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Ride It Like You Mean It |
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Rollin' eZine Volume 1, Number 12 April 2001 =============
New and Used Cycles, news, reviews & info:
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Back in the USA... Part 3 by Lauranne "Biker Betty" Bailey Some people love the wilds of Vegas. Myself, I'd prefer the wilds of the hinterlands. I fly to our Women in the Wind Winter Nationals in Vegas, mid-February, and after all the meetings and reunions, I book out of Vegas (by car as snow was predicted in the mountains) to head northeast to Utah and Zion National Park. As I lead myself by foot through canyons and up slush covered trails, I am enveloped by blue skies, melting snow heaps, and bird chatter. The deep red rocks, foot-wide trails dropping off 100 feet, macadam slides, all join me to refresh my memories of Day 6, leaving Edmonton, and riding through the Canadian Rockies where heights and drops of thousands of feet are commonplace. Read on: Day 5 Saturday, July 29, Edmonton (day 5) Today is time for our bodies to rejoice as we vow to NOT get on the bikes. There is a scheduled bike ride over lunch, through Edmonton, but we are too road weary to care. We do however, wake up early to attend the Women in the Wind officers meeting and subsequent general meeting. This isn't such a problem for us because our bodies are still in Central Time as opposed to Mountain Time. We go through the minimal bureaucracy of meeting, and then pose for our group picture. Many of the women are off for the formal motorcycle ride, but us? We're off to The Mall. One of the things that interests me most is how some bikers customize their bikes. And if you look really close, you will see that they are filled with talismans and protectors, whether it be angels or crystals or mascots. Mariann brings along her companion Thumper, a bunny in leather shorts and top. Peggy carries her Faith…a bear with angel wings. And Cindy finds, in the mall, Bondage Bear…yes a bear complete with leather bra and panties and pierced belly button. So now I'm thinking, I need one, too! On the ride to Edmonton, I had named my bike Penelope (the little Brit that she is!), and so I needed to find the perfect "Pit Stop". I am looking for a loon because I love those birds. So we look in store after store, and no luck. I head back to the room for a nap before the evening's festivities, and am pleasantly surprised when Mariann returns from her shopping excursion with a loon for me (stuffed toy), complete with the red maple leaf on the bottom of its foot. We shower and dress for the banquet at 6 p.m. Peggy and I sit at the head table as we are international officers of Women in the Wind. The hosting chapter (Edmonton) hems and haws as 6 p.m. passes and our international president, Gale Collins and international treasurer and founder, Becky Brown, are nowhere to be found. There is also space at the head table for two guests, and when I inquire, I am told, oh, just some media people. Shortly thereafter, Gale, our petite, spunky president, and our widely grinning founder, Becky, parade into the room with a grandly dressed Canadian Mountie (Irv Englehardt) as their escort. Following them is the other guest (and keynote speaker), Deborah Grey, a member of Parliament (Reform Party), and dressed in her leather chaps and vest as she plans to ride her Goldwing after dinner. The Edmonton Chapter introduces the head table, and I feel honored to be there, in one piece, and they mention that the year before I was in the hospital from a motorcycle accident, and a year later, I embark on my longest bike trip ever. It felt good to be recognized for this. The food is delicious and is followed by a fabulous speech by Ms Grey. She tells us of her history as a teacher, and always having a mother who encouraged her to follow her dreams, not her mother's dreams. She wove an inspirational speech around three themes: "Leave your pawprints in the sand" "There are two things we can give our children: roots and wings" and "A ship in its harbor is safe, but it's not what it's built for." Her speech was ended with a rousing standing ovation. We are all left beaming afterwards, and then give out our annual awards such as best chapter attendance, and the distance award was given to a woman in Ohio who rode 2300 miles on her motorcycle (and we thought 1600 was a lot!) to attend the conference. The evening ends with personal pictures with Deb and Irv, and then off to some nightclubs for dancing and socializing, but I only stay out until 9 p.m. as I have to pack and get ready to meet the road by 5:30 a.m. on Sunday. Day 6 Sunday, July 30, Edmonton to Troy, MT via Banff: 600 miles (15-1/2 hours on the road) It is an early morning when the phone alarm rings. Having yesterday off was a breath of fresh air, respite from the saddle, a time for the body to regroup. Mechanically our bodies move to the rhythms of packing our dry bags, travel bags, duffle bags, hard-case