BMWGSGirl

Thank you to those who rescue puppies...

2012-03-02T21:39:00.003-08:00

BMW's at Trooper Tony's Life Celebration

Forgive me while I rant about something totally motorcycle unrelated but worthy of a rant.

My Father tells me a story about my Great Great Grandfather who was a sheriff in 1936. Reportedly, Great Great Gramps was gunned down and killed inside the very market where as a high schooler I used to buy my candy bars in Lowell, OR. Great (x2) Gramp's gun and badge are tucked inside my Father's safe. Dad pulls them out for viewings now and then, proud to have a piece of our family history and still harboring questions about that fateful day in 1936. I guess there are some questions that never get answered.

If you are from the Pacific Northwest you have probably heard about the recent murder of Washington State's "Trooper Tony" while he was on patrol. It is just one more law enforcement tragedy that we must all learn to live with. In Pendelton, OR the town is most assuredly still questioning Correctional Officer Herron's senseless killing. In Eugene, OR, Officer Kilcullen's one year anniversary is quickly approaching, and in the small town of Rainier, OR, residents still drive past the place where Chief Painter's life was taken. In Pierce County, WA, Deputy Sheriff Wright is remembered as well. All of these officers, husbands, fathers and friends were murdered while doing their jobs and trying to keep us all safe.

A sea of Blue: LEO's send off Trooper Tony

There are times when life seems to hold more tragedy than happiness, more sadness than bliss. The death of yet another police officer, murdered in the line of duty, is a perfect example of one of those times. According to the Officer Down Memorial Page (http://www.odmp.org/) the year 2012, being only two months over, has been witness to 20 line of duty deaths. These twenty tragedies across the United States have affected police, parks and correctional departments, public safety and sheriff's offices and been the cause of countless tears, questions, and sorrow. They have widowed many, left children parentless, and yet also have given communities the opportunity to come together and show their support and love, often from people who have never or will never meet the families of those left behind. I am thankful for everyone who takes a moment to stop and remember those who have been killed in the line of duty, who offers a helping hand to those friends and family members left behind, and for every officer who continues to patrol the streets, to investigate the crimes, and to rescue innocent puppies.

In order for these men and women law enforcement officers to continue to make a difference they need our support. They need citizens to speak up and do their part. To make the call when they witness wrong being done or when the crazy neighbor gets worse. We all need to stop looking away and start looking at making a difference. Show up. Be counted. Give when you can and what you can. Above all else, appreciate those in blue, brown, green and tan, who wake every morning knowing the job they have to do may take them away from their families; yet they do it anyway.

May they never be forgotten.

Happy Birthday, Runkle!!!

2012-02-23T20:48:00.004-08:00

Runkle enjoying one of the many covered bridges around Lowell, OR

Have you heard the news? Gas prices are going through the SKY! Heading to the MOON!!!! RUN! RUN!! ARGGG!!! The TERROR!!!

Whatever. I'm not worried. I've got a backup plan: my BMW G650 GS (aka Runkle). I scored Runkle a year ago from BMW Motorcycles of Western Oregon (http://www.bmwor.com/). We've been pretty close since we hooked up, although this year we are hoping to do more, go more, see more. Last year we went to Texas and this year we are hoping to do something equally exciting...but I'm not sure how much time we'll have together for extended periods. May have to make due with long weekends and one week long camping trip. First, Runkle needs a tune up...and since I'm in Eugene now, we're going to head on over to BMW Motorcycles of Western Oregon's sister company,
European Motorcycles of Western Oregon (http://www.emcwor.com/).

Runkle gets great gas mileage and Runkle carries a big load...especially with my Giant Loop (http://www.giantloopmoto.com/products/great-basin-dry-bag) dry bag on the back. Seriously, this bag is awesome. It is just the right size for my camping pad and my tent. I'm sure I could get more into it, but I travel with a two man tent...and a fluffy camping pad...comfort is my top priority. Comfort and keeping my stuff dry... which the dry bag and tank bag really do. It's a nice change to actually have some gear that does what it claims.

Runkle at Valley of Fires Recreation Area, near Rosewell, NM

Most the time I don't need to carry a big load and instead my awesome Giant Loop tank bag (http://www.giantloopmoto.com/collections/giant-loop-gear-collection/products/fandango-tank-bag) provides me more than enough room. I LOVE LOVE the map pocket and the fact that it keeps things dry because there is a zipper on the inside to keep the map secure. And, guess what? My personal protection device (aka Glock) fits snuggly inside as well.

Giant Loop tank bag...one sweet bag!!!

My year with Runkle wouldn't have been complete without the goods I was sporting from Giant Loop. Bonus: they are an Oregon company...in Bend....and these guys know their riding. They've actually got an awesome BMW G800GS that makes me jealous every time I see it.

Runkle hanging out at Big Fall Creek, OR

This last year wouldn't have been as swell without my Aerostich AD-1 pants (http://www.aerostich.com/ad1-motorcycle-pants.html). I wore these pants in 109 degree temperatures and through storms that would have made a lesser bike stop and wait it out. Not once was I disappointed...I love these pants like I love my dog. (And I really LOVE my dog!)

Near Lake Powell...with the blue ribbon from the 2011 Kilcullen Memorial Ride.

My shameless plugs are a way for me to say "THANK YOU" to those who supported Runkle and I through the last year. Giant Loop, Aerostich, and BMW Motorcycles of Western Oregon all helped make my first year with Runkle be one of my best.

Here's to many more wonderful years together. Happy Birthday, Runkle!!!!

Chris Kilcullen Memorial Ride: SAVE THE DATE: July 29, 2012

2012-02-19T20:52:00.001-08:00

EPD Bikes at the Kilcullen Highway Sign Dedication in 2011.

The Chris Kilcullen Memorial Ride is currently in the planning phase. After a few false starts, we have worked around the other various motorcycle and summer events (Dierks Bentley coming to Oregon!) and have concluded that the last Sunday in July will be the ride date from this point forward. So, check your calendars and save July 29, 2012 for the Second Annual Chris Kilcullen Memorial Ride.

This year's ride will feature a trip to the coast for 248 (Chris's badge number) miles of scenic roads. The exact route is still being determined, as are the stops, but our faithful leader is working on the specifics.

The proceeds from this year's ride will go toward the Officer Chris Kilcullen Memorial Scholarship.

YOU can help make this event a success by showing up and riding with us! Last year around 200 riders participated, riding from Eugene, OR to Sisters, OR, 248 miles roundtrip. To help get you motivated, here are some photos from last year's ride! Stay tuned for more information and keep an eye on the Chris Kilcullen Memorial Ride website (http://www.chriskilcullenmemorialride.webs.com/) for upcoming registration specifics. You can also follow the ride on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/pages/Chris-Kilcullen-Memorial-Motorcycle-Ride/149231638477260.

At the pitstop in Sweet Home some of the riders and volunteers stop for a photo op.

Some of the group in Sisters...

One of the coolest bikes there last year...oh wait, that's MINE! How did that get there??? :)

Cabo January 14-21, 2012: Summary

2012-02-12T13:32:00.000-08:00

Just home from Scotland and Ireland a mere two months earlier, I didn't have high hopes for Cabo. I mean, how could a week long vacation to Mexico even compare to the three weeks of touring through the Isles and the scenery? Negative Nelly (apparently me) had doubts. However, Cabo turned out to be a blissful surprise. The highlights:

One night Irish Jay was bragging about being in the National Guard and being trained to RUN into danger, and the next morning, Irish Jay was scurrying like a scared little bunny away from an opportunity to prove his manliness.

We woke up around 5 am and walked the half an hour around the docks to our boat, a tiny little 23 foot skiff with a Captain who clearly needed this excursion to be a win. We were all tucked rather sheepishly into the boat as we were motored over to the Policia who do a preliminary inspection of paperwork and ensure the tourists have paid for their fishing. Not our lucky morning (which was evident when we saw the boat), we were turned away and back to the dock where we were to exchange boats for one that had the proper up to date safety protocols. I'd been making comments about the throttle on the boat, how it seemed to have a gas issue, but I felt confident our Captain knew what he was doing. I mean, maybe that's how things were done in Mexico! About twenty feet from a dock there was a loud bang and I looked up in time to see Irish Jay rushing away from the area like he'd just been attacked by a pack of wild bees.

The boat motor apparently had an issue as flames were shooting out!!! Jenn and Irish Jay rushed to the front of the boat while the Captain slipped past them and took the cover off the motor. He proceeded to dip the cover into the water and try to put out the flames. Meanwhile, I'm in my spot, snapping photos and being encouraging, while Jenn and Jay were contemplating jumping off the boat but wondering how to save their previous electronics. Other boaters were snapping photos but no one came to help. Finally I decided it was maybe time to unhook the gas line since the red can of gas was sitting rather close to the flames which appeared to continuing upward and around the motor. Jay was kind enough to hand us his knife to cut the cord which held the can on, but he was not about to come any closer. I think I remember him saying repeatedly, "It's gonna blow!" (Tough guy, right) I unhooked the gas line as a boat finally came over with a fire extinguisher to help and the 15 year old kid on the boat put out the flames. What did I learn? Spend the extra dinero to go fishing on a good, big, well equipped and safe boat. And leave the chickens on the shore.

Mango Deck Nachos, Tortilla Soup and Wings...yeah baby!

Cabo has some wonderful bars. For you drinking peeps (and those who just want to havea fun time) I have three that you must take the time to visit if ever in Cabo. One of which is the Mango Deck (http://www.mangodeckcabo.com/). It has bright tables and umbrellas and is right on the beach. There are two for one drinks ALL day long and the margaritas are actually GOOD, which I have found is RARE at the bars in Cabo (ask for the good tequilla). The people watching is the best thing about the Mango Deck but if it's too busy, walk a step down the beach and hit The Office and Billygan's Island. Of the two, Billygan's was my favorite. There are lounging chairs with umbrellas that can occupy half your day as you watch the people, enjoy some great food, and some terrific strawberry margaritas. Of course, it probably didn't help The Office that one of their white coat clad "doctors' asked us to leave after we paid and were waiting for a local vendor to finish making a custom bracelet. And, of course, if you enjoy being punished you should slink over to Cabo Wabo Cantina because that's where everyone thinks is cool. Myself, I don't like the taste of Cabo Wabo Tequilla and think their prices are inflated. It is truly a tourist trap but where else can you go to experience Sammy Hagar's finest attempt at restauranteering? (If you don't know who Sammy Hagar is, please stop reading and go play with your iPad.)

View from our Booze Cruise

Let's talk briefly about the Booze Cruise. Prior to Cabo when I heard someone talk about going on a Booze Cruise two words came to mind: OLD and LAME. Perhaps I've hit an all time low or I've just matured enough to admit that those old folks know their stuff. The booze cruise is the best bang for your buck. Get it for free by checking out a timeshare and you can't go wrong. Our booze cruise had a great Tequilla Sunrise, a lot of beautiful views, and so much laughter you'd think we were on a comedy channel. Seriously. Give it a go. Just don't hook up with the photographer (hmmmmm is there a story behind that? Sorry, what happens in Cabo didn't happen.)

BMW I spotted along the Marina...what fun I could have on that!!!

