*** continued from previous post ***
I took a deep breath and sat up, stretching the cramps that had set into my arms and hands.
I surveyed my surroundings. Well, we definitely were at the top. There were some rolling hills in front of us, but nothing to compare to what we had just navigated. Later, I would discover that we had climbed about 1700 feet in 12 Kilometers. Or, in devil-speak Canadian measurements, about 4.5 liters a minute. Not too shabby. After I restored my heart rate to a manageable level, and decided that I hadn't wet myself, (okay, who am I kidding - hadn't wet myself TOO severely), I took stock.
While we were level, the road surface had not improved. The rain had not improved. Your Mother's mood had not improved by any appreciable degree. Our hypothermia situation had not improved - in fact, it was worse. The temperature had plummeted as we climbed into the Rockies. And, like a big, moldering mutant strawberry cradled in the congealed whipped cream of a day-old Belgian Waffle, twilight was descending. - rapidly.
But, on the positive side, we could be hit by lightening any moment, so there was always hope.
"What do we do now?", Mom asked in a dazed voice. "Do we turn around?"
I thought, however briefly, of turning the bike around and riding down the mountain, and my boys - and you know what I mean by 'the boys' - don't feign ignorance - shot straight up into my throat, through my head, and were dancing somewhere above the tree tops trying to escape. The only thing worse than coming UP that road in this weather, was going DOWN that road in this weather. Miles of braking down the side of a gravel mountain didn't appeal to me. Somewhere, in the recesses of my brain a tiny voice reminded me that I would, at some point, need to take the bike down this very same road. I hate that voice. It's annoying. All high-pitched and squeaky. And preachy to boot. And usually right.
Damn you internal monologue!
"I think I would rather feed marshmallows to alligators with my lips than try and ride back down that road,” I said and wiped rainwater from my glasses. It was an exercise in futility. "Hopefully the worst is behind us. Let's just push on and get to the Lodge."
"Does the GPS say we are close?"
"I don't know. When we met those jeeps Sweet Alice let out a tiny scream then passed out."
Mom pondered this for a moment. "Was passing out an option? I wish I'd known that. I would have blanked out as soon as we hit the gravel."
Let me say this again: Your mother is a wise, wise woman.
*** the journey continues ***
Tampilkan postingan dengan label GPS. Tampilkan semua postingan
Tampilkan postingan dengan label GPS. Tampilkan semua postingan
Selasa, 08 Maret 2011
Jumat, 25 Februari 2011
It's A Little Game Married People Play
*** continued from previous post ***
"Whoopsie!", I say, with a melodic lilt that manages to annoy even myself.
"Well great," Mom sighs.
It is now that my masculinity kicks into high gear. I need to take control. I will not stand idly by and let this cursed day get the best of me. I will solve this problem, like so many men before me have solved problems of their own creation.
I will lie.
"Look, standing here is doing us no good. Get on the back of the bike and we will push on. I know how to get to the Nordic Centre." (Lie #1)
"I'm sure Sweet Alice can get us that far, and probably a bit beyond." (Lie #2)
Really, it can't be that bad. (Lie #3)
“I told them in the note when I booked the place that we were coming in on motorcycle. (This is true.) If they thought we couldn't make it, they would have told me." (I believed this to be true.) It's going to be fine. (Lie #4)
Your mother - my wife, my companion, my friend, co-conspirator, cheer-leader and all around pal these last 30 years - knew right away I was spewing total bullshit.
"Fine," she said and without another word climbed on the back of the bike. Though silent, I could read her body language under the layers of clothing. She had not so much capitulated as she had decided, as if she were on a dare, to see how this would play out. And of course, then hold me accountable. It's a little game married people play.
I took a deep breath, fired the engine, and without further ado set off to find this Canadian / Scandinavian Cloning Facility masquerading as some sort of ski operation. I had turned the volume down on the GPS, but I could see our rough path laid out on the map to where Sweet Alice thought the PO Box might be. It was just a big arrow pointing towards the mountains on the other side of town. It did nothing to calm my nerves when the screen started flashing red and the word DANGER in all caps popped on and off the screen like a demonic jack-in-the-box. F' you Sweet Alice! I've had enough of your silliness for one day! I clicked into first and hit the gas. Right or wrong, I was at least moving and that felt good.