bags, saddle bags, in unison with the growing bags under our eyes. More than six hours sleep remains in wait for a trip of another time and adventure. We promptly reach check-out by 5 a.m. as we begin the familiar task of placing each bag in its proper spot, stretching the bungee cords and cargo nets into their premier yoga poses. We find Gale, our Women in the Wind international president stayed up all night, and saw us off, as she would be flying back to North Carolina on Monday, so she had plenty of time to sleep. "Wow," was about all she could say…watching us load our varied belongings onto the bikes, knowing we were headed on an even longer return trip. We bid our good-byes and hugs to her; at 5:30 a.m. we were off, with the sun just barely peeking above the horizon. I started us out, and true to my riding acumen in Canada, missed an exit to Provincial Highway 2, South. Only a few miles off course, it wasn't long before we were on our way--in the correct direction, the sun to our left. Everyone was still too tired to grumble much about it. Our first gas stop is in Red Deer, and a fellow motorcyclist tells us of a better way to Banff that avoids road construction. I'm beginning to feel excited because we are finally heading to the mountains, and also somewhat sad as I realize this is our last day of loonies, toonies and everything Canadian that has felt so safe and comforting for the past four days--days which are consumed with being--being in my body all day--altered by changing landscapes and incredibly kind people. Mariann leads the next leg of the ride, and it's her chance to miss a turn, but again, we're not too far off course when the mistake is realized. We stop in a small town for gas before reaching the Rockies. We chuckle noting a man wearing nothing more than shorts, socks and boots, and we're covered head to toe in leathers, neck gators, long-sleeved fleece underneath. It's that time of day, when the cool overnight air is only just beginning to be pierced by the warming sun, so if you're at walking speed, it feels comforting, but wind speed calls for more skin-guarded gear. Peggy leads now, and has agreed to take us entirely through the mountains. I am ecstatic because it means I can gather in some more scenery than I normally could were I to be leading. At the gates to Banff, we get in under a group rate for $10. If we were not stopping for lunch, we could have drove through for free. My excitement builds as we draw closer to the mountains. Mid-July and the peaks are still snow-covered. The alpine phenomenon is amazing to me…not enough oxygen for the trees to grow there…so they just stop at a certain altitude. I could bask in this scenery for a lifetime. Mariann, I learn, is terrified by heights, and the mountains are her biggest dread. It is hard for me to realize her pain when I am filled with wonder of this scenery. We arrive near Banff for lunch around 11 a.m. having only had muffins and juice on the run as we were packing. We find a lunch counter in the basement of a resort's sports complex, and order up some delicious sandwiches and are doing our best to not be rude and laugh as the young woman at the counter, upon looking at us all still dressed head to toe in black leather, asks us if this would be for here or to go. Oh yes, to go, we muse later, yes, give me the sandwich in one hand, my cell phone in the other and can you find some chauffeur to steer the handlebars? We then begin climbing higher and higher into the mountains, and Peggy realizes we have to back track for gas, that the next stop is safe mileagewise, but the mountain climbs really drag down the gas supply quickly. We stop at a park concession to fuel up, and get the opportunity to see the same scenery twice, and I am not going to complain about the vistas! Barely 25 miles into the ride and I am motioning to Peggy to pull over. I have got to strip off my leathers. I find myself terrified as I am nearly asleep at the helm. The other three look at me sort of blankly, as I rip off my chaps, slug down nearly a liter of water, and put on my breezy gloves, leaving my leather jacket on…not only as potential road rash protection, but I've been told it is supposed to reduce dehydration (water loss through wind, heat and sun). We ride on and I am finding this leg to be the most difficult of the trip so far. I cannot stay awake easily. I try all my usual tricks of singing every song I know. It doesn't help. I start singing my mantra in different styles. It helps for awhile. Shouting seems to do a little…the louder the better, but I can't seem to sustain it for long. Finally we ride through a small town, and I watch Peggy keep riding. The change in scenery helps beef up the alert factor. We're only at 80 miles, so she's thinking, we have 20 more to go. I think, God, how am I going to do this. None of us stop her. We ride on. For every mile we go I shout a prayer of thanks. Finally, 100 miles finds us at Fairmont Hot Springs. I gas up and hide my bike in the shade. I think I am the only one suffering