Cabo has some great views. At practically any time of the day, the beaches around Cabo are wondrous. The famed "Arch" is photographed over and over. Cabo itself, well, not so much. There were numerous trip hazards along the streets and garbage was everywhere once you got away from the main tourist drag, which was the waterfront. Perhaps the best thing about Cabo is the possibilities. You can do so much there...from lounging by the pool, to fishing, shopping, parasailing, ATV rides, hiking, and even exploring. Cabo has something for everyone.

What did I learn from Cabo? The sun, margaritas, and a lot of free time are all good things!

Thanks to Jenn for planning the trip and for buying a timeshare. Mexico just moved up to become one of my new favorite places!!!

Back to High School: Ouch.

2012-02-12T10:38:00.000-08:00

January is behind us and in front, Valentine's Day. Thank goodness. I was just starting to feel good about myself again. Nothing like a holiday for love to knock a single chick back a few paces. Bitterness isn't pretty but I wear it well.

Seriously though, February has been a good month thus far. I've seen the blue peeking through the clouds and despite the frosty mornings, the days have been warmer than ever. The other day a friend and I went to a high school basketball game at the tiny school in Lowell, OR that we graduated from. The years haven't been kind to our alma mater. Or perhaps it is just that time has given us both different expectations and now we see flaws where once we only saw the coveted senior lockers, glass plated award cabinets, and friendships we thought we'd have forever.

We reacquainted with old friends, caught up on all the gossip, and marveled at how some of the kids playing were (shockingly) the children of classmates. Wow, Valentines Day and a two hour reminder that time continues to move even if you don't. (Thank you, February!) And to think, some people say you can never go back. We did. We saw our old basketball coach, still coaching. We walked through the locker room that hasn't changed a bit. The showers have the same tile, the lockers have the same baskets, and the floor...the same cold cement that made you rush from the shower to your shoes.

Still, Lowell High was lovely. Walking along the breezeway like we'd done a thousand times before brought back memories long forgotten. Like the time one precious person grabbed my hands and threatened to break all my fingers if I ever called her brother again (over protective much??) . I remember the boys who stood by the heaters...in the lone hallway that left us no option but to pass. I don't even recall if they ever said anything but over the years my mind has convinced myself that they were cruel and taunting. Today those boys are grown and not at all intimidating...just 40 something year old guys whose glory days have passed, much like us all. Don't get me wrong, my friends and I did our share of cruelty. The most horrific I still pay for today....saying my friend had a marshmellow butt in her white basketball shorts. Of course, the thing she forgets is WE ALL had the same shorts and thus, we ALL looked like marshmellows. She's as skinny as a rail now and my butt is twice or three times as large as hers. I've gone past marshmellow butt and gone right to train ass.

In today's world we could have been arrested for some of the things we did (and probably back then as well but we won't leave a paper trail). Surely the heater boys would have been brought up on harassment charges. Time has changed not only us, but our outlook on things. I don't remember thinking anyone was a bully per se, but maybe they were. Maybe we all were. Maybe that's why the past is better left in the past...because if we stop to evaluate what we've done we will slowly pick away at who we are.

It's good to go back to where you came from. At least once. But, it's much safer to get on the moto and just ride.

Cabo January 14-21, 2012: Day 1-2

2012-01-16T17:56:00.000-08:00

Landed in Cabo on Saturday, able to outrun the snow that is currently blessing home in Oregon. I am with Jennifer who has, since Ireland, decided some vacations should be more relaxing...no helpful spreadsheet for Cabo? What the hell! We also have a third with us, my friend, Jason, who brings to the table comedic relief, extreme dorkiness, and acts as someone to beat up the Federalies. I have known my two travel companions for over 15 years each, which is a blessing or a curse, I haven't yet decided. I definately know which way I'm leaning.

Jason likes to be called anything but Jason. He seems to favor the name Irish Jay, and even calls himself that and signs his name that way. With all due respect, I like to point out that it is NOT his name. (Note, we met this awesome chica named Patty who taught us that in Mexico when you want to tell someone to screw off you say, "with all due respect" first, hmm, that's coming in handy.) I also like to laugh and make fun of him, and I pray that some day he does actually visit Ireland and tell someone that's his name so he can come home to the States and tell me all about how he got the shit beat out of him while in Ireland. Irish Jay also has two bachelor degrees (which I like to point out don't mean shit in the scheme of things) and he's sensitive. Like a girl, sensitive.

Irish Jay's main theme thus far into the trip has been this crazy messed up idea to wrestle a shark. Yeah, you read that right. Irish Jay wants to wrestle a shark. That alone isn't the worst thing in the world...what IS the worst thing is that Irish Jay keeps asking everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) if you can wrestle a shark here in Cabo. Most people just look at him and shake their head and mumble something about a crazy gringo, but some actually humor him and tell Irish Jay he's an idiot. It is those responses that I favor. On the water taxi from the Mango Deck to the dock Jennifer and I almost had the driver convinced that he should turn the boat around and head to sea with Irish Jay. Of course, he probably thought us offering him $50 and telling him we'd slit Irish Jay's throat first was a bit scary. So, he dropped us off without taking us up on our offer. I think someone will eventually agree to help us...it's early yet and I'm not giving up.

We have gotten out of bed early both mornings due to the timeshare "pushing" that goes on here. It's like crack. Off the plane you are immediately bombarded by people who offer you free things if only you sit through their 75 minute presentation. Clearly the Mexican clock runs a little slower than the North American one. The presentation lasted maybe five hours and the high pressure sales pitch was entertaining. Jennifer and Irish Jay got a free parasailing trip today, we ate breakfast free two days, we have a free booze cruise tomorrow and on Thursday we are going fishing. The 75 minute sales tour is paying off. Somehow, I still wonder if it's worth it to be in paradise and spend even that long doing something you really don't want to do. But, I guess that's what life is all about, doing stuff you don't want to do. Like calling someone Irish Jay when, with all due respect, his name is actually Jason.

Oh well, I've got nothing to do and five more days to do it. I should count myself lucky that when the snow is falling back home I've got my feet in the sand. And, an additional bonus is I now know where I can get some weed, crack or chicks for $20. Yep, Cabo is exactly what I expected and everything I didn't.

2011: A year in review

2011-12-31T14:46:00.000-08:00

I've been reading my fellow blogger's posts about all the exciting stuff they did in 2011 and their hopes for 2012. I am green with envy reading about trips along the California coast and new dirt bikes! This year I had my own bits of motorcycle heaven but for some reason they seem so far away now that December and the cold has set in.

Somewhere on the way to Texas..with Marshmellows

In February I decided to let my beloved R1200GS go and downgrade to a G650GS since I wasn't riding as much as I should. The new bike, named Runkle, and I bonded over short rides around Portland. In August I took a two week motorcycle ride to Texas, tired of waiting for that perfect moto companion, I ventured off by myself and realized going alone can be spectacular. I also realized it IS true, there is no bad weather, just bad gear. I camped in quiet, secluded areas, wide awake all night waiting for a serial killer to approach. I slept in motels I hope to never see again and RV parks where the people were friendly and helpful. I rode in 109 degree temperatures with sweat and sunblock dripping from my face. And I met more people this year than ever before...people who offered advice along the way and others who were just amazed a chick would dare set off on a motorcycle solo.

I wrote my first online motorcycle article, bought a fancy new Shoei helmet and was given the opportunity to test a pair of Aerostich AD1 pants that I don't know how I ever lived without.

I transferred from Portland to Eugene for work (on purpose!), and moved into what I like to call the "death house" since the last two people who lived here have died. (Not the best odds, huh?). I vacationed in Scotland and Ireland, flew to Texas (about a month after my ride there), and reconnected with friends and family...watching some experience the happiest moment of their lives and others suffering through the most awful tragedy anyone could have.

Through it all I've come to realize that life really is what you make it, that happiness and beauty is all around but you just have to open your eyes to it, and that you can make any decision you want as long as you are willing to suffer the consequences. I also realize I am lucky...I have everything I need and those things I want, I sometimes get.

2011 has been good to me in some ways, awful to me in others. Given that, I am glad 2011 is over in a few hours, and I hope 2012 brings me more margaritas, more laughter, more motorcycle rides, more moments of sheer bliss, and more knowledge.

My hope for all of you is that you know what you want, you get it, and that 2012 is your best year yet. And to all those who have lost someone special this year, I wish for you peace and that the swiss cheese that has become your heart is plugged, hole by hole, with laughter and friendship.

Happy New Year!

Scotland/Ireland: 2011

2011-12-15T17:59:00.000-08:00

The last few days of our trip we settled into Dublin, Ireland within walking distance to the Temple Bar area. Temple Bar is blocks upon blocks of shops, pubs, art studios, and herds and herds of people. I wasn't thrilled about being in the big city, and even less thrilled to be so close to such a hip and happening place where the people walked like cattle ready to slaughter. My small town mentality had a hard time grasping what fun there would be walking amongst thousands of other tourists as we attempted to locate some music and food. However, I actually found Dublin to be much more entertaining and likable than I could have ever imagined. It wasn't my favorite place during our three week holiday, but it was one of the best surprises..the surprise being that I didn't actually hate it! Walking through the streets that make up the Temple Bar area was like being in Vegas. Lights flashed, people handed out flyers, music was pouring from various pubs, and sidewalk performers made the walk interesting. And the shopping...well let's just say I bought my fair share of t-shirts...more than my fair share.

Now home for exactly a month, it is as if Scotland and Ireland never happened. I haven't taken the time to review my photos or been able to stop long enough to simply bask in the memories that were made. I've been busy packing, moving, and transferring to a new town for work. Every now and then I look out the car window as I drive to work past a park. The leaves are on the ground and I catch a glimpse of the river and I simply smile. I think about how beautiful Scotland is, how majestic the shores of Ireland are and I am reminded that Oregon, with it's rain and recent cold weather snap, is majestic itself. I now notice that the fog rolls across the country fields, the rain leaves beautiful drops on the leaves and that the river behind my house sounds like a beautiful song I've never taken the time to hear.

Perhaps the beauty of travel, the real benefit, is that you take time out of your normally busy life and actually look around. You finally see things that life generally hides from you...like the leaves that have changed colors and fallen, and you take the time to follow the roads that could lead no where. Maybe the key to a happy life is being able to see those things no matter where you are or who you are with.

Ireland/Scotland: 11.10.11: Killarney to Kinsale, Blarney Castle

2011-11-11T01:02:00.000-08:00

Killarney is a wonderful town, full of shops and Christmas cheer this time of year. The best shop was the Aran Woolen Mill Outlet...which is a must see since Ireland’s finest sweaters, hats and my personal favorite, scarves, are around half price. Still spendy, but half price makes the splurge seem more reasonable. It’s right around the corner from our hotel, The Fairview Guest House, which is a good place to stay. Their omelet was the best breakfast I’ve had throughout all of Scotland and Ireland (aka, tasted similar to a Denver omelet, which is my go to omelet in the States). Jen tried the full Irish breakfast, which included pudding...which is a nice way of saying gross, disgusting things all rolled together with oats. She's either got an iron stomach or she needs to research before ordering her food.

Who is this strange old man with his hand on my breast?

