*** continued from previous post ***
A middle-aged man a bit on the chunky side with a heavy Boston accent approached us with the confidence only found on the East Coast of the USA, and thrust his hand into mine.
"I'm Donny. Anything ya need while you're at the Lodge yah just let me know. My wife's the cook and I'm her lackey," he grinned, pumping my hand up and down vigorously.
"Pleased to meet you Donny," I replied. "I'm David, and this is my wife Suzanne."
"Pleased to make yor acquaintance," Donny said, finally releasing my hand in order to greet your Mother.
Introductions with the rest of the staff followed, and once all the 'hello's and 'pleased to meet you's and 'oh so you're from THE STATES!' had been bandied about, Donny gave us one final look up and down, and said, "So, what kind ah bike ah ya ridin'?"
No. Please God, I can't talk about the bike one more time today. Shoot me or sedate me, but don't ask me about the Vision.
"Ummm . . .," I stammer, trying to figure a way to make this as short a conversation as possible, "we are riding a Victory Vision." I looked to the group surrounding us for a flicker of recognition. Nothing but friendly smiles and blank stares and an implied "And . . . ?"
"It's a new model from Victory. Kind of a space-agey looking design."
"Oh," Donny said. Silently the group had appointed him the point-man for all inquiries regarding motorcycles, "dual-sport?"
"No," I say, and shake my head. "No, it's more along the lines of a Honda Goldwing. Only more Jetsons-like. And we've learned already," I give a quick wink to your mom, "that it doesn't impress the moose around here." I grin like a loon. If that loon were bald, and horribly, horribly chafed.
"You saw one of our moose, huh?", Stacy said, and began walking / herding us towards the door.
"Yeah," I smiled. "One of the reasons we're so late. Darn moose was blocking the road and we couldn't get around."
"They do that sometimes," Stacy agreed with a gentle smile.
*** the journey continues ***
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