the spider web )

 that we were privy to some sweet moments with some of the woodland's smallest and largest family members, bolstered our spirits when at the end our hips burned, our backs bent, our feet ached, and our parched bodies ( thank you Bunny for sharing your water so bravely), stumbled along the path under the watchful, steely eyes of the turkey vultures.

As we tumbled from the brush at the end of the trail and into the parking lot of the park office, our lips dry, our tongues sticky, and our bladders full we used our walking sticks to straighten ourselves up a bit and then we hobbled as only two proud hobbits can, into the park office to pee and buy a beverage.

You can never keep a good hobbit down! We are strong and it takes a lot to kill us! Old Hobbits Die Hard!

Life goes on...between the cracks!

Bunny and Viv: The Road To Cambridge ( 2nd Tale )

So, you are beginning to get a vague picture of what spending any amount of time with us might be like. Now imagine traveling with us. I know, I know it makes us shudder too, but we are compelled to do it! Who else could possibly tolerate the other except for one who understands on a cellular level. Remember and never forget, " It takes one to know one ".

So we finally get down the ghastly route 13 with its constant stop and go traffic in 80 degree weather and into Cambridge on route 50. All our summer gear sliding around on our hot-flashing bodies ( and do not mis-read that, I did NOT say hot, flashy bodies ). We are tired and hungry and not a little bit thirsty.

Did I mention that Bunny was commander and chief on this ride? Well she was and she likes to travel "by the seat of her pants" so to speak. This is not a bad thing, but it does make for some interesting times.

Imagine yourself as an innocent bystander on route 50....just standing there watching traffic when from the east come two amazing looking bikes and their confident riders. They ride past looking strong and focused. Ten minutes later you see, coming at you from the west, two more amazing looking bikes with fairly confident riders....wait, they look a little familiar? No, couldn't be. They ride past and you dismiss thoughts of them looking ...wait! Closing in on you from the east not ten MORE minutes later are those same damn two biker chicks, AGAIN! What the heck? Now your curiosity is peaked and within the next fifteen minutes they go back and forth two more times! The last time they pass by they are slumped over their gas tanks, their tongues hanging out and flapping in the breeze. They look dazed and confused.

Let me just say at this point, my friends, that I will never again let Bunny be commander of our rides without declaring myself Lodging Leader. She can lead me to kingdom come and back, I would be fine with that....but, at the end of the trail there WILL be a reserved room with two beds within walking distance of a restaurant.

So, as you watch them pass by one last time headed west, you wonder..did they make it? Yes, yes we did! We made it to Easton, Maryland where we finally found a great hotel and a taxi service to a fabulous restaurant! Someday we may even go back so that we can see it in daylight! Perhaps we will get to Cambridge next time too!

Ahhhhhhh, Life Between The Cracks!!

Bunny and Viv: The Road to Cambridge, ( 1st tale )

So, here's the thing.....Bunny is a teacher. I am not referring to the fact that she has a natural ability and she loves to teach, which she does. I mean she actually gets paid to be a teacher! I must say that I have seen her in action and in my humble opinion she is a damn good one. But...here's the thing. The fact that we are over fifty means that our brains do not work just as we would like. Let me give you an example.

Phonetic pronunciation ( she is thinking )..."ka nives"....she repeats it over and over to herself as she is barreling down highway 13, firmly planted on the seat of her black 883 Harley Sportster. She just doesn't remember EVER seeing that word before! She looks again at the upcoming billboard. Yep, that is what it says she thinks to herself, "ka nives". She even says it out loud three or four times. What does it mean??? At this point, just before the billboard passes into her rear view mirrors forever, the impulse from her brain to LOOK at the picture finally reaches her eyeballs. The clue?????...A huge picture of a kitchen knife......"OHHHHhhhhhh.....KNIVES......

It would seem that sometimes Bunny lives in a crack, too!

WELCOME, my friend, WELCOME!

On The Road With Viv And Bunny

How do I explain crazy? I am not certain. It is like .....art. I know good art when I see it. It is the same with crazy, it really is! I know it when I see it. Which leads nicely into my next piece of truth: It takes one to know one!!!

Yep, I think I might be certifiable ( and a bad speller, which I have come to believe is a sign of genius, but I digress ). However, I seem to have found a fellow crazy, a nut job, a true Bestie, with whom I can share adventures, laugh fests, motorcycling and good food. I recognized her the minute we had our first conversation. Like that piece of fine artwork you will never part with because you knew when you first laid eyes on it it was priceless, she is recognizably certifiable. And though she be a tremendous speller I suspect she, too, is a genius. But, again, I digress.

So here you have it. Two over fifty women who ride motorcycles together, share all kinds of adventures together, experience post-menopausal symptoms together
( well not together but sometimes simultaneously ), and trade life experiences and advice with one another in order to bring our combined craziness, hilarity and wisdom, but mostly the craziness and hilarity, to a sad and sober world.

In case you don't realize, this is a great calling and not one to be taken lightly!
It isn't every crazy that can be as open and honest about it all as we are! Oh no, no, no. This exceptional existence is not to be embraced by those who may have trouble with their stomachs or nervous systems OR who would rather deal with the anxieties caused by our special form of crazy without medication. No, if you want herbal remedies and yoga instruction you need to leave. This is hard core crazy that sometimes ( often ) requires a Doctor's written prescription. But once again I digress! What I am trying to get at here is Bestie and I take this calling very seriously. Living between the cracks is only for those with intestinal fortitude and no other choice.