From Killarney we hit the highway...or scenic byway if you will, toward Blarney Castle. We were going to skip Blarney after hearing that kissing the Blarney Stone (one of the most famous destinations in Ireland) would be gross since kids apparently break in and pee on the stone for fun. Hmm, I can’t imagine being drunk, breaking in, walking all the way to the castle, and then climbing all the way to the top of the castle without breaking one’s neck. I thought we were going to lose a few tourists on the way up, and they were sober. At any rate, we made the walk, climbed up the narrow stairs and took some great photos. I actually kissed the stone and was more worried about the strange man with his hands around my mid section more than I was worried about any possible urine on the stone. On the way down the spiral staircase I mentioned kissing the stone wasn’t a big deal, since I’d once kissed a .... oh never mind. A lady overheard my comment and completely agreed that compared to that, the Blarney Stone was child’s play.

View from the top of Blarney Castle

Blarney Castle has wonderful grounds that seem to go on and on. The poison garden (complete with mandrake and other spell making plants made popular in Harry Potter books), the fairy glen, the sacrificial rock, the witch’s kitchen, the wishing steps (walk up and down with your eyes closed while clearing your mind of everything but your wish and it will come true), all were quite fun. I would highly recommend a trip to Blarney Castle...and definitely in the off season. It was one of my favorite castles out of all I’ve seen...and trust me, we’ve seen more castles than should be allowed.

From Blarney we drove to Kinsale, where out hotel was waiting. Sheryl (my GPS) took us through town, which is quite possibly the worst place to drive I’ve ever been. With Jen screaming at Sheryl and Sheryl insisting she was recalculating while I missed sharp turns and roads that were suddenly one way, we ended up driving through town twice. Twice. Through roads too narrow for people to be parked along, but these damn Irish parked there anyway. We had to drive so slowly as we weaved through cars and pedestrians, it was like an obstacle course from hell. It was like being turned around and blindfolded while trying to drive through a motorcycle course. In a car! All the while, Jen is waving at Sheryl with her middle finger and starting to look like she’s going to have a heart attack. Good times.

One of the wider streets in Kinsale...these are two lanes with cars parked along the side.

We are at the Trident Hotel which is a beautiful place that overlooks the water. We walked around town, ate some great fish and chips, and I had some awesome berry cheesecake in the Trident Hotel bar. The bartender is from Scotland and after I asked if he was running from the law (which really broke the ice, I think), he poured us some Irish Cider to try. Jen now has a list of Irish brews that she’ll have to scout for when back in the States. Her list is huge. She’s such a lush (okay, maybe not, but for the record she has drank more than I have here...I think that has a lot to do with the fact that whenever I ask for a cranberry vodka they bring me a shot of vodka and a bottle of cranberry juice. I kind of annoys me that I have to pour my own drink and still pay 8 euro for it).

View from our room at Trident Hotel, World's End, Kinsale, County Cork, Ireland

Four more days in Ireland. One of those is for travel back to the States and two of them are us in Dublin, carless, and stuck in a city that’s way too large for my taste. My list of things to see is dwindling. Tomorrow we head to the Jameson Distillery and to Waterford. And for the record, I haven’t gotten any Scottish or Irish in me yet...(Andy that was for you) but, what happens to me stays here. What happens to Jen, well that’s what you all get to read about.

Ireland/Scotland: 11.9.11: Killarney, Ireland and Dingle Peninsula

2011-11-09T11:40:00.000-08:00

Dingle Peninsula

Dingle rocks. From Killarney we headed to the Dingle Peninsula (instead of the Ring of Kerry, which is a top tourist destination...no thank you). Dingle was awesome. I found some cool new purses, a sweet sandwich, and some great views. Jen is raving about the views..which are good...but since we’re from Oregon, our coast is pretty fricking fantastic as well, and I kept screaming, “GET IN THE F N CAR!” whenever she wanted to dilly dally with her photos. You see, Jen’s ego has grown to dynamic proportions as far as her photography skills are concerned. Every time one of you freaks and or geeks make a comment on her photo of the day I get to hear about it for the next ten hours. So, please, stop commenting. Just look at it, bask in the glory of Ireland, but keep your traps shut. I don’t know how she’s going to fit in the car for the airport unless we all work together and just say, “Yep, nice photo.” Keep it simple. Try it with me. “Yep, nice photo.” Enough of the “oooh that’s so beautiful” and “oooh is that real?” Just repeat, “Yep, nice photo.” Really, you’re doing me a favor. And her. You do want her to come back to the states, don’t you? I am not paying extra for a seat for her head. So, again, “Yep, nice photo.” No fanfare, no long pauses, no ooohs and awwwws. Just “nice photo.”

A stern lecture from Jen after climbing over the fence...buzzkill...

In other news, Jen ate mussels for dinner again (alternating between mussels and seafood chowder day after day) and I complained at dinner (as usual). This time, my complaint was no bbq sauce. But, I made due with ketchup (seemed sacrilegious) on my pork ribs...yep, I FOUND RIBS! And holy crap, were they good. So to all you haters who have been thinking I’d never be happy, think again. Of course, I am still never going to be satisfied with a whole lot of other things...but my dinner, well, to quote your favorite fruitcake, “Winning!” And, FYI, there are a lot of people who eat the same thing over and over. It’s not that unusual...geez.

Some of the cats at Inch Beach.

One thing I should share with you is the lovely beach at Inch. Yep, Inch Beach. In the parking lot were about 15 or so cats. Orange tabbies, to be exact. Poor little buggars must have been dumped there..and although I wouldn’t walk across the street to help a cat out of a tree, these little guys were adorable. I gave them my milk and donuts while Jen sat in the car and waited patiently (or not so). The cats were cute but all I could think of was that no one loved them. So sad. Everyone needs someone to love them. Even a dingy little throwaway cat. And especially a bitter, cheeky, old maid...luckily this one has her Trout. So, Smith family, get ready to lose a fish! Four more days. (Oh and don’t you dare call me bitter or I will cut you.)

Ireland/Scotland: 11.5.11: Northern Ireland, Giant's Causeway and Sheryl

2011-11-05T12:12:00.000-07:00

Started the day out early, showered and woke Jen up who's first comment was "There's frost outside." Hmm someone call the Waaambulance. I wanted to get going early, as after reading about Giant's Causeway I wanted to beat the tour buses and tourists. My desire to see Giant's Causeway was the only reason we ended up in Belfast, which coincidentally is hosting the European MTV awards tonight. Hmm, no wonder this place is a madhouse. And, no wonder we got bumped from our fancy hotel...there's a line of lookyloos out front, waiting for a sighting of someone famous. They probably wouldn't have recognized how important I am.

I was in such a hurry I didn't eat breakfast...so a wee out of Belfast we stopped at a grocery and bought chocolate croissants and ham and cheese ones for around 50 pence each. And, I was finally able to get some milk and drank nearly half a gallon for the low price of 69 pence! Holy crap. Who knew I'd find heaven in a grocery? I say if you are traveling you nix the hotel breakfasts and drive directly to the grocery. I mean, these little gems were fresh and warm and delicious.

Giant's Causeway, Northern Ireland

So, Giant's Causeway is a walk from the parking lot. You walk down a hill, walk around a corner, walk down another hill, then walk about half a mile to find so many tourists you can hardly take a photo of the stones. Arg. With high expectations come low rewards. That's why next time I meet someone I'm going to just hope he has a job and some teeth. Or, maybe just teeth. Giant's Causeway is a must see, despite my opinion of tourists. I think you have to be there first thing, before the herds arrive. And, go ahead and walk to the Causeway but for the love of all that is holy, go ahead and pay the 1 pound for the bus ride back up to the top! It'll save time and get you moving to the next locale, which happens to be the Bushmills Distillery, right up the road. But, to give Giant's Causeway it's well deserved due, the basalt columns are impressive, and the backdrop of the Irish coastline makes the sight picturesque, despite the tourists.

At Bushmills we did a short walk and then bought some Irish Whiskey. I mean, wouldn't it have been a shame to pass it up??? Now when another curb jumps out at me (as happened this morning...those things are unpredictable and dangerous) Jen can just grab a bottle and chill the hell out. Maybe I should spike her morning coffee.

We drove up the coastline today and the views were spectacular. It was difficult to get even a mile before we wanted to pull over again. What a chore. And what an amazing problem to have!

Look! I'm in the photo! Or my shadow is...my photography skills rock!

About 11 miles from our hotel Sheryl (my GPS) stopped working. Just went black and wouldn't come back on. Ever been in a place where you don't know north from south from east from west and traffic is hauling arse past and swooping through roundabouts as night falls? Yeah, that's when Sheryl chose to go dark. I shook her, unplugged her, spoke nicely, pushed her buttons (hmmm this is awkward) and nothing. Not even a spark. (I know a few men who can relate.) Anyhoo, finally Sheryl woke up and realized we needed her and then faithfully showed us the way home. I think Sheryl can count herself lucky she hasn't been traded in for another model. That wench had better shape up or I'm tossing her out the window next time. (See how Sheryl likes getting kicked to the curb, I think she's not as used to that as the rest of us...not like that's ever happened to me.)

I suddenly just realized I'm delusional. I can't think of a prettier place to realize that. I mean, if I do want to toss myself off a cliff, this is the place!

Don't push me, Jen!

For heaven's sake, don't worry. I have been delusional for years. I've come to grips with it. Now you must.

Tomorrow we head across the Isle to Clifden on the west coast. It's a five hour drive without stops, but we have plenty of scenery to grab our attention. Ireland is impressive. Ya'll should come on over.

Ireland/Scotland: 11.4.11: Edinburgh to Dublin to Belfast

2011-11-04T14:28:00.000-07:00

A heart with a view of the Abbey

I've missed a few days. What you missed was us driving around Scotland, visting historical sights, taking photos of abbeys and chapels and castles. We visited Melrose Abbey, in Melrose, Scotland, and stood before the burial place of Robert the Bruce's Heart (Scottish King who defeated the English army in 1314). What happened to the rest of him I have no idea, and frankly don't think I care to know. The Abbey was awesome. I was wondering if I could rip some men's hearts out and bury them...then I realized I've already done that (but for some strange reason those men are still walking around...sorry, W).

We stayed in a castle (shocked?) for two nights on the outskirts of Edinburgh and drove to a few attractions that were closed...hmmm how's that spreadsheet treating us? OMG, I haven't mentioned the 7000 cell spreadsheet Jen did, have I? Well, seriously, even if you don't bring Jen on your trip, have her plan it. Just be prepared to listen to her bragging about how great her spreadsheet is the whole time. Geez. (Yes, I will admit, it's been helpful...there, I said it.)

There are a lot of great photos from Scotland...so many you haven't seen and will probably never seen. Jen is posting a lot of them, and shockingly her friends are commenting on how much they like her photos. She sits now on the hobbit bed near mine, talking about how her friends are commenting on how great the photos are, then pouting a bit as she then says, "You took that one."

Oh snap. "You took that one, too." (My ego can't take any more of this, really, someone stop her. I don't know how I'm going to fit my head through the doorway.)

Edzell Castle in Edzell, Scotland

This morning we flew to Dublin. We got the airport for our 8:20 am flight at around 6 am. By 6:20 we were sitting in the waiting area...um...waiting. And waiting...and waiting. We did get to see one woman cry, plead, beg, and then try the tears again when she was not permitted to hustle down the runway after they closed the doors...after paging her about ten times. That was entertaining. Kind of made me want to walk over and tell her to shut the hell up and stop crying...but that's just me. I have a feeling there were others waiting who felt the same way. I swear I heard snickering.