We wandered through the streets of Carnack for what seemed an eternity. Missing turns, pulling u-turns in parking lots, changing lanes abruptly - you know, all the stuff that makes taking a HUGE FLIPPIN' MOTORCYCLE THROUGH UNFAMILIAR TERRITORY DURING RUSH HOUR IN A MONSOON so exciting. But my perseverance paid off. At last, I spotted a sign for the Nordic Centre.
I patted your Mom's leg in what I hoped was a reassuring manner, and we took the turn into the mountains. It was probably gorgeous and breathtaking. I have no idea.
*** stay tuned - the journey continues ***
"Whoopsie!", I say, with a melodic lilt that manages to annoy even myself.
"Well great," Mom sighs.
It is now that my masculinity kicks into high gear. I need to take control. I will not stand idly by and let this cursed day get the best of me. I will solve this problem, like so many men before me have solved problems of their own creation.
I will lie.
"Look, standing here is doing us no good. Get on the back of the bike and we will push on. I know how to get to the Nordic Centre." (Lie #1)
"I'm sure Sweet Alice can get us that far, and probably a bit beyond." (Lie #2)
Really, it can't be that bad. (Lie #3)
“I told them in the note when I booked the place that we were coming in on motorcycle. (This is true.) If they thought we couldn't make it, they would have told me." (I believed this to be true.) It's going to be fine. (Lie #4)
Your mother - my wife, my companion, my friend, co-conspirator, cheer-leader and all around pal these last 30 years - knew right away I was spewing total bullshit.
"Fine," she said and without another word climbed on the back of the bike. Though silent, I could read her body language under the layers of clothing. She had not so much capitulated as she had decided, as if she were on a dare, to see how this would play out. And of course, then hold me accountable. It's a little game married people play.
I took a deep breath, fired the engine, and without further ado set off to find this Canadian / Scandinavian Cloning Facility masquerading as some sort of ski operation. I had turned the volume down on the GPS, but I could see our rough path laid out on the map to where Sweet Alice thought the PO Box might be. It was just a big arrow pointing towards the mountains on the other side of town. It did nothing to calm my nerves when the screen started flashing red and the word DANGER in all caps popped on and off the screen like a demonic jack-in-the-box. F' you Sweet Alice! I've had enough of your silliness for one day! I clicked into first and hit the gas. Right or wrong, I was at least moving and that felt good.
We wandered through the streets of Carnack for what seemed an eternity. Missing turns, pulling u-turns in parking lots, changing lanes abruptly - you know, all the stuff that makes taking a HUGE FLIPPIN' MOTORCYCLE THROUGH UNFAMILIAR TERRITORY DURING RUSH HOUR IN A MONSOON so exciting. But my perseverance paid off. At last, I spotted a sign for the Nordic Centre.
I patted your Mom's leg in what I hoped was a reassuring manner, and we took the turn into the mountains. It was probably gorgeous and breathtaking. I have no idea.
*** stay tuned - the journey continues ***
Senin, 21 Februari 2011
In The Mountains of Madness
*** the journey continues ***
I can feel something building in your Mom. Something dark and disquieting. Something powerful and ominous and thoroughly unpleasant.
"Oh for God's sake. This is ridiculous.” She punched me on the shoulder but there was little enthusiasm in the act. “I saw a sign a bit down the highway for an ‘Information and Tourist Centre’. Let's just head over there, I'll go inside and I'll get directions."
This was the best idea that I'd heard all day. "Suz," I say, "you my dear are absolutely brilliant! No wonder I love you so much!"
She looks at me. Or maybe through me. "Sure. Whatever." She casts a weary eye about our surroundings, "Let's just get to the Lodge."
With the optimism that can only be mustered by the seriously mentally ill, we wheel the bike around and in a few minutes are pulling into the parking lot of the Information Centre to get the low-down on all things touristy. I don't even mind that the place is spelled all Frenchy.
"Tell you what," Mom says as she pulls off her helmet, "you stay here with the bike and I'll just pop in. I'll be back in a jiffy."
I think this has less to do with saving time, and more about having a short break from me, but I'm smart enough not to press the issue. "That would be grand sweetie. Thank you."
She heads off towards the building. Slightly shuffling, shoulders hunched. The day has certainly taken its toll. But I'm positive this will soon be just a memory that we can laugh about later.
I'm sure I make a sight, sitting in the parking lot in the pouring rain on a weird shaped bike, arguing with a GPS, but I could not care less. Any modesty had been beaten out of me long, long ago. Just for giggles I plug the PO Box into Sweet Alice. To my surprise, it actually registers on the screen! Although it is obviously wrong, because it shows the location up in the mountains where there are no roads. Yet, I'm encouraged that the Lodge is around here somewhere and not an internet scam as I was beginning to suspect.