this goofy feeling. I am going to have to go against my better judgment and ditch the leather jacket. I just cannot wear it anymore. I go inside to pay gas, buy some water and Gatorade, and the four of us meet up at a table to chat, basking in the air conditioning. Mariann says she feels so horrible she thinks she needs to spend the night there. It is affirming to know I am not the only one that feels like passing out. I go back out to the convenience store and buy a short-sleeved white t-shirt (I had dressed that morning in a long-sleeved black t-shirt). I walk into the bathroom and change. I dunk my head in a sink of tepid water. I don't care what I look like anymore. My bandanna gets the next soaking before going back on my head. I am in heaven. We sit, and sit, in the air-conditioning, most likely for an hour, realizing at some level we are all overheating. It doesn't feel that hot, but guess it must be. Not just the air temperature affects one on the motorcycle, but the heat of the engine coursing upwards to our legs and torso adds quite a few degrees. After awhile, Mariann says she can go on with us, Peggy says she'll lead, I go soak my head again. Somebody mumbled an outside temperature in centigrade but we were too brain-sizzled to figure out the conversion. Peggy leads us for 60 miles before we stop again. This time I go beyond head dunking…time to get the shirt wet. Hell, if someone had a hose I'd just say soak me down! We take an ice cream break and know we are just under 100 miles from the Canadian/U.S. border. We reach the border, the sun finally backing off of its heat, and have no troubles getting through…it certainly couldn't be our wet t-shirts…they were dry at 40 miles. Must've been the border patrol feeling sorry for me when he asked me from where was I a citizen and I promptly said Wisconsin…er I mean. U.S. They couldn't shuffle us out of there quickly enough. Roosville, MT, a border town finds us stopping for gas, chatting with some guys about my Triumph, and Peggy putting a call into Al, the guy who has the place where we are staying. It's 7 p.m. and we should be there by 9 p.m. The sun is still up and we expect it to continue to be up when we arrive. And it is still hot. We learn it was 115 degrees that day and we're wondering how we even made it through the heat of the day. Groaning, I go soak my head and shirt again. Peggy leads us once again, up and down through incredible beautiful scenery, hills, crests, steep edges, crickety majestic mountains. We are on Highway 37, heading southwest, traversing the Kootenai River. There is little traffic so this evening ride provides us with great space between the bikes. Two times I had to pull over. One was to just stop and soak in the wildness of the river and the forests, and the second time was to catch my breath after seeing a wolf. I couldn't believe what I saw, but I was sure it was a lone wolf, who was quite skittish when he saw the bikes round the bend. Peggy leads us off the main road for a short distance before we pull into a driveway, with a prairie-style house, four people up on the porch, looking like something from Deliverance with the freezer on the porch, old stuffed couch and chair, and 50's kitchen chairs. The only thing missing was a banjo and lack of teeth. Peggy jumps off her bike and starts chatting with these people, leaving us to fend for ourselves. We're feeling in need of some guidance…introductions, where to do stay, where do we put our stuff? Well, it was rough going in the beginning. I just introduced myself and said you really want me to just leave my gear in the hallway? Yes was the answer. I walk in the place and try to keep my wits about me as I see the word vacuum cleaner has not passed the lips of these two men, Al and Dave, in a good decade or two. Not that I'm being critical, as the house was not cluttered, but it took me back to the early 80s and a guy, Harold, I used to date and it was just not a very good feeling. So I am ready for bed. We drink a beer, and I am ready for bed. Beds are upstairs I am told. I walk up into some stifling heat and see two double beds tucked in dormered ceilings, small windows shut tight, and a feeling of claustrophobia overwhelms me. I run down the stairs and mumble something to Cindy about getting my tent. She says, well if there was a fan…well there was a fan, in Al's business room. And that business just happens to be taxidermy. Al pipes up and says I've got a hide-a-bed down there, so we roll it out to ooh and ahh over the stains. I'm thinking to myself, Lauranne, get a grip, this is not Harold, this is not 1982, you can get through this--you are only here two nights. I went to get my sleeping pad and bag, when Al says, "I know, I'll give you the kitty blanket." I'm half asleep and say whatever. He lays this fur blanket down, I lie on it, pull the sleeping bag over my head and I say good-bye to the day of 600 miles and heat without another word. Join us next month for Part 4 |
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