From Dublin we grabbed our rental car and drove toward Belfast. I am the first to admit I don't like big cities. With that in mind, you can probably imagine how much I loved the Dublin Airport and how much I enjoyed driving into Belfast to stay at a ritzy hotel near the Queen's University (with towels the size of dish rags, I miss those fluffy castle spa towels!). Blah. I was not driving quickly enough, dangerous enough, or even snarky enough. I was honked at about three times and by the time we got to the hotel. I wanted to just point the car in the direction of a small town and sleep in the car. Arg. True, I'm not giving Belfast it's due. I'm sure it's a lovely town. We did walk through the museum, which had a little bit of everything. And we walked through a pretty garden. But, thus far, Ireland isn't as cool as Scotland was. The people are downright mean...I spoke to the shuttle driver and he ignored me. I can only imagine he didn't understand a lick of English. Yep, that's it. Oh well. Can't make everyone swoon over my pearly whites. (Or can I?)

I'm hoping tomorrow is better, as we head out of Belfast for the day to tour Giant's Causeway (the fourth greatest natural wonder in the UK and the most popular tourist attraction in Northern Ireland...oh please help me!) and other attractions within a day's driving distance. One more night in Belfast and then we head to the country, where we spend the next 8 days exploring the coastline and hitting all the small towns I've dreamed about. I am giving Ireland a chance to redeem itself. But just so you all know, thus far, Scotland is better. (I can almost see you shaking your head in shame right now...did she really say Scotland could be better than Ireland? Augh. What the hell is she thinking?)

I heart Scotland.

Ireland/Scotland: 11.1.11: Extras

2011-11-02T01:44:00.000-07:00

The Highlands in Scotland are without a doubt the best part of the country. Maybe that's because they remind me of Oregon so much or maybe it's because of the rolling hills, wonderous fall colors and roads that would knock your motorcycle riding socks off. We've been here a wee more than a week and still all I can think of is how awesome this would be on a motorbike. Maybe next time.

Some of the sights you've missed thus far:

Balnuaran of Clava, a prehistoric cemetery dating back to 1400

A ruined Cathedral in Elgin, Scotland.

A stream bed in Huntly, a large ruined castle overlooks the waterway...

Ireland/Scotland: 11.1.11: My own Tibetan Spiritual Walk of Enlightenment

2011-11-02T01:27:00.000-07:00

Lane to the graveyard about a half mile away from Tulloch Castle

Today was a very good day. We started out with the same Scottish breakfast from hell and chatted up our new friends, getting the necessary emails, candybar lists, and facebook contacts so that we may continue to share in all that is giggly and ghostly. Earlier I had read there was a graveyard at Tulloch Castle and wanted to check it out before we left. The front desk person had no idea how to get there (what service) so passed me off to the maintenance man. He said his wife took him to the graveyard about two months earlier and it was really nothing to be impressed with. Still, he walked me outside and pointed in the direction and gave me some “country directions” that people who know their way around their hometown give.

Maintenance Man: “ Wander down this lane until you get to the field that’s not a proper field just past the trees. The kids ride their motorbikes there. Go diagonally through the field and at the trees the graveyard sits. It’s overgrown and you won’t find it.”

Hmm. Didn’t fill me with confidence.

Maintenance Man: “If you want a real treat walk up this steep field here full of sheep, past the other steep field with sheep, and then go through that little clearing and up that big hill and you’ll find a mini castle built just for fun.”

Hmm. Ok, why not?

Jen didn’t want to tag along, something about actually having to walk and her not being impressed with the whole idea of another graveyard, I think. These aren’t normal graveyards. They are old and full of Keltic crosses and history and toppled headstones and...yeah whatever. She stayed behind and read her iPad. I did tell her if I wasn’t back in a few hours she should send out the local mounted sheep patrol to find me.

I decided to hit both the graveyard and the mini castle. I mean, why not! The maintenance man was impressed with my attitude and wished me luck, reminding me again the graveyard sucked and I wouldn’t find it. (Nothing like a cheerleader to keep you going!) I think as I walked away he was telling the other guys working outside that the dumb American was going to get lost and they should prepare the sheep patrol.

I started walking down the lane and noticed a guy walking his dog in front of me. Hmm...serial killer or simply a man walking his dog? I mean, really, if I disappeared no one would even know where to look. And how long would it take before the mounted sheep patrol (MSP) even started to look? And if it were one of their own who murdered me, would they even take it seriously? Another tourist gone? Who cares. Hmmm maybe I should have given Jen a better idea of where I was going first. I started imagining me being attacked and throwing my red camera so the killer/rapist/boogeyman wouldn’t find it. Surely a search party would find my camera and be able to tell where I’d been and that the man in front of me was wearing a red shirt and had a black dog.

Finally I decided it was too beautiful to worry about trivial things like me being attacked. In fact, I was kind of hoping some of the motorbike kids would come along so they could take me for a ride. I only hoped it would only be one kid and not a gang of future sheep herding felons. I could handle one. More than one and I’d have to run for it. In my white trainers. They would get dirty. Probably best just to strip naked and scare them to death. Turn around is fair play.

I walked under the trees, diagonally across the field and noted how lovely it was there. The birds were chirping (little arsholes were flittering all over and scaring the shit out of me) and singing wonderful songs that sounded a lot like the theme from Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I was snapping photos and enjoying my walk when a man suddenly stepped out from behind a tree and his dog came running over to me like he was going to jump on my face and eat it. The man was more frightened of me than I was of him, despite my paranoia. I asked him about the graveyard and he said he walked his dog in that field for years and had never seen a graveyard. Drat. Maybe Maintenance Man was right. Damn it.

Still, undaunted, I carried on. And walked directly over to the fricking graveyard. My first thoughts, “Take that Maintenance Man with no faith! Take fricking that!” My second thought: “Shrat, this graveyard sucks.” There were only three visible stones and an ugly newer wire fence around them, which simply would not do for the expert photos I’d wanted to take. (Somewhere between Edinburgh and Loch Ness I’d decided I was a champion photographer and in advance I apologize to those who actually are.) So, after a quick look around, I was tromping back through the trees and field toward the three hills and sheep.

Walking under the trees, the gold and red leaves scattered along the trail like rose petals toward Ryan Reynolds's bedroom (ok, I kid, we don’t have to be in the bedroom), I felt so at peace. It was as if all the negative energy was being sucked out of me (it’s amazing I could still stand upright) and I suddenly realized that life really is beautiful (there were some other epiphanies but you don't need all the details, they may scare you).

"If you come any closer I will cut you!"

I crossed the lane and looked one way toward the way I’d come and then looked up toward the hill and thought, “I am not fecking walking all the way back the lane so I can walk up three hills and then cross back across that damn field” (Okay, not all the negativity was gone and really I was just trying to save time. Yep. That’s my story). So, I did what any great hiker would do, I forged my own trail. (Actually I took a sheep trail through a ditch and climbed over my first of seven fences...those sheep are nimble!) As I walked through the field I cleared my mind. I pushed all the “what if’s” away (although I was still kind of wondering what I’d do if the landowner rushed out with a gun and tried to shoot me for trespassing), and I started simply thinking about the green grass, the hillside, the trees, the water flowing past in the adorable little stream. Birds were singing (this time they were singing Pink, Perfect!) and the sheep were staring at me and slightly running away but I’m sure they were just trying to give me space to explore.

By the time I got through the first field I was feeling good. The second field made me wonder why I didn’t do more cardio. And the third field, I thought (through coughing fits), “I’m almost there! Bring out the champagne and chocolate strawberries!” (Okay, you got me, I was actually wondering why the hell anyone would put a fricking castle on top of this hill when it wasn’t even a full size castle. How daft!)

First glimpse of the castle

Eventually, by following the sheep trail, sheep poop, fence lines, cow chips and power lines, I glimpsed the castle. And it was beautiful. It stood on the top of the hill, one window built in the shape of a cross, a tiny little arched doorway with a small wall going to the mini guard’s house...all of this spoke to me. It said, “Turn around and look at the view, Dumbass!” So I did. And I saw for miles. And miles. And I suddenly understood why someone would put a tiny castle at the top of the biggest hill, overlooking all the people and the sheep and the town. Because they could. Hell, I wanted to build a mini Taco Bell right next to it so I could have an ice cold Pepsi.

But, in truth, as I tromped down the mountain after taking some more professional photos, I realized that this morning of hiking, of exploring, of climbing over fences, dodging sheep poop and hearing the goosh of my wet trainers was what living was all about. The morning couldn’t have been better. Life was perfect. I wasn’t missing anything at all. I wasn’t worried about tomorrow, or even later that day. I was simply living in the moment with no expectations and no room for disappointments. I realized my life would be perfect if I just kept feeling that way. If I could just be satisfied with today and not worry about tomorrow.

Once I made it down the hill the friendly couple yelled out to me, asking if I’d found the castle. I said yes and showed them my photos. They were gracious and wonderful as we looked at maps and they gave me tips on what castles to see and what towns were their favorite. They were only the second Scottish people who actually were kind. I was thankful for them and smiling as we parted ways. As I walked past the maintenance men who were still working in the side yard, one of them asked if I’d actually made it to the castle. I smiled my biggest white teeth smile (which actually garners compliments from strangers...watch me work it...uh huh bow chica bow wow..) and said, “Why yes I did!” He laughed and said congratulations...but deep down I think he was a bit disappointed that the mounted sheep patrol wouldn’t be going out today.

Ireland/Scotland: 10.31.11: Halloween at Tulloch Castle, Dingwell

2011-11-01T15:04:00.000-07:00

Urquhart Castle, Loch Ness (I took this!!! I rock!)

Today started much like any other day on this vacation. Get up, eat some sub-par Scottish breakfast, drive to a few castles, see a few graveyards, and then settle into a castle suite for a night of relaxation. We also drove past Loch Ness, searching for Nessie, but as with most tourists, we were sadly disappointed as Nessie decided to stay hidden. Damn her, that wench. Does she NOT realize who I am?

Today was All Hallow's Eve and Jen and I were staying at Tulloch Castle in Dingwell, Scotland. Tulloch was featured on Ghost Finders Scotland (http://www.ghostfinders.co.uk/tullochcastle.html)
in 2004. According to the paranormal investigators, they saw many orbs which are generally interpreted as paranormal phenomena such as spirits, ghosts, auras, angels, energy fields, etc. Basically, an orb appears to be anything you want it to be. These "orbs" are not verified as spirits, and really, it seems almost impossible to do so. However, seeking the mighty orb was our goal...and we headed off much like Charley Brown searching for the Great Pumpkin.

What the freck is this??? Easy entry for my murderer?

The Castle itself was a little scary. Not yet fully remodeled and lacking in even basic lawn care, the place was reportedly going to be the castle in the worst shape. It wasn't. Tulloch Castle is safely my favorite accommodation as of yet, despite the shoddy landscaping. In the lobby there was a nice fire and our room was adequate. The only thing I didn't particularly like was the "attic" space opening in the middle of our room. That's not really what you want to see when staying in a haunted castle. Especially when I'm usually so paranoid about the room in general that you know I'm gonna have to open the attic space and check it out. I pulled a chair over as Jen was questioning the need to do so. My argument: wouldn't you like to know there's a boogyman above us BEFORE he kills us? Mercifully, I found out that the space below the floor above us and the attic door was only about a foot tall and riddled with wires and other objects. I believed this space was too small for a man to hang out and wait to kill us. Maybe a boy could do it, but I had every reason to believe I could kick any small boy's ass (and would without any qualms if the little bastard came out of the ceiling). And anyhow, thankfully, Jen's bed was closer so I also reasoned I would have time to escape while she was being raped and tortured (kids grow up so fast, you know). There's also the fact that I can run like the wind when needed.