The minutes tick by. And tick. Then tock. And eventually they drag on and there is no sign of your mother. I'm actually beginning to get worried. What if my premonitions were right, but I had the wrong Tourist Centre? What, if at the very moment, my loving wife of 28 years was being all molestered by cannibals? Canadian cannibals at that?
Right then and there I began to hate Canada.
*** the journey continues ***
I can feel something building in your Mom. Something dark and disquieting. Something powerful and ominous and thoroughly unpleasant.
"Oh for God's sake. This is ridiculous.” She punched me on the shoulder but there was little enthusiasm in the act. “I saw a sign a bit down the highway for an ‘Information and Tourist Centre’. Let's just head over there, I'll go inside and I'll get directions."
This was the best idea that I'd heard all day. "Suz," I say, "you my dear are absolutely brilliant! No wonder I love you so much!"
She looks at me. Or maybe through me. "Sure. Whatever." She casts a weary eye about our surroundings, "Let's just get to the Lodge."
With the optimism that can only be mustered by the seriously mentally ill, we wheel the bike around and in a few minutes are pulling into the parking lot of the Information Centre to get the low-down on all things touristy. I don't even mind that the place is spelled all Frenchy.
"Tell you what," Mom says as she pulls off her helmet, "you stay here with the bike and I'll just pop in. I'll be back in a jiffy."
I think this has less to do with saving time, and more about having a short break from me, but I'm smart enough not to press the issue. "That would be grand sweetie. Thank you."
She heads off towards the building. Slightly shuffling, shoulders hunched. The day has certainly taken its toll. But I'm positive this will soon be just a memory that we can laugh about later.
I'm sure I make a sight, sitting in the parking lot in the pouring rain on a weird shaped bike, arguing with a GPS, but I could not care less. Any modesty had been beaten out of me long, long ago. Just for giggles I plug the PO Box into Sweet Alice. To my surprise, it actually registers on the screen! Although it is obviously wrong, because it shows the location up in the mountains where there are no roads. Yet, I'm encouraged that the Lodge is around here somewhere and not an internet scam as I was beginning to suspect.
The minutes tick by. And tick. Then tock. And eventually they drag on and there is no sign of your mother. I'm actually beginning to get worried. What if my premonitions were right, but I had the wrong Tourist Centre? What, if at the very moment, my loving wife of 28 years was being all molestered by cannibals? Canadian cannibals at that?
Right then and there I began to hate Canada.
*** the journey continues ***
Rabu, 16 Februari 2011
Something Dark and Disquieting This Way Comes
*** continued from previous post ***
Mom climbs off the bike and instantly her seat is wet. I don't think she cares anymore. She rummages around in the various articles that we've stowed and, after what seems like an eternity, finds the confirmation paper. It starts to get soaked immediately, so she folds it in half and hands it to me, trying to keep the printing dry. We don't need any more mishaps on this fine and beautiful day.
Triumphantly, and with a wag of my tongue in the general direction of the GPS, I unfold the note. HA! There is the confirmation. There are the dates. There is how we paid. There is, quite quizzically, no phone number. Perhaps I should have noticed that before.
No matter, there is an address. Oh yes . . . there is an address. Hope flushes through my system like Mentos in a Diet Coke. Rain had peppered my glasses and I squint to read the print in the dimming gray light. The address is . . . PO Box AB804, Carnack AB.
I swear I heard the GPS snicker.
"What’s the matter?" Mom asks but her tone says she really doesn't want to know.
"Well. Well, well, well." I brace myself, "Seems like the only address we have is a PO Box."
I can feel something building in your Mom. Something dark and disquieting. Something powerful and ominous and thoroughly unpleasant.
*** the journey continues 02/21/11***
Mom climbs off the bike and instantly her seat is wet. I don't think she cares anymore. She rummages around in the various articles that we've stowed and, after what seems like an eternity, finds the confirmation paper. It starts to get soaked immediately, so she folds it in half and hands it to me, trying to keep the printing dry. We don't need any more mishaps on this fine and beautiful day.
Triumphantly, and with a wag of my tongue in the general direction of the GPS, I unfold the note. HA! There is the confirmation. There are the dates. There is how we paid. There is, quite quizzically, no phone number. Perhaps I should have noticed that before.