So, as summer unfolds I ( Viv ) will tell you about my adventures with her ( Bunny ) in order that you may experience a little bit of crazy from the safety of your own home. Remember, we are definitely professionals in this area so do not try anything you read about here on your own unless you have a spotter and a Doctor's note that says you, too, are certifiable.

A Link to The Stories From My First Epic Journey

So, I can't really figure out how to repost all the stories from my first blog into this blog so that they are in order

It is easier, I realized after an hour, to give you the link and you can read more there. It has photos AND hilarity.

Here is the link http://cyntillatingcycles.blogspot.com

My first Epic Journey

July 8th, 2008

Dear Diary,

I believe that everything is infused with the Spirit of God. Even our actions and movements. Some people, things, movements and actions have very little of that Spirit. Some people, things, movements, actions have an abundance.

In the planning stages of the EPIC JOURNEY I had let the entire SIS Association know that any and all members were welcome. At first I wondered how smart this was because I had no clue as to how many would actually show up. I had no idea, then, if it would be a manageable number for me and my ADD brain. But, I decided since it was a spiritual journey for me, and that my intention infused the journey, that it would most likely be a spiritual journey for whomever came along. Though I would work diligently during our travels to ensure that every one stayed safe and happy, for the most part, any one individuals experience ( and perception ) was out of my hands and the journey would unfold and end up as it should. I believed that those who would end up coming would be the very people for which this journey had been called into being. ( Along with me, of course )



Love your neighbor as yourself.

The peace and existence of our world would be secured if we all lived by this one Truth.

That if you truly loved yourself ( were empty of fear which produces selfishness, and defensiveness ) you really would be free to act and re-act out of a self-less love for others. Love your neighbor AS yourself. Loving self comes first...then loving others selflessly.

The love in one heart...love that casts out fear....can make such a profound difference in the life of another. Just sharing our selves, which is a powerful act of love, makes that difference.


We all got up this morning cleansed, so to speak. We had had a great bonding evening that went a bit deeper than most bonding moments during a bike trip, I am guessing.

As I got ready for my day, still chuckling at all the goofy things that were said and done last night, I realized I had started to be changed by these women. I believe that these women, regardless of what reasons they gave themselves for coming on this trip, were called to it.

As I started to pack my bike I ( After having showered in Mosquito repellent, and I am NOT kidding ) I took a moment to take pictures of our steeds.



I could hear the sound of the brook near by as it tumbled ever closer to the big lake. The air was cool and damp; symptoms of the existing overcast sky that hinted of the weather moving in. Once in a while I could hear a car passing by on highway 61, but for the most part, nothing. Stillness. Air.....and me with the bikes.

Foxy's trike. Big and deep blue. A Honda. Stable on her three wheels. Ready to take a passenger or carry an extra piece of luggage. In essence, ready to assist. Reliable, easy to ride, ready to roll when you are.

This is Foxy. Foxy and her family own and operate a saw mill in central Wisconsin. She is without a doubt the picture you would see if a picture were included with the meaning of the phrase, "Salt of the Earth". Ya, Youbetchya!

After having been met by my brother and his wife in Bayfield the previous Sunday and led into Duluth as a special favor to me, Scarlett, Foxy and I then made our way to see my eighty-eight year old Mother in a care facility.

Foxy, I could tell, was not the least bit out of her element. She was at home with my Mom; with my "family visit". I knew that if my mom had asked her to help her to the bathroom, Foxy would have done so without a second thought for herself and then probably would have offered to help her with her daily ablutions too. That is just the kind of person she is.

There is a carefree and wild side to Foxy that, perhaps, isn't so welcome at times in the conservative environment of central Wisconsin. So, perhaps, she keeps some of who she is hidden a lot of the time. I wish that weren't so for her sake. But, that is why she came along with us. We got to know and love Foxy.....all of Foxy, not just part of her. Her spirit is very young, though it has weathered some difficult times. Foxy's oldest daughter died just a day or two after giving birth to Foxy's grandson nine years ago. Foxy has a big, beautiful tattoo on her chest of a fairy blowing stars from her hand and her daughter's name. Pam.

Foxy was called to this journey.


Then there is Twitter's bike next to Foxy's. Twitter's bike was re-named after much talk of frogs and flies and face-reddening, gut wrenching laughter. We named the bike 'Nooner'. A low slung V-Star 1100. Burgundy and Cream.

Nooner has the ability to have a side car attached. So that even though you may see only the bike, the reality is that there is a piece of Nooner missing when the sidecar is not in place. A beautiful bike on its own, Nooner is completed by the side car. This is Twitter ....and her daughter.

What little you know of Twitter through these entries would lead you to believe that Twitter lives a carefree existence, full of frivolity and humor. Though, indeed, she fills her life with humor it is out of necessity. Without her humor, her world would consume her. Twitter, or Leah as her family knows her, has three biological children. The older two boys, now in their early adulthood's, have some emotional problems that have, at times and even now, been extremely difficult to deal with. Her darling daughter, Angela, was born 12 years ago with Downs Syndrome.

