The Water Had Not Been Kind

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Your mother glared, but held her tongue. She slipped into the bathroom and shut the door.

I busied myself with draping various pieces of wet clothing about the room. When I finished, it looked like a washing machine had spontaneously exploded and disgorged its contents helter-skelter. I tried to make it a bit tidier, but it was no use. I didn't have the energy.

I heard the water run in the shower, and, when I was sure it was safe, stripped off my wet gear and clothes. Several hours being damp had - in NO sense of the word - been kind. I disgusted even myself. I collapsed on the bed in a damp, wrinkly heap.

Mom finished in the shower and said with a refreshed sigh, "Okay. Your turn." She walked back into the bedroom, and I was glad to see some color in her face. She glanced around our quarters at first quizzically, then with a bit of disgust. Finally with a shrug she gave up. It made me sad to see the spunk gone out of her. There were pants hanging from curtain rods, socks adorning the arms of chairs and the sofa, and underwear draped over lampshades. You know, much like a dorm room on a Sunday morning.

She shook her head and massaged her temples. "Go take a shower. I'm starving."

Without further ado, or comment, I did as I was told.

I have had many a shower in my life, but none ever felt as grand as this one. I could have just stood there all night, letting the hot water cascade over me, washing away the past 14 hours emerging in the morning as refreshed as a converted Catholic after confession. But I knew your mom was waiting, and it was wayyyyyyyy past her dinner time, and I wanted to put this all behind us and make a fresh start. So I hurriedly washed, dried, and put on some (semi) dry clothes, and sprang from the bathroom fresh as a daisy. If that daisy had been sitting in a flea market flower stall for the last week slowly fossilizing.

Had we really only been gone from home two days? Felt more like two months.

*** the journey continues ***

Too Tired To Blush

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We walked about 10 feet to another smaller door on the front of the building that I had assumed was some kind of a service entrance, but turned out to be the door to our suite.

Stacy stepped onto the small, wooden deck, and opened the door.

"We don't lock things around here, so there's no key to give you. But there is a lock on the inside of the door so you can secure it at night."

Stacy flipped on the light-switch, and we stepped through the door into a wonderful, warm, dry, and surprisingly large room. Although, with the state of physics north of the border I shouldn't have been surprised. Pale olive-green walls matched perfectly with the natural wood of the vaulted ceilings. The bed was king-sized, and continuing with the motif the frame was constructed entirely out of logs.

The rest of the room contained two high-back library style chairs, a small couch, all arranged in a semi-circle around a gas fireplace. We could see a huge walk-out deck, and a bay-window overflowing with cushy pillows on the built-in seat. Right then I knew that spot would become your mom's favorite place to curl up with a book for the next few days. The room was immaculate. Freshly painted, and all of the furniture looked quite new. Off to the side of the bed was a small, yet fully updated and functional bathroom with a walk-in shower.

Stacy walked around, showing us the light switches, thermostats, towels, etc. It was all fairly self-explanatory. Evidently, toilets and electricity work much the same this far north. Not like Europe or Asia. Bastards.

After concluding her tour of the room, Stacy said, "So, don't hesitate to call with anything you need." She smiled, and with her punkish-pixie looks was simply chock-full of awesome. She reminded me a more than a bit of you and your sister. Well, until you got all Navy-a-pated on us.

"Oh, just so you know since this is your first time here, all of our meals are served in the main dining room. Breakfast is at 7, and then we offer a make-your-own box lunch after breakfast. Most people do a lot of hiking while they’re here, and we find that letting them pack their own bag works out best for everyone."

She looked at us in our gear and me on my cane, and added, "Of course, not everyone hikes. There's plenty to do here in the Lodge, or you can just 'relax'."

She teased out the word 'relax' until it actually sounded quite naughty, and gave us a wink.

I was too tired to blush.

I Never Get Lost

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"Did you get lost?", she asked, as she ushered us into a large and well appointed dining room.

Other staff floated in from . . . well I have no idea. Possibly the ether. They gathered round and studied us, much like I would imagine the caretakers at a zoo would study new arrivals. If those new arrivals rode motorcycles. And were muddy. And wet. And from THE STATES!

"Lost?", I queried, "No . . . not us. Just delayed a bit. It was raining, and . . ."

I looked to your mother for confirmation. She sold me out quicker than tickets to a Cher concert in San Francisco.

"Yes, we got lost."

"Only for a bit," I retorted, trying to salvage some shred of my manhood. Mom gave me the death-stare. "Well, quite a little bit. But that's beside the point. We're here now. I have to tell you, I wasn't sure we were going to make it there for a little while."

I smiled. Or snarled. My lips were tired. And numb. And chewed to bits.