No matter, there is an address. Oh yes . . . there is an address. Hope flushes through my system like Mentos in a Diet Coke. Rain had peppered my glasses and I squint to read the print in the dimming gray light. The address is . . . PO Box AB804, Carnack AB.
I swear I heard the GPS snicker.
"What’s the matter?" Mom asks but her tone says she really doesn't want to know.
"Well. Well, well, well." I brace myself, "Seems like the only address we have is a PO Box."
I can feel something building in your Mom. Something dark and disquieting. Something powerful and ominous and thoroughly unpleasant.
*** the journey continues 02/21/11***
Selasa, 15 Februari 2011
It's Never Too Early To Suck Up To Our Eventual Robotic Overlords - All Hail Klatu 9!
*** continued from previous post ***
I continue to scroll through the listings. It goes directly from "Lola’s Mountain Manor Motor Lodge" to "My Converted Garage That Still Smells a Bit of Wet Cat and Mustard But Looks Kind Of Victorian if You Squint Your Eyes and Tilt Your Head To The Right Bed And Breakfast."
Uh oh.
Ever so quietly, barely audible, I hear the sultry Aussie voice of the GPS whisper "Your not gonna find it Mate. Take my advice, turn around."
"Shut up," I mutter, now frantically pressing the scroll buttons hoping beyond hope that I had somehow missed the listing.
"Game oveh. Yer screwed. I suggest suicide," purrs my digital Sweet Alice.
I lean close to the screen, "Shut the hell up before I rip you out by your wires and chuck you into the ditch."
"Who are you talking to?", Mom asks.
"Nobody," I reply, a bit more harshly than I intended.
Like syrup being poured from a bottle, the GPS whispers, "Tell you what Mate. How 'bout if'n I direct you to the nearest Hospital 'cause yer gonna need one inna minute."
Mom leans forward. "Are you strangling the GPS?"
I look to my hands. Unconsciously, they've gravitated towards the GPS and are now engaged in some serious squeezing. "Umm . . . no. I think there's a loose wire, I was just trying to fix it."
Even through the rain and the helmets I can hear your Mom sigh.
“Strangling a helpless piece of technology. You've gone round the bend, eh? Toys in the attic and all that? You f'ed it up right good now, ain't ya?", whispers my sweet Aussie princess.
I may have started to weep. I don't know. Suddenly inspiration strikes!
"Suz! We have the confirmation email in the saddle bag. The address and phone number are on there. I'll just plug the address directly into the GPS and whoopsie-doodles, we will be there in a flash!"
Ha Ha! Take that you commie-pinko GPS! Your taunts mean nothing now! I've beaten you at your game for I am an AMERICAN! I am from THE STATES! Our kind created you, and our kind will destroy you at will! Well, until the eventual takeover by our Robotic Overloads. Which we all know is a given. All hail Klatu 9!
*** the journey continues ***
I continue to scroll through the listings. It goes directly from "Lola’s Mountain Manor Motor Lodge" to "My Converted Garage That Still Smells a Bit of Wet Cat and Mustard But Looks Kind Of Victorian if You Squint Your Eyes and Tilt Your Head To The Right Bed And Breakfast."
Uh oh.
Ever so quietly, barely audible, I hear the sultry Aussie voice of the GPS whisper "Your not gonna find it Mate. Take my advice, turn around."
"Shut up," I mutter, now frantically pressing the scroll buttons hoping beyond hope that I had somehow missed the listing.
"Game oveh. Yer screwed. I suggest suicide," purrs my digital Sweet Alice.
I lean close to the screen, "Shut the hell up before I rip you out by your wires and chuck you into the ditch."
"Who are you talking to?", Mom asks.
"Nobody," I reply, a bit more harshly than I intended.
Like syrup being poured from a bottle, the GPS whispers, "Tell you what Mate. How 'bout if'n I direct you to the nearest Hospital 'cause yer gonna need one inna minute."
Mom leans forward. "Are you strangling the GPS?"
I look to my hands. Unconsciously, they've gravitated towards the GPS and are now engaged in some serious squeezing. "Umm . . . no. I think there's a loose wire, I was just trying to fix it."
Even through the rain and the helmets I can hear your Mom sigh.
“Strangling a helpless piece of technology. You've gone round the bend, eh? Toys in the attic and all that? You f'ed it up right good now, ain't ya?", whispers my sweet Aussie princess.
I may have started to weep. I don't know. Suddenly inspiration strikes!
"Suz! We have the confirmation email in the saddle bag. The address and phone number are on there. I'll just plug the address directly into the GPS and whoopsie-doodles, we will be there in a flash!"