The name Leah has its origins in Hebrew and means 'weary'. In her short life, Twitter certainly would have every excuse to be 'weary' given the amount of attention, care and concern her children require. Not to mention the worry that, is not required but, just comes with the territory. But as you have read, Diary, she is anything but weary. She defies her name and inspires those around her to deal with their moments as best as they can and trust that the Spirit will guide, support and provide, all while finding the humor in the moment...finding sanity to move forward. One, of many, ways that Twitter keeps sane is by writing her own blog about her life with her daughter Angela and life in general..... you can find it by clicking here: Garden of Eagan.

Nooner, as I mentioned can have a sidecar attached. Angela loves to ride in the side car. A mother and daughter bike. A proud mother. A gifted mother. An hilarious mother!
They are blessed to have each other!

Twitter was called to this journey


Then there is Scarlett's bike. I cannot look at Scarlett's bike without seeing her second bike in my minds eye. Scarlet started on a Savage 650 and then moved to a Honda Shadow 750. The 750 prepared her. Now she rides a Honda VTX 1300. A reliable, quiet bike that is low to the ground. Ready to move out when called upon and not needing to be fast. This bike handles well and will perform when asked. This is Scarlett.

Scarlett's first response when I strongly 'asked' her to come along on this trip was to say she wasn't certain she could. She didn't tell me then but she was doubting her riding abilities and her stamina. She had spent years not valuing her abilities and had been left a bit, i don't know, tired, worn down perhaps by a couple of relationships.

It took Scarlett some time to think it through and realize that she WANTED to go but lacked the 'moxy' so to speak. If you remember, Diary, I have already told you that she has more moxy than most! So she set out to eliminate anything that would give her reason to back out. She got her health issue under control, released her worry over family, got her VTX 1300 so she knew she would be comfortable and (when need be) faster. She took an Experienced Rider Course, bathed in moxy for months and put away her TV remote control. She opened her heart and her life and said she was coming.

Scarlett was called to this journey



And lastly, there is the 1200L Harley Sportster that belongs to me. A real workhorse of a bike with sparkles on top. Snappy throttle (voice) and lowered by design, custom seat
( ahem ) and progressive shocks. You can't get much lower to the ground. Maintained ( and that can get expensive ), it is always ready for a ride but sputters during warm up, though it is fuel injected. It will take whatever you give it whether it is an unpaved mountain road , a nice quiet highway, busy town traffic or a drop in gravel and handle all of it with a great sporting attitude. At the end of a long run it will take to keeping its revs higher at a stop, so it needs its cooling down time. But it doesn't take long for that and it is ready to roll again!

This is me. Like every one else I have my share of woes and have been knocked down by life on occasion....but like the sporty, I get back up, get dusted off, *sigh*...and off we go to try again!

One of the ways I cope is by hosting a motorcycle crash site dedicated to helping those who have lived through any type of motorcyle incident, and those who have lost a loved one to a crash. It is called Biker's Haven.

I was definitely called to this journey!



So here we are, all together and on the road, sharing a part of ourselves and a bit of life with one another. This is good Spirit energy. This is life changing love.
POSTED BY TINK AT 9:05 AM 1 COMMENTS
LABELS: EPIC JOURNEY
SATURDAY, AUGUST 16, 2008

Kissing The Frog; The Final Chapter
So Diary,

As you have read we have already had quite the event filled day.

Scarlett and I have been on the road together now for one week and I think she has pushed the envelope, with regards to her riding skills, nearly every single day and proven to herself that she has the ability to handle whatever she encounters. I think she may be a bit road weary and a bit tired of me stalking her ass for more pictures. HAHAHAhahahahaha!!!!! But, I really don't care because it is just too darn funny to give up doing! Everyone needs a muse. Evidently Scarlett is mine for the duration!!! Heeheeheehee....

We have been a group of four now for about three full days and it has become apparent that Twitter and I were separated at birth ( and about six or seven years ).
It is like reuniting with a long lost twin. We talk over each other but say the same things. We make the same hand movements and gestures often simultaneously and end up inadvertently whacking each other. We ride with a similar slouch and treat our throttles with a snappy confidence. Our tendency toward impatience is exceeded only by our desire to laugh, make someone else laugh and the propensity to "fix" things even if nothing is broken.

I am most confident that between the two of us we believe that we could do almost anything.....fly a plane if the pilot suddenly kicked the bucket....ride a horse bareback into town for help if Timmy falls into the well....build shelter that would defy an earthquake and keep everyone warm and dry for years....find, take down and prepare food in the wilderness with a nail file, a bungee cord and hot bike pipes...or even sew a severed limb back on. About the only thing I know I can't do is pull out someones tooth. But I am betting Twitter could do that. And I know she has an aversion to reptiles, so I can cover her on that front. Yep...I think we are definitely a pair to be reckoned with, as 'they' say. The only problem I can foresee is that we would never be able to regain our strength from the constant and hysterical laughing that enslaves us, in order to actually 'do' any of those things.

So Diary, by the time we get to dinner this first night of the four of us being on the road we are ALL pretty weary. 'Cept for maybe Foxy. ( I could swear I saw her knitting as she was trekking down the highway today on that comfy trike!!! And you do realize, Diary, that there is no way for HER to win the 'Falling Down Pin' from me!! Blast! ) We enter the unsuspecting establishment, as is now our custom, screaming with laughter, talking loudly to compensate for the bike, wind and road noise which is still ringing in our ears and generally ignoring the personal space of every one else around us.

The wonderful thing is that never once has any one been offended or disturb. Quite the contrary, Diary. We seem to attract people and positive attention like honey attracts flies.