Our first orb search was in our room, number 5. We turned off all the lights and used the camera's flash to attempt to pick up some elusive spirits. We found one orb which had settled in near my backpack. Jen swears there's a face in the orb. Me, I see something, but I'm not willing to say it isn't a dust molecule. Still, ghost hunting is fun. Our next trek was around the Castle. We found a large door that was shut and we didn't know if we were supposed to go inside that area, so I leaned down and peered through the keyhole. I didn't see anything other than another room, which I quickly relayed to Jen in a whisper. However, as I was leaning down, squinting, the door started to open on my face! I backed up quickly, my heart beating like I was being attacked by a hungry gator. Suddenly there was a maintenance man looking at me saying, "I thought you were a ghost!" He quickly walked away and I attempted to rein in my heart as Jen laughed and laughed.

Room 15: Come out, come out wherever you are!

Outside we met a couple from Glasgow who had a cheery cattle dog named Xander. These were the first people who had spoken to us since we landed at Edinburg, and frankly I wasn't willing to leave them be. We ended up befriending them, Laura and Walter, and spent the rest of the evening basically searching for ghosts, eating in the pub, comparing ghost orb photos, and laughing about how chicken Walter was (his plan was to run if he saw or heard anything and to sleep in the car with Xander). Laura and Walter were in room 8, which is reportedly one of the most haunted rooms in the Castle. Booooooo. We ended up in their room, the lights out, flashes going off, in search of this ghostly entity who apparently had in the past held a man down as he was sleeping. No such luck. Apparently the ghost wasn't too fond of us. Laura was a real hoot. At one point we walked past room 15, another of the more haunted rooms...and she tried the door and (holy shrat, Batman) the door swung open. We all giggled like school girls as we tried to push each other in and took photos in the dark. Hmm, I may be mistaken but I think Jen the Mighty Ghost Hunter stayed in the hall until the lights were turned on.

At 9 pm our new friends and another couple met in the lobby for a ghost tour of the Castle. The tour included the dungeon (where people were buried under the floor alive and others simply died! Death in a dungeon? Wierd) and the opening of one of four hidden tunnels (caved in so we could do nothing other than peer into a shallow pit). We also were taken to the Great Hall where a photo of the landowners still hangs on the wall. The story goes the photo now is of the wife and her children. The black spot behind the little girl on the left is where the husband used to stand. The man apparently had a wandering.. um..penis...and he liked to bed the chambermaids. One day as he was deep in the...um..chamber maid... the little girl walked in and found them. Distraught, she ran out of the room and fell down the stairs and to her death! Later, the man was found hanged near the front gate of the Castle. No one knows whether the man hanged himself out of shame or if the townspeople hung him (my vote is on the townspeople). The mistress of the house is apparently the famous "Green Lady" ghost who walks the Castle, still in sorrow for her losses. Of course we didn't see her...though we looked!

ORBS! ORBS! Holy shrat! Ghosts a-plenty! Or dust.

As the ghost tour ended Jen and I went back to the Great Hall again by ourselves and I snapped a few photos. If you look closely you can see the multiple orbs in my photo...which were not on the subsequent photos. Clearly I'm a much better ghost hunter than the TV show. (If you'd like a copy of my orb photos, please inquire. For the low price of $9.99 I will send you all of them so you can investigate...I kid! They are FREE! Hurry! Before the orbs disappear.)

On the way back to the room for the night Jen and I stopped by room #15. No one was there, the door opened fine, and no orbs showed up on my camera. Maybe the ghosts were still partying in the Great Hall??? Back in our room, tucked safely behind the door, Jen was getting ready to stay up all night out of fear. Me, I jumped under my hobbit bed covers and was ready to slip into dreamland (which, by the way, turned out well since in my dream Ryan Reynolds and I were getting along just fine...but that's a story for another blog). Jen walked to the bathroom, opened the door, closed the door, opened the door, asked if I could sleep with the light on all night (to which I replied, "hell no"), shut the door, walked to her bed, walked back to the door, opened the door, looked at me with pleading eyes and begged for the light to stay on all night long (answer was still "No" but this time accompanied a severe rolling of my eyes), walked back to her bed, back to the door, and then finally closed the door and decided the door was going to be shut while she stayed awake in fear all night.

And the Mighty Ghost Hunter, Jen, did stay up until 1 pm when she finally turned off her iPad and hid under the covers all night. She claims at one point I woke her up by snoring but she doesn't know when since she was too afraid to look at the time. I contend it wasn't me snoring but a ghost. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. Ryan Reynolds wasn't bothered by my snoring (and that's all I'm sharing about that).

PS: Ryan, please call me.

Ireland/Scotland: 10.30.11: Commando Memorial

2011-10-30T12:50:00.000-07:00

Commandos gazing upon the view.

Anyone who knows me well knows I have a special fondness in my heart for those who serve in the military. I support our troops despite what FOX news relays to us and I realize that each person who serves is doing something spectacular. I am thankful for them every day.

On the way to Glengarry Castle we passed by the Commando Memorial. From our little two lane road it was simply a large statue with a pullout nearby and no real markers telling us what it was. I whipped the car into the parking area (and gave Jen whiplash) as three buses and big trucks of military men were loading up, leaving the area. (Oh, by the way, those "men" were kids, I must be getting old.) The memorial is dedicated to all commandos who had lost their lives in service of their country from 1939-1945 and others who sacrificed after. The large statue overlooks some of the most beautiful country side. Even with the fog and darkness approaching, it was a sight to behold.

Although the large statue was impressive, the makeshift memorial for the more recent soldiers/commandos grabbed my heart strings and made me reflect upon my friends, loves, and life. Here are a few photos from that memorial, which sits with only a view of the parking lot but seems ever so much more important.

The photos were particularly heart wrenching...

I thank the soldiers for their service, far and wide. May Angel watch over them.

Scotland/Ireland: 10/30/2011: Kilmartin, Dunstaffnage, Oban, Ivangary

2011-10-30T11:49:00.000-07:00

Kilmartin Chapel Graveyard

Big day today full of me driving and watching Jen's leg tense up as she reminded me repeatedly about the LEFT side of the road. Would it be wrong to tie her up and just put her in the trunk? We stopped at a few castles (go figure) and walked through a few graveyards (dejavu) and I've simply decided there isn't much else to do on the road here.

But, oh what pretty graveyards they are! Each time we pass one I hesitate, wanting so badly to stop and take a leisurely stroll. They are so frequently seen here in the tiny towns we pass one can almost forget that each marker represents a life gone (and sometimes 3-5 family members stacked right on top of each other). I read the inscriptions and ponder that despite the years that have passed (sometimes more than 100), that person is being thought of on this day simply because I have stopped. Since I am feeling rather lazy, I end this particular post with some photos. May you all live to be 100 (if that's what you'd like) and end up having your names read 100 years from now!

At Dunstaffnage near the Chapel

Chapel at Dunstaffnage.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

-Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken

Scotland/Ireland: 10/29/2011: Tarbert, Skipness

2011-10-30T10:21:00.000-07:00

Tarbert Castle

We are headed west. But we are in SCOTLAND, Mofos! Drove to Tarbert today and ate one of the best tuna fish sandwiches I’ve ever had and the friendliest service. (There is something to be said for eating tuna that’s fresh as you watch the ships sway in front of the restaurant window.) Today was the first bout of serious rain we’ve encountered. Scotland has been patient with us thus far but I think we’ve reached the end of our dry, blue sky days. We attempted to tour Tarbert Castle, which is actually just two walls and a bunch of scaffolding all sitting pretty on the top of a wet, rainy hill. You had to make sure and shut the gate so the sheep wouldn’t get out. We took a few photos as the rain soaked through my jacket and the wind whipped past my ears. We tromped back down the hillside dodging leaves and mud and made it back to the Kia, soaked through and through.

Skipness Castle

From there we went to Skipness Castle, which was another abandoned castle. This time the drive was more of what I’d expect from Scotland...single lane roads with pull outs. We (and by that I mean I) drove along the shores of what could only be described as the roughest water I’ve ever seen, the waves crashing onto the shore and swells busting themselves on the rocks which have been worn over time into slabs. It was beautiful. Majestic even. We continued driving until I was sure we were actually going to meet the Hills Have Eyes dudes in the middle of nowhere, when we came upon this tiny village that’s only resemblance to civilization was one red phone booth. Seriously. There were about ten homes all in a row along the jagged, rocky coastline and near the end, one red phone booth. I expected a welcoming party of deformed men wearing other people’s skin. Just past there was a brick arched bridge that led to the parking area of Skipness Castle.

Road away from Skipness Castle

At that point the rain had decided to be our friends and was not appearing to let up. We walked about a mile down a single lane road with fields and horses and sheep cheering us on. Around the bend was the remains of Skipness Castle, reportedly haunted, standing tall overlooking the water. Skipness Castle has lost most it’s luster...there is green grass inside and shambles of walls with no ceilings. The place was a mess. And most assuredly, my favorite place and castle thus far. There is something about being near the water, the wind billowing at such a high rate of speed that it picks your arms up and almost holds your hand as it pushes you away. I could have stood in the pouring rain all day, just letting the wind whip my jacket as I resisted the gentle push of Mother Nature. I wanted to walk to the graveyard, probably half a mile away, but Jen wasn’t having any of it. We walked back inside the castle as I tried to get Jen to scream at the ghost and annoy it. She wasn’t having any of that, either. Finally, we decided our jeans were soaked enough, our trackers were cold enough, and the ghost wasn’t going to show, so we left the area...leaving behind a little piece of my heart (and I don’t have much to spare).

Venison Sausage and mashers

From Skipness we headed back to our very own castle, Stonefield for another night before we moved farther west. Back at the Stonefield we hung out in the bar for maybe five hours while Jen drank a bottle of wine and I sipped orange and passionfruit juice (I think I may have a problem...that J20 drink is GOOD!). Eventually we ate dinner...she went back to last night’s leek, potato and seafood soup and I tried the venison sausage and mashers. OMG. I now want to go hunt and kill a deer. This was the best food day I’ve had thus far. A good lunch and good dinner? Holy cow. (For the record, Pepsi ...my friend...seems to be absent from Scotland. Those Scots do not know what the hell they are missing. And Taco Bell? Donde esta Taco Bell?)

During our five hour bar experience Jen took me back to “old home” week and we talked our parents, growing up together in a small town, and the things parents do that ruin us. I didn’t want to play along at first, but as the wine flowed and Jen got more animated I decided it was pretty fun. Jen has decided that the true story of my childhood does not compare to the one I made up, so from now on I will simply tell people the fake one: we ended up living with my Dad because my mom killed her husband at the time. That does sound more dramatic and does kind of explain my neurosis. I like it. And, since I told Jen the story twice (after telling her it was a joke the first time) and she still believed it, I’d say it’s golden. And I thought I was gullible.

And, now I don’t need therapy. I have simply decided all my faults are the real responsibility of someone else. So really, it’s like I went through years and years of therapy and I am now fully recovered. If you know of any single men, send them my way. I have a list of my issues already typed up and ready for their review. But please, don’t tell them about my family history. I want to save the story about my mother killing someone for a time when I really need it. You know, like when they piss me off and I ask them if that shit is hereditary?