Ha Ha! Take that you commie-pinko GPS! Your taunts mean nothing now! I've beaten you at your game for I am an AMERICAN! I am from THE STATES! Our kind created you, and our kind will destroy you at will! Well, until the eventual takeover by our Robotic Overloads. Which we all know is a given. All hail Klatu 9!
*** the journey continues ***
Senin, 14 Februari 2011
There May Be Trouble Brewing On The Home Front
*** continued from previous post ***
We rolled through the city limits of Carnack, (motto: Hey! You just drove through Banff at insane speeds! Well done! Enjoy your stay! Bye!"), and Mom, in her ever inquisitive, and I must admit that at this point in the day, somewhat annoying voice, leans forward on the bike and asks, "Thank God. I'm beat. So, where exactly is this place?"
Hmmmmm . . . that's a really good question. As a man is want to do, I supply an answer, even if it is less than helpful. "It's in Carnack."
She doesn't hesitate, she just pulls back and bitch-slaps the back of my helmet. Hard.
"Oh," I say, trying to inject some levity into the situation. "You mean the address. Well tell you what, we will find a parking lot, I'll consult Sweet Alice, (how I long to hear her sultry Aussie voice!), and I'll have you warm, dry, and dozing peacefully in half an hour. Hour tops."
"Okay," she says, but I can hear the suspicion thick in her voice as she answers, much like the subtext in the voice of a film-noire' gumshoe grilling his prime suspect. And not the hot girlfriend suspect. The ugly thug suspect.
With all haste I find an empty parking lot, shut down the bike, and pray that the oracle of the GPS will save us.
I bring up the map on the touch screen. Sure enough, my suspicions are confirmed. We are in Canada. More importantly, we are in Carnack. I punch the button for "Local Attractions", then "Amenities", then the sub-menu for "Hotels". An alphabetical list of all the wonderful places to stay in this paradise are displayed crisply and precisely on the screen. "Here we go," I say with confidence, "I'll just scroll down and find. . ."
Well that's curious. There is no "Hidden Valley Lodge" on the list. I don't panic, because I know it will be listed under "Lodge, Hidden Valley". I chuckle at my mistake and Mom returns a hopeful, yet weary smile. The rain is dripping down the side of her helmet, resembling - although I would never tell her this - a garden fountain gone bad.
I continue to scroll through the listings. It goes directly from "Lola’s Mountain Manor Motor Lodge" to "My Converted Garage That Still Smells a Bit of Wet Cat and Mustard But Looks Kind Of Victorian if You Squint Your Eyes and Tilt Your Head To The Right Bed And Breakfast."
Uh oh.
*** the journey continues ***
We rolled through the city limits of Carnack, (motto: Hey! You just drove through Banff at insane speeds! Well done! Enjoy your stay! Bye!"), and Mom, in her ever inquisitive, and I must admit that at this point in the day, somewhat annoying voice, leans forward on the bike and asks, "Thank God. I'm beat. So, where exactly is this place?"
Hmmmmm . . . that's a really good question. As a man is want to do, I supply an answer, even if it is less than helpful. "It's in Carnack."
She doesn't hesitate, she just pulls back and bitch-slaps the back of my helmet. Hard.
"Oh," I say, trying to inject some levity into the situation. "You mean the address. Well tell you what, we will find a parking lot, I'll consult Sweet Alice, (how I long to hear her sultry Aussie voice!), and I'll have you warm, dry, and dozing peacefully in half an hour. Hour tops."
"Okay," she says, but I can hear the suspicion thick in her voice as she answers, much like the subtext in the voice of a film-noire' gumshoe grilling his prime suspect. And not the hot girlfriend suspect. The ugly thug suspect.
With all haste I find an empty parking lot, shut down the bike, and pray that the oracle of the GPS will save us.
I bring up the map on the touch screen. Sure enough, my suspicions are confirmed. We are in Canada. More importantly, we are in Carnack. I punch the button for "Local Attractions", then "Amenities", then the sub-menu for "Hotels". An alphabetical list of all the wonderful places to stay in this paradise are displayed crisply and precisely on the screen. "Here we go," I say with confidence, "I'll just scroll down and find. . ."
Well that's curious. There is no "Hidden Valley Lodge" on the list. I don't panic, because I know it will be listed under "Lodge, Hidden Valley". I chuckle at my mistake and Mom returns a hopeful, yet weary smile. The rain is dripping down the side of her helmet, resembling - although I would never tell her this - a garden fountain gone bad.