We stopped for dinner this Monday evening at a small pizza place in Grand Marais. Chatting, laughing, dirty and ready for anything we no sooner get all our gear off ( again ) and sit down when the first admirer arrives. A young local gent with nothing better to do than to sit at the table next to us while he eats and enjoy the show. When he leaves he actually comes up to us to thank us and wish us a great journey!

The next moth to the candle comes up from behind Scarlett. A woman in her late sixties, early seventies. She looks and sounds just like Dame Edna ( an English Female Impersonator) blue hair and all. It turns out she is nearly as humorous and she chats about her friends who ride four-wheelers through the woods and then ride to dinner sporting shirts that say something like, "Bad to the Bone" HAHAhahahahah! Can you picture THAT Diary???HAHAHAhahahahaha! When we ask her her name she stutters a bit and then responds in a more subdued tone than heretofore employed, "Well, my name is Sandy...except when I am in Arizona...then my name is Crystal!" **?????????????????**!!!!!!!!!!!!!** HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! OMG! Diary, we laughed so hard Twitter and I almost couldn't bear it! ( As Twitter is want to say, "Perhaps you had to be there." )

Before we left she got out her camera and got her picture taken with us! I tell you what, I won't soon forget that face or her enthusiasm!

On the way back to the motel Twitter and I decided we need a bottle of something so that we can have a cocktail before bed. This seems to really irk Scarlett, who as you will remember is pretty road weary by now. Scarlet takes off down the road with Foxy in tow ( much to Foxy's dismay ). It took Twitter and I a couple of minutes to stop focusing on just ourselves to figure out that Scarlett was unhappy. But, being us we figured we could 'fix' it back at the motel! Hahahaha ahhhhh!

It is apparent that when I get back Scarlett is upset. But here is the great thing about being on the road with women bikers. They pretty much take responsibility for their own garbage and issues. When I inform her that we can't go anywhere tomorrow until the air is cleared, and I profess my love and loyalty ( hee hee...i do love ya Scarlett! ) The day finally catches up to us and we melt into tears and while I hold her hand and we sit on the bed she shares a bit of her heart and personal story. In the middle of it Twitter presses her face against our window and we invite her in. Now the three of us are bonding and holding hands and in comes Bev. The team is complete. I get out my guitar and Twitter and I sing a few praise songs for every body ( HA!... I bet that's a surprise for some of you! ) and then a heart felt rendition of One Tin Soldier. ( You won't get that travelin' with stinky old boy bikers! )

It is at this point that the giddiness ( or was it the wine??? and by the way Scarlet didn't partake...THAT night anyway!) sets in and we start to laughing all over again. The fact that I found a strange bathroom device between the toilet and the shower which sparked Twitters imagination only added to the ensuing hilarity.


Just before calling it a night we briefly touch on the events of the day. It has been filled with some really weird energy and we are exhausted because of it. It is at this point we realize...WE DIDN'T KISS THE FROG THIS MORNING!!!!!

Well, Never again Diary. The moral to this little tale?...Always keep your frog handy and make certain it gets kissed every morning! (HAHAHAHahahaha...inside joke for Foxy, Scarlett and Twitter!)


Diary....don't forget to say a prayer....
G'Night,
Tink

My First Epic Motorcycle Journey

Dear Diary,

Well I am certain that you can tell I haven't written in a while. That is because I got terribly lazy at one point and fell behind in my writing, only to get a job and become extremely busy.

Because it has been so long since I have written about this trip I have had to re-read all of my entries in order to rekindle the spark of adventure and humor. My, it really was such an amazing journey!

I will continue from this point, Diary, but I am going to combine the final days of the journey into one Diary entry, so that I can move on to present day musings.

It seems Diary, looking back now, that the weather on this trip was much less than perfect. I don't think I have ever ridden through so much rain and cold in my life. And, though riding in the bad weather was exciting in the moment, I think it had a deep and abiding negative effect on me on a cellular level. No, seriously! At the very hint of wet weather my skin prunes up, my toes and nose go icy and my hair POPS into a state of frizz that can only be called 'afro' like!! I begin to shake and shudder and before I realize what I am doing I am running from room to room, upstairs and down, randomly pulling on and tearing off protective outer-wear garments.

Ok, let me explain.

We left Minnesota to ride 230 miles on one of the most beautiful, scenic roads around the northern shore of Lake Superior to get to Marathon, Canada. We rode in the damp, cold, gray, spritzing, drizzly, awful, disgusting ( ok, you get my drift ).... it was less than perfect weather AND it was freakin' freezing cold. We had done our usual stopping and starting in order to shed inappropriate clothing and don warmer, appropriate, dry clothing. However, by the time we pulled into our hotel that night in the near darkness, we could barely speak we were so cold. We could, however, scream with laughter which is, of course, our signature move.

As we approached our destination I could barely think straight. I was not even wet at that point because I was frozen. My GPS counted down the miles for me and the decreasing number was what kept my resolve to get there,if not strong, at least intact. I wanted to convey the mileage information to the ladies behind me, as they had no exact information about how far we needed to go in order to pull off for the night. But short of stopping, which I wasn't going to do, there was nothing for it but to keep my speed up and hunker down over my tank and ride. When we pulled into the parking lot of the hotel I could barely squeeze my brake. In fact Twitter didn't use her brake. In a frozen brain fog I could hear an odd scraping sound coming up from behind me and around to my right.