Scotland/Ireland: 10/28/2011: Things you've missed.

2011-10-28T13:41:00.000-07:00

My rambling blog didn't have room for these diddys, which I don't want you to miss on the Scotland side of the tour.

First and foremost: Jen insisted we stop by the birthplace of Harry Potter, which is a small cafe/coffee house on St. George IV Street in Edinburgh called 'the elephant house.' Apparently JK Rowlings sat at a table and typed the first Harry Potter there. WOW. I have read some Harry Potter and watched some of the movies, but I would never personally go out of my way to see where the thing was typed. I mean, yada yada, blah blah. When I think of Harry Potter I think of this British dude I briefly "saw" and a time we went to a bar. We were with my friend who was getting pretty drunk. By the end of the night every time the British dude would say anything at all, my drunk friend would respond in a British accent, "Harry Potter!" We would both laugh like crazy and say over and over, "Harry Potter! Harry Potter!" Poor British guy could hardly get a word in edgewise. He ended up drinking with some other people at the bar and needless to say, there was no love connection. To think of the horrors Harry Potter saved me from!

Stirling Castle overlooks a magnificent graveyard that dates back to the 1600's. It is one of the best old graveyards I've been to and not a one tombstone was toppled. There were bullet holes on some of them, from when the Castle was under siege from the nearby Cathedral Tower and some unlucky man chose to hide behind some stones. Of note, one of the men buried in this graveyard is John MacFarlane, who is the uncle of Butch Cassidy of the famous American duo Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Totally cool factoid! We had to hop on over and see the grave. This new tombstone (new in 2000) was a shining star amongst the earlier, weathered stones from the 1800's. I actually posted the photo with the "orb" (aka my flash bounce) so Jen would think there was a ghost near the tombstone, since once she sees it she will totally think this little orb is her friend in the bolo hat from the paranormal tour.

I've suddenly realized graveyards are excellent photo ops and since there seem to be an abundance of them in Scotland (hmm and probably everywhere else) I've decided to seek out and photograph as many cool graveyards as possible. I mean, how could anyone pass up on these:

Stirling Castle Yard East Side

Stirling Castle Yard West Side

Here we have a perfect example of why some men are better than others. This is a dog cemetery, where the soldiers' dogs are buried at Edinburgh Castle. There is a special spot in heaven for dogs, and for those men who love them. If my dog doesn't like you, then I don't like you. That makes me the worst kind of old maid, but I wear that badge proudly since no one will ever love me like my dog. (Thank Gosh! I can only take one obsessive out of control relationship at a time!)

On the LONG plane ride to Scotland Jen and I had plenty of time to realize a few things. 1) the seats are too close together for anyone to actually be able to reach under and grab the life vest. 2) when the plane is going down I've heard you are supposed to put your thumb in your mouth so upon crashing the thumb can be bitten off and will be in your mouth when they find your badly bruised and probably charred body. We have decided that we need our thumbs. So, in the event the plane goes down, us single chicks are instead going to put our ring fingers in our mouths. Clearly if we live we don't need those particular fingers and we will still be able to grip the ever important wine or margarita glass. Win win. Who's with us!???

Lastly, my favorite photo from the trip thus far. Why? I took as I walked from the graveyard on the way back up to Stirling Castle. The tombstones behind me, pulling me back to the past, and the Castle ahead of me, pulling me toward the living. The leaves, the moss, the walkway it all makes me ponder that no matter where you are or what you do there's always a path you can take. You can chose to go back or forward. Sometimes, right around the bend is more beauty than you've ever seen. May all your choices make you happy and every walkway lead you where you belong.

Scotland/Ireland: 10/28/2011: Stonefield Castle, Tarbert, Scotland Day 3

2011-10-28T12:18:00.000-07:00

Jen set her alarm last night. Seriously. We both were awake at 2 am after tossing and turning for hours. The alarm went off at 8 am. ON MY VACATION. Note to everyone: I do not set alarms on vacation. I woke up and dragged myself to the dining area for free breakfast, anxious to try the oven baked bacon after trying the square sausage the day before. (Note to ya'll: square sausage is possibly thinly sliced heated spam. And I, for one, do NOT EAT SPAM.) I started breakfast by skipping the Cocoa Pebbles (I know, shocking) and ordering porridge. Guess what? Porridge is oatmeal. Who knew? (Oh, everyone other than me? It sounded so Oliver Twist I figured it was something special.)

We left Edinburgh and headed toward the airport, luggage dragging behind on the cobbled streets, bouncing up and down and occasionally getting stuck in the large cracks. Once on the shuttle bus to the airport we found the bus full and we were forced to ride standing room only. Normally I skip the bus would pay for a taxi, but rumor has it taxi's are expensive in Scotland. And, frankly, if I'd skipped the bus ride I would have missed out on the sweet memories of near death as the driver was a fricking maniac. Grasping the railing for dear life, rolling suitcase swinging back and forth near my legs, I felt like I was on an amusement ride. Sure made driving the rental car on the wrong side of the street feel like child's play.

Today we toured Stirling Castle in Stirling. It was a great tour...far less people than Edinburgh Castle and more remote. The scenery was awesome. I prefer castles that look upon green fields instead of city streets. We also took a tour of Argyle House, which was basically an old run down huge house that I'm sure was regal in it's day. Mr. Argyle ended up being beheaded and so did his dad. Great family bonding, that beheading.

Jen was kind enough to allow me to drive the whole day and although she kept screaming, "LEFT!" (among other things) I know she was not worried about my driving at all.

Oh, wait, SNAP. That paranoid chick initially grabbed my arm to remind me to stop and avoid hitting the stopped car that was about ten feet in front of me, and then nearly peed herself when I "accidentally" ran over a small pothole. I swear, the thing was only about the size of a small tire. She wanted to stop and see if the car was dented. Finally, I think I pushed her over the emotional edge as I "accidentally" hit the curb going about 60. As I told her, it was a SMALL curb, more like a little mound. Geez. The roads are narrow here. If I have to hear "You're close to the edge" one more time...I did offer to let her drive and I had to do the chicken sounds, "chick chick chick chicken" repeatedly when she refused. And when it got dark, holy cow you'd think she'd never ridden in a car before. Our conversation went something like this, over and over:

Jen: SLOW DOWN!

Me: This Kia handles like a dream! What's the speed limit?

Jen: YOU'RE TOO CLOSE TO THE EDGE!

Me: Just call me "dangerous!" Oh yeah! We're going over!!!!

Jen: THAT'S A CURB!

Me: Chill. It's just a mound.

Jen: RIDE THE CENTER LINE!

Me: You want to drive? No? Chick chiCK CHICK CHICKEN!

Jen: Our car is going to need an alignment.

Ships in McGregor's home town, Inveraray, Scotland

Of course, it probably didn't make things easier that Jen thought music would be distracting for me, so instead I sang out the one line I remembered from a song....over and over and over. Then I just started making shit up. When we stopped to take a photo I saw this awesome Landrover drive by. I had to spend the next twenty minutes reminding Jen that in the movie it always happens that the American woman is in some kind of trouble and saved by the handsome rich dude in the Landrover. She didn't seem to understand the difficulty, which was clearly that there are two of us Americans. She did get that there was no trouble. I informed her the "trouble" could be simply that we were lost. Geez, it's never this difficult in the movies. So, after she professed she didn't want any man driving a Landrover (what an idiot she is), I had to continue on with my fantasy and even got so far as to name my hero, Alec McGregor. So don't be shocked when I don't come home.

We arrived at tonight's accommodations, Stonefield Castle, despite Jen's constant distractions while I was driving. We are sitting in the bar, listening to some smooth jazz while Jen drinks some wine since she claims to be attempting to forget about the whole driving thing.

I am looking out the window, watching as the wind whips the vines climbing the castle walls. It's actually quite romantic. When McGregor gets here Jen is on her own. She will have to drive the Kia back to town, and I'm SURE she will hit a curb or two. Then she'll see this driving stuff isn't as easy as I made it look.

Scotland/Ireland: 10/27/2011: Edinburgh, Scotland Day 2

2011-10-27T14:46:00.000-07:00

Day 2 of Edinburgh. Basically we walked around all day. Did the National Scotland Galley, Edinburgh Castle tour, the Royal Mile of shopping hell, and did a paranormal underground tour. Jen is currently reviewing all her photos taken in the underground tour and pointing out all the little orbs. So far she's decided she has a miniature ghost in a bolo hat. I told here there were probably a lot of those around in the 1800's so I'm sure she should submit her photo to the company. Yep. Totally going to hit it big with that one. She should probably put a downpayment on a yacht right now, it's such a sure thing. Yep. For sure. Totally.

My favorite piece at the National Scotland Galley was a piece which depicted the beheading of St. John the Baptist, called The Feast of Harod. I'd show you a photo but I would probably be sued. The artwork features a lavish dinner party and Salome, the daughter of a woman I'll call "Crazy Wench", presenting the head of St. John on a platter to said Crazy Wench. Crazy Wench is reaching out with a fork to puncture the tongue which represents Crazy Wench's revenge for St. John speaking out against her. (Hmm, there are a few people I'd like to see with their heads served on a platter for the similar reasons. Maybe that's why the art piece resonated with me. Of course then I'd be Crazy Wench and I prefer the name Psycho Bitch.) I also enjoyed the Monet (Poplars On The Epte, 1900). It was quite interesting to learn he actually started the artwork from a boat and then ended up having to go in with a lumber company to purchase the trees so they wouldn't be harvested before he finished the painting. What devotion.

Edinburgh Castle

Edinburgh Castle was, well, a castle. There was lots of rocks, brick, cobblestone streets, and tourists. There was a huge gun, a maze that lead you to the Scottish crowned jewels, and an empty apartment where the Royals stay when they want. (Apparently their furniture is so beloved they bring it with them.) Also on site was a huge building dedicated to all Scottish who fought wars, current and long forgotten. There were books lining the walls with the names of each dead Scot. Talk about a true "book of the dead." It was nice to see such a tribute. I'd show it to you but out of respect there are no photos allowed. (No, really, I didn't take any even though I normally buck the system.)

Me, climbing on the walls at the Castle. Just call me "Dangerous."

Graveyard, for those dumb mofo's who couldn't figure that out.

After the Castle we walked again on the Royal Mile (I can't seem to get away from this fake mile) until we reached the Royal's quarters at the opposite end. During this walk we stopped and ate lunch at a reported haunted pub. (No sightings but I did eat one of the worst cheeseburgers I've ever had.) We also toured a cool graveyard where there were no tourists but were lots of old looking tombstones, standing and already fallen (so I didn't really have a lot to work with when wanting to knock any over. I'm kidding! I only vandalize in the States). We stopped in at a purely tourist trap which showed the history of the people of Scotland from the early days to current. It was free. Which should tell you a lot about the quality. But, it was a good way to see where all the dust in the country has gone.

Finally, to end our day we did the paranormal tour. Am I a believer? Depends on what you are really asking. Do I believe in ghosts? Yep. Ghosts of boyfriend's past and prior mistakes haunt me all the time. Do I believe in spirits? Yep, especially vodka and tequila. Do I want to tour the underground lair of a possibly fucked up and pissed off psychotic dude who's been dead for over 100 years and is known by Mr. Boots? Nope. Not really. Do I have any desire to see a woman dressed in black and covered in blood who reportedly abuses pregnant women? Sure, that part sounds fun. But, bottom line, if ghosts exist I'm okay with them not being near me, not knowing I'm here, and letting me go on my merry way. Ignorance is bliss. And I'm all about bliss.