"Oh you poor things. Stacy, show these folks to their room." She motioned one of the young women floating on the periphery over to our little party. "I'm sure you guys want . . . ," and here she paused for a moment, trying to triage our needs, ". . . some dry clothes and a hot shower. We missed you for dinner, but the cook has kept a couple of plates warm for you. Take your time and when you're ready come back to the dining room. You guys look bushed!"

Mom smiled, for what I realized was the first time in hours. Possibly days. "That sounds great."

*** the journey continues ***

Ya Cannot Change The Laws Of Physics

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Anyway I hope we don't frighten the staff too badly, but I have my doubts. Mom's giving me the willies and I live with her.

Back to our story. The front of the Lodge is exactly what you would expect the front of a Lodge in the Canadian Rockies to look like. Very woodsy. Very outdoorsy. Very Canadian.

We make our way to the front and open the massively planked and wrought-iron hinged door with a rumbling squeak. Soft yellow light spills across us. Your mother sneaks a glance at me in this new light and draws in her breath with a quick sucking sound, for apparently I'm not as dashing as I had assumed.

From the interior of the building a wave of warmth rolls over us mixed with the odors of something wonderful cooking. It sucks out what little energy I have left like a junior Congressmen sucks up donations at a PAC luncheon. I am a leather-clad, three-legged, quivering mound of goo. I have hit the wall and pushed through to the other wall that is bigger and thicker and painted an unsightly color. I am all in.

We stumble into the foyer with our clothes dripping and forming puddles on the slate floor around our boots.

Now that we are inside, I see that the building is much bigger than I'd inferred from the parking lot. I believe this to be true of all Canadian architecture. Somewhere, somehow, these tricky - and extremely affable people have managed to break the space-time continuum and are keeping it a closely guarded secret from their brothers to the south. Fine. See if we bail your asses out next time Hitler decides to annex Quebec!

*** the journey continues ***

I Have Become French

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Where was I?

Oh yeah, Mom returned with a suitable rock, and once in place I grabbed my collapsible cane off of the trunk. Whereupon, the spring-loaded demon that it is, once free of its constraining tie, quickly expanded and straightened with a loud 'shooook-CLANK' - - - and promptly thwapped me in the only place on my body that wasn't protected by leather or Kevlar or multiple layers of clothes.

Yes sir, smack-dab right in the boy-zone.

Mom watched me squirm and contort for a minute. "See, every time that happens, it just makes me a bit more thankful that I'm a woman."

That's nice," I squeaked in a gnome-on-helium voice.

”Looks like it hurts."

"Mmmmmmmmhummmmm," I manage.

"Yep, definitely looks very painful."

She shakes her head and gives a little click of her tongue for emphasis as she folded her arms across her chest.

I was able to suck in a partial breath. "Enjoying this, are we?"

Mom looks me up and down. Apparently she has a bit of buried resentment and is blaming me for this day. I have no idea why. It's obvious that she's irrational from fatigue.

"Why no", she says, "No, not at all."

I narrow my eyes and point my finger at her in a grand accusation. "LIAR!" I shout.

Only the 'boys' are still fox-holed and deeply entrenched, so in my exuberance it comes out much like the sound a squeaky-toy makes while being ravaged by a spiteful dog.

"Come on," she sighs, and gently tugs my arm, "let's get inside where it's warm and dry."

I start to protest - just for kicks - but then I fold and follow obediently. I have a small, resilient nugget of attitude deep inside, but that is all. No strength. I have no resistance left in me. I am all wiggly gelatin. I believe myself petulant, but in reality I'm just sad. You see where this is going of course. Yes, I - through the trials and tribulations of the day - have become French.

*** the journey continues ***

Home Sweet Lodge

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Not a hundred yards past the sign was the turn-off to the Lodge itself. Here the road was extremely muddy - just mud, no gravel - so we had to take special precautions as we bounced up the small hill into the parking area opposite the building.

The place looked gorgeous - the part we could see in the dusk anyway - and now that safety was but a few steps away the day caught up to us - in a hurry. Every muscle, every square inch of my skin was tender and achy. All I wanted was a hot shower, something to eat, and a clean bed. Your mother wanted the same thing, but also to be more than 6 inches away from me for an extended period of time. She didn't tell me this, but later when I tried to hug her she hit me with her rock. Not hard enough to do damage, but more than enough to get her message across.

Oh your mother - ever so coy and demure.

There were 7 or 8 cars in the parking lot. Well, not cars really, but SUVs and trucks. All 4-wheel drive. No other motorcycles. Fancy that.

I collapsed into a quivering heap over the front console of the bike.

"No giving up now. Let's get someplace warm, shall we?" Mom said with false cheer, framing her sentence not so much as a question but a demand.

"Good idea," I replied from my prone position between the handlebars, "do you want to unpack now?"

"No," Mom said as she pried off her helmet, "let's go check-in first."

"Capital idea, my dear."

*** the journey continues ***