As I stopped, my boots broke free from the bike pegs and my legs unfolded, sending thin shards of ice flying off of them in all directions. I knew my feet were squarely on the ground, not because I could feel them because I could not, but because I had not fallen over. I immediately burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. (It was that or fall off the bike and lay face down on the pavement in a fit of uncontrollable sobbing but I figured if I did that my tears would freeze my face to the tarmac and I wouldn't get dinner, a hot shower, or a bed to sleep in for the night.) Coming in behind me and executing an, albeit unorthodox, stop was Twitter. Her choices had been few since her fingers had frozen solid and weren't receiving any information from her well cooled brain in order to work the brake lever. She could choose to jump the curb and come to a stop on her side, pinned under her bike in the grassy but deep ditch on the other side of the curb or drag her boots along the parking lot surface the last thirty feet to slow herself down enough so that the curb would actually stop her when she rolled into it. She chose the later, thank goodness. The odd scraping noise that I had heard was her new braking system being deployed. Still on the bike and draped over my gas tank, I am convulsed with laughter as I watch Twitter, who isn't even watching where she is going because she, too, is draped over her gas tank, laughing hysterically and watching me laugh at watching her. The jolt of the her bike hitting the curb brings her momentarily to her senses and she manages to get her feet down and bring down the side stand. Bev rolls in (happily knitting) behind us and then poor Scarlett behind her. Scarlett is already laughing as she gets her side stand down and we all stumble into the lobby of the hotel where it takes no less than five minutes to quiet ourselves long enough to realize we didn't die and then begin laughing hysterically again out of pure relief and celebration of that fact.

Though it was only 8:30 or so by the time we are settled in our rooms the area has closed down for the night and there is no where to get dinner. No where! So, God Bless him, the cook from the hotel dining area shares his home made chicken soup with us and we are all more than ready for sleep.

There were other things that happened there...like the mama bear and her baby that visited the kitchen's back door and that we awoke to Scarlett having to replace her back tire because it was well and truly flat!!!


The flat tire led us to meet several male characters in Marathon who will forever have Scarlett to dream about. Not to mention having another laughing fit ( of spectacular proportions) at the coffee shop when we were waited on by a Canadian Filipino who kept trying to serve us another cup of "Mother Fuc*ing Coffee!!!!" The first time she said it the four of us, collectively, took in a gasp of air while trying to keep coffee from spewing from our noses as yet another fit of laughter formed in the bowls of our beings. To no avail. Fifteen seconds later she reiterated , and waited for an answer. She was actually fairly patient, Diary, as our bodies became bent and tortured with laughter. I had one hand clasped over my mouth in an attempt to keep the latest gulp of coffee from showering the innocent patrons near me and my other shoved between my legs trying desparately not to pee my newly dry pants and leathers.


When Scarlett's ride was all ready to get back on the road we continued on to Wawa, Canada in the drizzle and rain. It was while we were in Wawa that we decided that we should find a dry, safe place for the night and spend our last night as a troupe of four.

We found a delightful cabin with a great fireplace.
We talked, ate, and talked some more. Twitter and I had one more big laugh together as we recorded Scarlett's little mouse snores ( link )











and the next morning we were off in the rain again.
We made it to Michigan where Bev and Twitter left to head west and back to their homes.







Scarlett and I spent several more days on the road where we met a sweetie of a bartender who when we introduced ourselves as Tink and Scarlett thought we said Tish and Carla....Somehow they fit...and stuck.


When we got to Wellsboro, PA we met a lovely woman, Margaret from Maryland, who had always wanted to ride a motorcycle. So we put her as close as we could get her to being on them and snapped these photos.



























We found a fun diner absolutely FULL of frogs!! HAHAhahahaha!!! How appropriate was that??!!




When my hubby arrived with my middle daughter we knew it was just about to end.

It had topped any trip I had had to that point. I laughed, cried, sang, prayed and rode and rode and rode my way through some of the most inspiring beauty the earth has to offer and I met some wonderful people along the way.

I am thankful for the days I get "after fifty"! I am thankful for the family who let me go on this Epic Journey. I am thankful for those who opted in and made the best of all of it! Most of all I am glad I said "yes" when my spirit said "go"!

I'm ready to see what else I can say "yes" to !!

G'night Diary...Oh, and Diary.....Thanks for all the prayers!


Tink
POSTED BY TINK AT 4:49 AM 1 COMMENTS
LABELS: EPIC JOURNEY
MONDAY, AUGUST 25, 2008

The Magic
July 8, 2008

Dear Diary,

So here we are following behind our guide. She in her older model car and we are on our bikes. We are traveling about 30 or 40 MPH and following a road that hugs the lake shore.

It is all so emotional for me, Diary.

It is so beautiful here and that beauty is so much a part of my very fiber. And, Diary, it isn't just the visual beauty that influenced me, it is so much more. It's the energy from the lake; so very peaceful yet intensely peaceful. It is the air; crisp, clean, calming.
It is the profound lack of annoying noise but the ever present calming sound of nature. The constant, melodious harmonizing of the leaves rustling, the birds calling, the waves splashing and the feel of the northern sun on my cool skin. It is the open spaces, the vast forests, the feeling of being close to the earth and away from un-necessary and frivolous expectations or life styles.

This is me, this is who I am... this is where I function best. But it is a lifetime away from where and how I live now, in New Jersey.

