Drat! It’s colder outside than a spinster sister’s brass bedstead. The Spyder needs an oil change and a new rear tire. I’m stuck inside. What can I do to escape this cabin’s closeness? Remember a better time!
I dig around in a carboard box and discover the ride report of a trip taken when I was a mere seventy-three years old. I throw another log on the fire, pour a small libation, and settle down to read.
The title reads, “Lead, Follow or Git Outa the Way!”
I arose at 0700. I stood in the shower wondering why I was up so early. It dawned on me that a new Suzuki Vstrom 650 sat waiting in the daylight basement. After feeding my face, I crept down the stairs to find the mountain of “necessities” for touring had not packed themselves. Carefully, I winnowed away the non-essentials. I discarded the seed catalogs and a symposium invitation on “Raising Worms for Profit.”
I pumped the tires to maximum inflation to counter the weight of the huge tank bag mounted on the front and the folding chair, sleeping bag, tent, air mattress, cooking gear, drink bottles, camera equipment, clothing, toiletries, tool kit, good luck charms, and Captain Morgan perched on the rear.
At 0900, I squished myself between the two mounds and turned the key. The computer whirred. Lights flashed. The starter spun. The bike and I vibrated as one. A memory surfaced of my doctor saying, “John, you have to slow down. You’ve broken your back in four places, have scoliosis and God alone knows what else. No more sky diving, or bungee jumping. Watch TV. Play games on a computer. Act your age.”
I took his advice. Sorta. I bought a new motorcycle and found a new doctor.
I kicked the bike into gear and headed north from Oregon.
The Super 8 hostess in Ellensburg, Washington, reduced the rate from $110 to $ 81 because I displayed cards from AAA, MasterCard, VISA, Medicare, Social Security, The Lone Ranger Fan Club, and the Neptune Society. It pays to be prepared.