Scotland/Ireland: 10/26/2011: Edinburgh, Scotland

2011-10-26T12:32:00.000-07:00

From the Edinburgh airport we grabbed a shuttle bus (6 pounds or almost 10 bucks US, thank you Uncle Sam) and were dropped off around 10 blocks from the B&B where we would stay. Unfortunately it appears as though Jen is as directionally challenged as I am, and although we eventually arrived at our destination, it was touch and go. We were dragging our huge suitcases down cobblestone streets which although aesthetically pleasing, are HELL on luggage wheels. Oh, and stopping for Jen to review the map every couple feet was a real joy as well. Nothing screams, "I'm a tourist!" like fondling a map and the smell of fear (hmm, fondling and fear? Reminds me of the last time....oh never mind). Combine the walk, the brisk 46 degrees, cobblestone streets (with strangely placed street signs) with very little sleep after being on two plane rides and traveling over 5,700 miles away from home and what you have is a grumpy, bitter me. (What's new?)

Finally at our B&B, we were allowed to check in early (thank you travel gods!). We went to the elevator and the maid was already there, on the way up to our room to split the beds (queen size unzipped to two of the smallest beds you've ever seen) so there wasn't any room in the lift. There's barely room in the lift for two people, let alone luggage and the spare tire I'm rolling around. I suggested we just take the stairs so we started dragging our suitcases up the stairs, huffing and puffing like 20 cigarette a day addicts. Finally on the second floor (yes, second floor) we were pleased to find a clean room suitable for a... hobbit. Hmm...small rooms, small lifts, small windows, small cars, I'm willing to bet there are all kinds of things that are made smaller in the UK. (Bow chica wow wow.)

After a short nap we headed out to explore. What we found were more buses than any place I've ever been and people everywhere. This town is busy, old, and has its beautiful sights.

Dinner was at the Whiske Room, a quant shop on the Royal Mile, which goes for a little over a mile from the Castle to the gates of Holyrood Palace. The Whiske Room specializes in, well, whiskey. Jen ordered a whiskey sour and haggis, which is sheep's heart, liver and lungs mixed with onion, oatmeal, spices, and other tasty things. I passed on that since I really don't have a strong urge to eat sheep innards. It looked like someone threw up in the middle of the plate. Yum. Good for her. I tasted it, and it tasted fine. If I were starving I'd surely eat it. Luckily for me, I was not and nor do I intend to be, starving. Whew.

We walked around Edinburgh after chow, checking out shops filled with Scottish cashmere scarves and kilts. We were schooled on kilt etiquette by a man wearing a kilt but I couldn't help wondering if his bits were cold (since I was cold and I was wearing two jackets and jeans).

Back at the B&B we lounged on the bed while the lights went on and off as Jen changed the television channel. I'm a little worried that I'll roll over on this hobbit bed and fall face first into the glass table next to me, but I'm sure I'll be tired enough to sleep in the glass shards.

Tomorrow we walk around some more, take a few open top buses around the city, tour an underground ghost area, eat some pub food and procure a scarf. Friday we'll be heading to the country and that's the part of the trip I'm excited for. Bring on the green fields, decaying castles, small town pubs and farm animals on the road. I'll take farm animals over people any day. Get your minds out of the gutter, people!

Scotland/Ireland: October 25, 2011: Airport Security

2011-10-26T02:16:00.000-07:00

I could have saved lives today. I know, some people do that every day. But, being an insurance investigator doesn’t give me a lot of opportunity to do anything other than watch people bending and squatting when they shouldn’t.

I saw this little diddy at the airport, alone and left behind.

Cell phone abandoned at the airport.

I told the United dude, who I will call “United Dude”. He seemed concerned. He walked over to the phone, picked it up, messed with it, then said it was completely dead.

Me: “It could be a bomb.”

United Dude: “Geez thanks, now that I’m holding it.”

Me, nodding with a serious look: “It could be.”

United Dude: “TSA scans things so it’s probably safe.”

Me: “I just read about a gun being brought on a plane.”

United Dude: “Oh yeah, that happens all the time. It really does.”

Me: “Yeah I’m sure that’s just the timer.”

United Dude: “Hmm, ok.” as puts the phone down and walks away.

Me to Jen: “I’m going to notify TSA. If I see a TSA guy I’m totally telling. There could be a bomb next to us and no one seems to care. We could DIE!”

Jen: “It’s probably fine.”

Me: “Fine for you, I have a lot to live for. I’d like to have sex again. You have given up hope.”

Jen: “It’s not a bomb. It’s just a cheap cell phone.”

Me: “Um, HELLO....would you buy a nice cell phone just to blow it up?”

I started scanning the people walking by looking for someone official. I start talking, first quietly, then a little louder, “There’s a bomb here, people! A bomb! A bomb!!!”

Me: “I probably shouldn’t start yelling that. I could get into trouble. What if they think it’s my bomb?”

Jen: “Well, are you going to tell anyone?”

Me: “No one has walked by that fills me with confidence.”

Just then a guy walked over to the phone and started messing with it.

At this point Jen is sitting three seats away since she moved closer to the plug in station, despite my warnings that if the bomb goes off they won’t even find pieces of her.

Unable to communicate with the man standing next to her, I text her. “Is that his phone? If so the bomber is right next to you.”

The guy put the phone down and then walked away. I made eye contact so he’d know he wasn’t messing with some stupid tourist.

Me: “Did he turn on the phone and just walk away?”

Jen: “Yeah.”

Me: “Oh great now he turned the bomb on and walked away.”

Jen: “Yeah.”

Me: “Maybe we should follow him.”

I turn around in time to watch him walking into the Guinness Irish Pub.

Me: “Hmm..he just walked into that Irish Pub. Maybe we should follow him.”

Jen: “Yeah I could get a Guinness.”

We could have saved lives. I could have been a hero. Instead we got sidetracked by Guinness.

Five minutes later:

Jen: “The phone is on. He’s going through a rough patch.”

Me: “What?”

Jen: “I can see a text. The first one says, I think I’m just going through a rough patch.”

Me: “Holy shit. He’s suicidal. It COULD be a bomb.”

I spent the next ten minutes trying to get Jen to pick up the phone and read it while I looked out.

Jen: “He’s drinking his troubles away.”

Me: “Let’s go talk to him!”

Jen: “You go talk to him.”

Me: “Ok if I go talk to him and distract him, will you look at the phone?”

Jen: “I’m not going to get arrested.”

Me: “You could be saving lives.”

Jen: “Or just being nosy.”

Me: “He’s going through a rough patch, He’s like a puppy down on his luck.”

Finally, Jen stands up, puts her phone next to his and reads the first few lines of his last texts.

And me, I’m cracking up because FINALLY I got Jen to do something she wouldn’t normally do.

Holy cow, this is going to be a good trip. By the time we’re done Jen is going to be walking up to complete strangers asking if she can taste their Guinness and get a photo.

Oh, but if we do explode, I’m just glad she’s going to die first. I mean, after all, she’s the one not taking this bomb thing seriously.

Scotland/Ireland: Screw you, Patrick at Yahoo, if that is your real name.

2011-10-07T23:15:00.000-07:00

My previous traveling buddy, Jennifer, and I have been planning a trip to Scotland and Ireland for months now. Several long, grueling months of 5:30 and 6:30 am texts (what the f*ck who does that shit? If I happen to be awake at that time I'm doing something you don't want to know about), a continuous email flow about sights, hauntings, suggested readings, and tedious conversations about what to see and where to go. I am at vacation saturation. I am so ready to just get on that plane and get this over with. You see, I'm not much of a planner. This was probably evidenced in my solo trip to Texas where my only plan was to head southeast and eventually hit the state line. Jennifer is a planner. A planner of epic proportions. She could probably design a trip for a family of ten in about an hour. Word of caution: throw out the budget and remind her to pencil in some bathroom breaks. You order a plan and she'll hit you with emails of spreadsheets that have what you must do, what you should do, what you may like to do combined with the addresses, gps coordinates, website address, interesting facts, and for the love of all that is holy, the hours of operation. To me, that's f*cking overkill. Just point me in the direction and let me go! Just get the hell out of my way and let me pee when I need to and eat when I want!

So, after all the planning (err, yeah, thanks for your hard work, by the way, if it were up to me we'd be sleeping on someone's floor and eating at people's houses that we met along the way) the moment has finally gotten close enough for me to start pondering if I need to get a new rain jacket (which if I do, I'll wait until the night before the flight to procure). In about two weeks and two days I'll be on a plane to the land of greenery and men with accents (bow chica wow wow). But first, an over priced vacation wouldn't be complete without the pre-vacation drama.

So this week I get home from work and check my email. It's a lovely email from our tour company with the subject line of : Urgent Travel Documents for your Trip. It reads as follows:

Hi Jessica and Jennifer,

It is Patrick with myguidebritain. I am just contacting you to give you the heads up on a few things.

Our sister company myguideireland has gone out of business. They are the supplier we used to book your Irish hotels. Therefore, we have contacted the hotels direct and have arranged for prepayment for your rooms. However, there might be some confusion when you are checking in depending on who is going to be working the front desk. If you run into any problems please tell them to have someone in accounts or reservation take a look and they will see that credit card details or a bank transfer were made for your rooms.

Also, I had to rebook the Hertz car through a local travel agent in Boston we work through. Attached is the new voucher and confirmation number. Please print it out and use it to pick up the car. While picking up the car through Hertz it would be best to not mention myguide as it could cause some confusion.

I am sorry about any inconvenience this has caused you but I assure you everything is all set. Obviously it wold be a good idea to check your flight time on the aer lingus flight the day before you take it.

Please email me to let me know you have received this attached voucher. Also let me know if you have any questions. It is best to reach me through email.

All the best,

Patrick Phelan

myguidebritain

pphelan603@yahoo.com

So naturally, being the investigative superpower that I am (no, really, I am) I note a few red flags immediately (with my first impressions directly following).

1) Gone out of business? (What the f*ck!)
2) There might be some confusion when you check in? (Holy Shit!)
3) It's best not to mention myguide when picking up the car? (Motherf*cker!!! Son of a bitch!)
4) His email is a yahoo account? (gee those are special, right? Damn it! Fn yahoo account.)
5) All the best? (I am going to f#cking cut you!)

I text Jennifer right away. Unfortunately she's at happy hour and can't be bothered (slutty lush) but she assures me she saw the email and sent one back asking for a phone number just in case we have issues while we are there.

Hmm, pardon me, but this investigative superpower did not just fall off the turnip truck and a phone number is not going to be enough to pacify my yearning for more knowledge.

I do a quick internet search (cause that's where all the good stalkers...cough, investigators, get their information) and see that the company actually went belly up in August. That was months ago. Those bastards didn't say a word until today? At this point I am wondering how many of my frequent flyer miles I'm going to have to use to hop on a plane to Boston and kick Patrick's ass. That is, IF he IS in Boston. He's probably in Malasia in a tiny room with 50 other experienced fraudulent tour booking agents.

I shoot him an email back (oops, without consent from my travel mate) and ask in the best possible way if we need to call the credit card company and stop payment. Cause that's how this aggressive freaked out bitch rolls. (and, ok, so maybe I wasn't that nice, but what the holy hell is going on!)