I traveled here, to Duluth, to celebrate life. To be thankful for every day I get past my fiftieth birthday because my sister Sally didn't get that privilege. Being here now, traveling toward the "Spirit Little Cedar" tree, traveling down this vaguely familiar road, my mind becomes flooded with memories of my Dad.

Memories like our boat trips, of his voice and his trust in my boat skills. It just seems so sad and so wonderful all at the same time. I want to go back to that experience so desperately that my hearts aches. Yet, I am so thankful to be here in this moment as an adult that my heart aches even more! The experience of connecting the past to the present finds me yet again in this moment and it feels almost surreal.

I look to my right and I see the small dock where we used to tie up. I remember the other family we traveled with, the luscious taste of fresh fish cooked on a small Coleman stove. I even recall the feel of my sweaters on my skin, keeping me warm against the cool lake breezes. I can recall the smell of the boat engine and the bilge water, hear the creaking of the hull and the squeak of the fenders between the boat and the dock.

All of a sudden we are there. We pull off the road into a small gravel parking area and the bike engines are silenced.
My heart is beating quickly and I am so focused that I could have been drenched in a 'Flash' and never even notice. Probably was.

At this point our guide, Terri,

tells us about the fact no-one is allowed to come here any more outside of tribal members and how it is one of her most favorite places to come to when she needs to be peaceful and centered.

As she leads us off the gravel and onto the path into the woods, we just all get very quiet. We begin to speak in hushed tones. The very air has a different feel. The quiet of the forest is like a presence and we instinctively respect it and respond by becoming quiet too. Not just by not speaking, but we all seem to quiet our inner voice as well and we follow Terri making few comments and if speaking, speaking with reverence.

Terri stops in front of this sign and, as we read it, we become more in sync with the prevailing atmosphere.

As we walk on we just stop talking altogether and just soak in the the moment. We wind our way through the woods and when we get to the side of the hill we step onto a wooden stairway that takes us down, past moss covered rocks and trees.

We end up at the bottom of the stairway
and off in the distance is the The Tree.




It is at this point that I can not help but choke up. It just reminds me so much of my Dad.

We didn't have a terribly close relationship. That is not what this is about...mourning something that was really deep and precious. I just loved him. He was intense and strong and I know that he loved me. Though we didn't share intimate details of our lives on a daily basis, he is my Dad. He taught me so much about life. Taught me how to survive it. How to enjoy it. And in the end, how to leave it. What more can a daughter ask for?

In the 10 minutes we were there with the tree, I was able to reconnect a bit more with my past. The tree welcomed the four of us as travelers but in a sense re-welcomed me as a friend. A friend who had also known my fathers touch, my fathers appreciation. A friend who had stood with my Dad, exchanging spiritual energy. Every one else was new to the tree. I had a history with it. Though I had never seen it before this day it knows me through my Father. I know it knows me. I can FEEL it knowing me and it is comforting. It connects me to my Dad and that feels very nice.

We made an offering of tobacco to the four corners of the earth. We kept a short silence but I was so filled with gratitude I couldn't even pray...I just kept feeling grateful. ( I vaguely remember asking for safe passage and guidance ) What a wonderful place. What an exquisite moment in time.

We wound our way back up the stairs and through the woods. Every one even more quiet than when we had gone in. Walking out together, yet one by one. How profound. How beautiful and simple.

You can't see him, but I know my Dad is there walking with me.


Scarlett, Bev Twitter and I...all in the same place physically, but all lost in our own thoughts.
I don't suppose we will ever forget that day. I think that day something deep down inside of Scarlett decided her life was never going to be just average or boring again. I know I decided that that day. It truly was rather magical.
Twitter, Scarlett, Tink, Bev....and of course, The Tree
Thanks "Spirit Little Cedar" for your comfort, for your presence in this world, for your example.

Diary, Say a prayer. We are on our way to Marathon Canada and the weather is not looking good.

Tink
POSTED BY TINK AT 10:18 AM 0 COMMENTS
LABELS: EPIC JOURNEY
FRIDAY, AUGUST 22, 2008

The Tree
July 8, 2008

Dearest Diary,

When I was about 10, my Dad decided he wanted to have a big enough boat to travel across the big lake ( Lake Superior ) in with out fear of sinking. So he searched for and found an old wooden herring boat that had been dry-docked for about 16 years, ( or more).

It had seen a full life on the lake for a fishing family in Grand Marais and when it needed repair, I guess, the family decided it just wasn't worth it and dry docked it.

Along comes my Dad who, when he looked at something, always saw what it could also be and not just what it was. (He had that gift for everything and every one he encountered.) So, when he saw this old, rotting herring boat he saw an opportunity to make his dream of traveling the big lake a reality. He spent quite some time getting that boat sea worthy. He even replaced some of the central wooden structure which required that he make his own 'sweat box' to soften the new wood pieces so that he could manipulate them into shape for the keel and the gunwales.

When he was finished we had a great little vessel that sported a 28 foot keel and a 12 foot beam. He didn't change the look of the original boat. Just put her back into running order. From far off she looked like a whale and so we named her The Little White Whale. Here she is:



It is on this boat that I sailed with my Mom and Dad all over Lake Superior. One of the most wonderful places we would go was a small, unknown port near Grand Portage, Minnesota. And it was while we were there one summer that my Dad, after chatting with some local fishermen, found out about the tree.