I continue to scroll through the listings. It goes directly from "Lola’s Mountain Manor Motor Lodge" to "My Converted Garage That Still Smells a Bit of Wet Cat and Mustard But Looks Kind Of Victorian if You Squint Your Eyes and Tilt Your Head To The Right Bed And Breakfast."
Uh oh.
*** the journey continues ***
Rabu, 22 Desember 2010
The Gathering Gloom
*** continued from previous post ***
Funny thing about what Sweet Alice is showing me. It looks like this road, a very major road by Canadian standards, it about to end. Abruptly. In about 5 miles. (Or about 9 kilometers in hippie-speak.) Directly into a huge lake. I blink, thinking I've seen wrong. No, there is no mistake, the road just ends.
I lean back in the seat, and motion for Mom to raise her visor. "Hey, get a load of this. The road just ends. It runs into a lake."
"Really?" Mom says. "Well, is there another road we can take?"
"Funny thing, that," I answer, trying to mask the panic in my voice, "No. According to the GPS, this is the only road. For like . . . miles."
"Oh," Mom says, with no surprise in her voice. "Is there a bridge?"
I consult the oracle of Sweet Alice. "Ummm . . . no."
I zoom out on the map. There is a dotted line across the lake labeled "Ferry".
"It says we have to take a ferry," I tell her, just as we pass a sign that says "Shelter Bay - Galena Bay Ferry 10 km."
"Cool!" Mom replies and settles back in her seat. She loves Ferries.
"Yeah," I agree, and pull down my face-shield.
I'm thinking that a Ferry ride is going to be a nice little break. And how pretty is this going to be? I mean we are in the middle of INCREDIBLE scenery. There's no wind. The sun is. . . hey . . . where did the sun go? I hadn't noticed that. Ah well, it is still warm.
So there are a few clouds. Big deal. We may get a sprinkle or two. Just a passing summer storm. I'm a Northwest boy. I can take it.
I mean. . . how bad can it get?
Right?
September 23, 2008
Dear Amber,
I hope you enjoyed these installments on what has turned out to be quite a trip. Buckle up - we haven't even reached the good stuff yet.
Oh! I watched “An Officer and a Gentleman” last night. If they try and give you the call sign ‘Goose’, run and don’t look back.
Love you,
Daddio
PS. Your car was stolen and set afire last night. It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.
*** the journey continues after the New Year with Chapter 4 - Ferry of the Damned! ***
Funny thing about what Sweet Alice is showing me. It looks like this road, a very major road by Canadian standards, it about to end. Abruptly. In about 5 miles. (Or about 9 kilometers in hippie-speak.) Directly into a huge lake. I blink, thinking I've seen wrong. No, there is no mistake, the road just ends.
I lean back in the seat, and motion for Mom to raise her visor. "Hey, get a load of this. The road just ends. It runs into a lake."
"Really?" Mom says. "Well, is there another road we can take?"
"Funny thing, that," I answer, trying to mask the panic in my voice, "No. According to the GPS, this is the only road. For like . . . miles."
"Oh," Mom says, with no surprise in her voice. "Is there a bridge?"
I consult the oracle of Sweet Alice. "Ummm . . . no."
I zoom out on the map. There is a dotted line across the lake labeled "Ferry".
"It says we have to take a ferry," I tell her, just as we pass a sign that says "Shelter Bay - Galena Bay Ferry 10 km."
"Cool!" Mom replies and settles back in her seat. She loves Ferries.
"Yeah," I agree, and pull down my face-shield.
I'm thinking that a Ferry ride is going to be a nice little break. And how pretty is this going to be? I mean we are in the middle of INCREDIBLE scenery. There's no wind. The sun is. . . hey . . . where did the sun go? I hadn't noticed that. Ah well, it is still warm.
So there are a few clouds. Big deal. We may get a sprinkle or two. Just a passing summer storm. I'm a Northwest boy. I can take it.
I mean. . . how bad can it get?
Right?
* * *
September 23, 2008
Dear Amber,
I hope you enjoyed these installments on what has turned out to be quite a trip. Buckle up - we haven't even reached the good stuff yet.
Oh! I watched “An Officer and a Gentleman” last night. If they try and give you the call sign ‘Goose’, run and don’t look back.
Love you,
Daddio
PS. Your car was stolen and set afire last night. It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.
*** the journey continues after the New Year with Chapter 4 - Ferry of the Damned! ***
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