I remember this tree being called the witching tree and my Dad was VERY excited about it and made it his business to take the trek through the woods to find it. From where we were docked I would say that it was probably a mile and a half walk. The first half of which was down a dirt road and the second half down a foot path through the woods and down the steep side of a hill to the lake shore. He became fascinated by this tree and every time we were in that area he made it a regular stop so that he could go and see it again. There was just something special that he enjoyed about it. He talked a lot about this particular tree when he told stories of our boat travels. So much so that I could have sworn I actually saw it too. But, upon reflection, I don't think I ever did. I saw several pictures of him next to it...touching it even, but I never actually saw it for myself. Until recently that is Diary.

I had told Scarlett about the tree, briefly. She may not even remember the conversation about it it was such a fleeting story ( but then again she may). But the spirit of the tree stayed with her upon hearing the tale and when we were in a gift store in Grand Marais she spied a postcard that had a picture of this tree on it. Something felt familiar and she picked it up and read that this tree is believed to provide safe travel for those journeying along the lake.

As I said, I remember the tree being called the witching tree. However, it is actually called the Witch Tree by tourists but the Ojibwa ( or Chippewa ) call it Manido Gizhigans or
" Spirit Little Cedar" and the Ojibwa now own the land upon which it grows. The earliest written records that mention this tree, as a mature tree, date to 1731 making it at least 300 years old. Some experts would argue that it is closer to 700 years old. The fact that it is so very old is captivating, however, what makes it even more fascinating is the fact that it grows out of bare rock. It is wonderfully twisted, and its growth stunted from many years of trying to grow, not only out of bare rock but, in bitter cold temps and near the frigid lake waters. It looks like a life size Bonsai that nature has trained with a masterly skill. And since the Ojibwa have been able to protect it, it will be able to last quite a while longer I am certain.

After the Ojibwa were able to buy the land where the tree lives, they began to monitor the foot traffic through the woods to where it grows; offering only guided tours by naturalists associated with a nearby lodge. This tree is sacred to the Ojibwa and the area where it grows is considered holy. So, when people began to desecrate the area and were not treating the land and space around the tree as sacred, they decided that there would be no more visitors to the tree. One can see it from the lake side if you are lucky enough to have a boat and know where it is. But, for the most part, visits to this beautiful tree ended about 18 months ago. No one has been allowed to go to the site, which now has sturdy wooden stairs along the hillside and a viewing platform about 80 yards from the tree. Only tribal members can go to the tree and when they do it is, of course, a spiritual journey and once there they give a traditional offering of tobacco to the Spirit...offering it to the East, West, North and South and spend time to pray.

So when Scarlett showed us the postcard, and shared with us that she believed the tree was calling us to visit, she made it her business to respond to that call and when we arrived at the Tourist Information Building
near Grand Portage, she went straight to find out how we could get to see it.

At that point in time we had no idea that you couldn't go see it. The postcard had stated one needed to have a guide to visit it. Scarlett went in to find a guide and was met with the information that no one visited the tree any more. But, if she wanted she could spend time looking at a lovely, large photograph of it that hung on the wall in the Information Building's gift shop. So she 'sat' with that information a bit. Still, she felt we were SUPPOSED to see it. So Scarlett went back to the woman who had denied her the first time and told her about our strange day the day before. How we had had odd energy with us all day and we really felt that we needed to visit the tree. Once again she was turned away.

It was at this point she gave herself over to the idea that we may not see it. She decided she would look to find a Spirit Little Cedar pin to purchase and give to us traveling with her to offset the falling down pin. As she shopped a young woman, a daughter of one of the elders of the tribe who had been listening to Scarlett's story and plea, decided we were to see the tree and she called her mother and got her permission to bring us to see it.

We couldn't believe it. It wasn't luck and it didn't feel like luck. It felt...it felt like.... privilege. It felt as though we were being drawn there.

Scarlett had especially felt it that morning. And it was when Twitter and I were walking by the lake shore and visiting the trading post museum that we began to feel it. By the time Twitter and I were half way through our walk through the museum grounds we were already discussing that it felt as though it needed to be a priority. That it was great of Scarlett to take the time to try to get us a guide and that we really wanted to get there too. At that point we felt a bit of an urgency to get back to Scarlett and Bev to see what was transpiring. So we headed back to the parking lot only to be met by Scarlett waving frantically at us to hurry along as we were being given the opportunity of a life time. By the time we got on our bikes to follow our guide who was in her car, Scarlett had explained why this was so very exciting and at that point we REALLY understood that we were being blessed by this gesture. Who knows when the last traveler outside of the tribe had been there? I don't. But I know who was there that day.

Four women who had been called to this journey were being offered a most wonderful gift; kept for and shared with just a privileged few.

Oh Diary, I think I need to take a break before sharing the rest of this wonderful pilgrimage

Past musings about hair,

TUESDAY, AUGUST 18, 2009

$300.00 Hair
When I was young I had blonde hair. Then, as I grew, it darkened to a medium dark brown.

It had the ability, when I was very young, to be brushed around a finger and hold a ringlet. It's funny, really, but I have a vivid memory of someone brushing my hair and doing just that...making ringlets. Over time it became very thick and wavy. It was manageable and held a style with ease.

Now? Now I have hell hair. I am not certain I can actually pinpoint when this happened...BUT....

Several years ago, perhaps five years ago, I decided I would get a perm. ( yes, yes, I can hear you all screaming, "But why???" ) I don't know why. I just know it was one of those moments when hormones rise to head bursting levels and there is nothing for it but to choose between eating many pounds of chocolate, spending vast amounts of cash on exquisite ( yet horribly uncomfortable/stay in the closet ) shoes or changing your hair style. I chose to re-do my do.

The perm went well actually and looked better than I had anticipated it would. Which, when I think about that, makes me wonder why I did it at all if I was not expecting the best result, but I digress.

As time passed I began to tire of it and knew that it would eventually weaken and droop and soon my hair would go back to being relatively straight with a bit of a bend or wave to it.

Like I said, that was about five years ago now and I am still waiting.

I figure what happened was just this: Just about the time the salon beautician stood, poised over my wavy and luxurious head of hair with a small, seemingly insignificant, white plastic bottle of perm solution my biological clock ticked its last fertile tock and thrust my body, and every last damn hair follicle into peri-menopausal hell. And I do mean every last follicle. What once was straight and manageable is now curly and frizzy...what was once curly ( ahem ) is now...well, not so much! The combination of harsh perm solution and raging hormones came together in a perfect cosmic-like storm and left me with really crappy hair.

How does motorcycling enter into this you might ask? Well, I'll tell you!

In order to maintain any semblance of sanity and combat the mental effects of this, this PERI-MENOPAUSE, I ride my motorcycle. A lot! Its not unlike Forrest Gump's running, running, running.

The only, and I do mean ONLY, thing about riding that has any negative aspect to it is that wearing a full faced helmet dries out my hair to the max! Wearing any helmet will do it really. In the world of women's motorcycling it is appropriately known as helmet hair. Combine that with the hormonal hair and you get Hel-monal Hair. It sucks! It is not fun and I am afraid that if I get it cut it will just look like a dandelion gone to seed. It would seem that my only option would be to have the beautician perform a miracle infusion of an exotic herbal concoction that has been flown here from the deepest and most secret places of the rainforest in a hermetically sealed native pouch woven from Sloth fur. (The only animal moving slow enough for Amazonian beauticians to catch, evidently ) This procedure will cost approx. $300.00! REALLY????????!!!!!!!...$300.000?

So, today, as hormone levels approach head busting levels I have to choose...chocolate, shoes or new do. Considering that I just came back from shoe shopping and taking into account that, tho' I have been dieting for the past 12 months, I have gained 13 pounds, I am thinking I should pay a visit to the hair salon...or better yet....I'll hide it under my helmet and go riding!
POSTED BY TINK AT 5:38 AM 2 COMMENTS
LABELS: HAIR

Past musings

A Christmas Story for You

Wow! It's cold out today. Thirty degrees, I think.

I don't go out in it any more, but because of my up-bringing in the north woods of Minnesota, I just know that if I donned a pair of boots and walked outside and down the sidewalk, every step would cause the snow to squeak. That is how we Minnesotans measure the cold. Not in namby-pamby temperatures but, rather, by sound. If it doesn't squeak then it isn't cold enough for a hat or mittens. However, if it does squeak you should probably wear a hat and keep mittens close by at all times.

Not wearing mittens but keeping them accessible is accomplished with special clips attached to long measures of strong yarn that are strung through your jacket and down each sleeve. A mitten is then clipped in place and permanently dangles from the end of the sleeve, near your wrist, where it stretches out as it gathers snow and freezes into a firm and irritating appendage. They really have one purpose and one purpose only: To serve as an ice pack to your broken nose after the four children who, when you started down Mount Death on the old and forgotten ski slope, were evenly placed and spaced behind you on the re-furbished toboggan ( the one Dad found at the dump three weeks earlier ) but, who end up line-driving you into that beautifully curled yet somewhat jagged front end of the narrow and newly waxed ( really Dad, was that necessary? ) sleigh to hell. Yep, that's when these frozen, multi-colored, snow sacks on strings finally come in handy. And you always need two, so don't try to skimp and just clip on one at the beginning of your day.

When that nose starts to bleed, the first frozen mitt applied tends to melt rather quickly BUT it is at this point it will absorb most of the blood flow keeping it from pooling and freezing in the surrounding snow, reducing the horror and lessening the screams of the four children behind you who have come away unscathed because you took the blow for the whole freakin' lot of them. The stark sight of blood in snow can cause a life time of issues, and this is where the second mitten comes in. Once the first mitten has reached blood capacity, it is easy to switch to the second mitten dangling just below your other wrist, where it has served to cause a bit of frost bite, but I digress.

Dad merely un-clips the first blood soaked mitt and tosses it into the bushes that unceremoniously stopped you in the first place and to which none of the five adults with you thought you could even get. Otherwise, I am certain, they never would have launched you off the cliff with such vigor. Of course, none of the five fathers realized how much the waxing would add to the over all ease with which the projectile would skim over the icy surface as they all put their backs into blast off. But, I digress, again.

After having tossed the first mitten away and out of sight of the other four, now merely blubbering, bombardiers, Dad unclips the second frozen block of tightly knit yarn from your frost bitten wrist and as you lay limply in his lap and he gently applies the wooly, scratchy ice pack to your swollen nose he looks up at the four other children and their dads and says with swelling pride….”I knew that damn toboggan still had some life in her!” And though it hurts to do so, you laugh so hard you nearly cry. Miraculously, you are ready to try again.

And that’s life, really…..between the cracks. To me, that’s a Christmas story! I hope you can find your own message hidden in there somewhere! I pray you do, anyway. Merry Christmas!