Patrick responds with an email within a few hours indicating everything was fine, no worries, no need to contact the credit card company, chill. And although Patrick's words would be soothing to the average traveler (maybe), I'm still on red alert and my opinion was he wrote everything he needed to write to try to stop us from reversing the charges. Screw that.

Jennifer steps up to the plate and decides to contact EVERY hotel, castle, bed and breakfast, car rental place (and choir boy we may have eventually had contact with) to ensure we have reservations and they are paid in full. Which, frankly, IS now a pre-requisite for my ass getting on a plane to Scotland in roughly two weeks. Emails start pouring in and indicate everything is fine. One place doesn't have us at all but that's because her name is spelled incorrectly. Whew. Well, she's saying, Whew. I'm still wondering what kind of brain surgeon Patrick must be to be able to stop and redirect all the emails to each location and answer them himself. That could just be my paranoia asking.

So, it seems, crisis adverted. In a few short weeks we will hop on the plane for roughly 14 hours and start our journey through Scotland and Ireland...noting all excel spreadsheets and paying close attention to the timeline. (Cough bullshit! cough)

Still haven't gotten a bike reserved but apparently responding to emails isn't the rental company's strong suit. So much for their large ad in BMWMOA magazine. We'll see what happens with that and you can bet I'll be bitching and moaning about that along the way. Aren't vacations supposed to be a time for relaxation and laughter?

yah. Expect a lot of photos of me laughing while Jennifer is being pulled into mysterious panel vans. I've already started the bidding. This vacation is going to pay for itself!

Texas Part Duex: 9/21/11: Austin and Farewell

2011-09-21T21:58:00.000-07:00

Last day in Austin! Skipped our regular breakfast so we could ensure a big lunch. Instead of eggs and the works we had left over apple crisp paired with a few bites of Rudy’s cream corn. I think my whole life revolves around food intake. Especially in Texas. (My waistline agrees.)

Today we hit the road to University of Texas, home of the Longhorns. Our mission: to stand where Charles Whitman (Texas Sniper) stood, to gaze upon the little spots below the tower and see what he saw. On August 1, 1966 Whitman murdered his mother and wife before spending over an hour in the tower shooting at people below. Thirteen people were murdered and 31 were wounded at the Tower alone. By the end of the week the total death toll moved up to 16.

Unfortunately, as with Waco, the University doesn’t appear to be very proud of their killer. No signs, no memorials we could spot, and no roof access except for tours on the weekend. Oh I tried, though. (hmm, didn’t I try to get on the roof the other day at the hotel??? Another pattern emerges.)

We parked at the Longhorn Stadium (not it’s official name) and walked through campus to the tower. Campus is beautiful, despite the mass amount of construction taking place. They must have acquired a large donor. Once we got to the tower building we tromped inside like we owned the place. We noted stairs which we passed by...it’s a calorie conservation thing. There are two elevators near the middle of the building which are kind of scary. Leading to the elevators is a long hallway with a metal detector at the front (hmm, anyone learn from their past?).

Photo from the bottom of the UT Tower, that's one large Tower..maybe that's why they call it a Tower???

Sign that immobilized Jen

At the rear of the long hallway, in between the elevators is a sign that reads: Elevators for authorized personnel only. At this point Jen (AKA Yellow Belly Chicken) and I parted ways because she didn’t want to get on the elevator since we weren’t “authorized.” I’m a firm believer that as a tourist I’m entitled to at least a few “Oops, I’m sorry, am I not supposed to be here?” statements. I jumped on the elevator with a man (whom I will call Tex so he doesn't get fired) who was going back to his desk on the 15th floor (damn, I just outed Tex!). I chatted him up and asked if there were windows on the top where I could take photos. Tex said, “It’s frowned upon.” But, me, well, I just smiled politely and said I’d come all this way to take just a few photos. Tex then invited me to get off the elevator at his floor and stood with me while I was taking some photos from the window, just in case someone came and wanted to know what I was doing. Nice guy. I said thanks then hit both the up and down elevator when Tex turned his back. That way, I figured the direction I went was in fate’s hands. When the elevator stopped I pushed the button for the highest floor I could go, which was 25 (two floors below the top).

As the elevator went up I started thinking of excuses for why I was up there...the only one I thought would be convincing was “I’m looking for Tex” since, well, in my Oregon Ducks baseball cap and shirt, I clearly wasn’t a student (way to think ahead, I'm a criminal mastermind). I peeked out the elevator door when they opened, saw the coast was clear, then jumped out and hustled it to the windows. Snap, snap, snap, photos galore. (I am such a rebel, feel free to live vicariously through me).

View from the 25th floor of the tower, UT

I am amazed at how awesome of a shot the Texas Sniper would have had to be to kill anyone, let alone injure as many as he did. (I supposed that's what a sniper does, eah?) I don’t know if I am supposed to be impressed with an act of such violation, but really, if you consider it, WOW (kudos to the American military and it's training)!!!

Back on the ground floor I found Jen. She’d apparently been playing tour guide to some freshmen, pointing them to the registrar’s office. I’m sure that was much more rewarding than taking the elevator up! (Take a risk, make a memory!)

Stubbs grubb...mmm mmm good (sorry Rudy, I cheated!)

Next stop: Stubbs BBQ for lunch. Sure, we went there a few days before but we just bought stuff and had a drink. This time, lunch was in order. We both ordered two meats (brisket and ribs) and two sides. My sides were mac and cheese and mashed sweet potatoes. Jen had sweet potatoes and cheese spinach (which I’m sorry to say tasted like shrat to me). The mashed sweet potatoes were awesome, with a hint of cinnamon and topped with walnuts. Heavenly. The brisket was good but the ribs rocked. (I hate to admit it, but they were better than Rudy’s, don’t tell him.) Jen was having a hard time finishing her meal and I had to break out Rule #1 (leave no bbq behind) and she choked down the remaining bites like a good sport. I thought she was going to hurl for the next few hours but as far as I know, things stayed down.

From Stubbs we headed for Rudy’s to get gas and some bbq for the road. I ordered 4 pounds of brisket and one pound of smoked turkey, Jen ordered a pound of brisket. Crazy as it sounds, I came prepared with a fold up ice chest/bag to bring food home. I know, I have a problem. Maybe there’s a group I can join for my Rudy’s BBQ addiction.

At the airport, the excessive meat proved to be a bit much as I had to remove stuff from my bags to make weight. Doh! Still, it was worth the agony of dragging around my carry on full of extra stuff. I wasn’t leaving without my Rudy’s.

Texas Part Duex ends. Another adventure will start soon, Ireland and Scotland in October. Until then, may laughter and fun be on your mind and may every opportunity to step outside your comfort zone bring you one space closer to the ...oh shrat, Jen’s looking over my shoulder and I can’t write while she does that. RUDE. So, my words of wisdom will have to wait. (Consider this a temporary reprieve.)

As Jen would say, “Whatever.”

Cheers all. Thank you, Texas, for accepting me and tolerating my childish behaviors yet again! See you soon law dog, see you soon!

Texas Part Duex: 9/19/11: San Antonio and Austin

2011-09-19T20:10:00.001-07:00

San Antonio this morning. Headed to The Alamo first thing. Exciting stuff. Ok, fine. It wasn't THAT bad. It was hot. There were walls (which we weren't allowed to touch) and we also had to be quiet (it's a shrine, shut up!) but we did get to see the place. There were shockingly few tourists on site, which was a blessing. Finally a break. We pounced over to The Riverwalk where we boarded the Riverwalk Barge Cruise for a half hour tour ($9.00 for the privilege) of the shops and restaurants. Last time I was at The Riverwalk we actually walked. Trust me, this was a lot more....better. Walking sucks. It takes a lot of calories to keep up this weight so I don't like to risk doing any excessive exercise. Walking is especially bad when it's so hot outside you feel like all you want to do is sit in the local Irish Pub (I counted three along The Riverwalk). The Riverwalk takes on a whole new look when you aren't walking amongst the crowd and don't have sweat pouring down your shirt from the awful heat. You can actually appreciate the beauty and history of The Riverwalk, which I certainly didn't do on my first tour years ago.

The Riverwalk

The heat felt worse once we got off the barge so we headed out of San Antonio toward Austin. We stopped at Chuy's for some fajitas and a margarita...yum yum. In Austin we went to Stubb's BBQ to purchase some hats (it's a bit stalkerish, I'll skip the details). While we waited for rush hour to pass we walked around 6th Street, which is famous for it's music. I'm sorry, Austin, but 6th Street reminded me of Vegas. It was dirty and kind of seedy. We found a bar that had early live music and listened to some sweet blues for a spell. The music made up for the seedy atmosphere. I imagine the locale is awesome at night when the streets are full of people, the music is blaring from all the bars along the strip, and people laughing and full of energy.

I was in charge of hotels since I did nothing but complain about the Marriott and it's lack of a fridge and no free internet. I picked a great Holiday Inn which was conveniently near my two favorite places (Rudy's and Chuy's). I scored a room for $75.00 (fridge and internet included)...can I get a booya!

We got to the room and "surprise" it was a king bed only. Yeah, not gonna work. I went back down and got a different room (two beds were a necessity). Back up the elevator we went. I opened the door to our new room and noticed the light on and the bathroom door open. Someone was already in the room. NICE. I thought this was funny, but Jen thought it was a little something else. I let her stay in the lobby and I went back down to the front desk. The bartender and the front desk manager were talking and the manager asked if that room had a single bed, too. When I told her there was already someone in the room she seemed mortified. I just laughed and said it wasn't a big deal. For my kindness I was offered a free drink from the bartender. He and I went over and he mixed an apple margarita for me, double shot. We bonded while he made the drink, laughing about the mix up and talking about BBQ and tourist traps in Austin. He mentioned he liked Rudy's and then he walked the extra drink up to Jen. He was even so kind as to open the room door and help Jen carry some of her stuff into the room.

We hopped over to Rudy's and got some food for us and for the bartender, who was so excited he gave me a hug. Awww, schucks. Apparently I'm really nice. Don't tell anyone.

So there goes another day in Austin. Not as exciting as the first few days, but I'm going to count it as a win...if nothing else, because I laughed.

Texas Part Duex: 9/18/11: Salado, Austin, & San Antonio

2011-09-18T07:49:00.000-07:00

Woke up in the Holiday Inn (which is good since that's where I went to sleep) to the sound of doors slamming in the rooms next to ours. At 6 AM. Damn. Dozed off and on until around 8 am when I just couldn't bear the thought of keeping those cinnamon rolls lonely in the free breakfast zone.

Once on the move we headed toward Austin to make our way to San Antonio. My only wish was to stop at the Snake Farm along the way but we were easily sidetracked by a Cabella's that sprung up out of nowhere. I screamed at Jen to take the exit we were almost passing, which she did with a bit of frustration. I didn't know what the big deal was since she'd been driving like that the entire time. Geez. All I've heard thus far on the driving portion of the trip is, "Where do I go? Which way? Where? How? These roads are stupid. Which way? Which way????" Keep in mind we have a GPS and me pointing the way...both of which have malfunctioned. It's not my fault I keep programming the wrong address into the GPS. I mean, who calls a road FM2548??? In Oregon we call roads by actual names.

I love Cabella's. The only thing more exciting to me than Cabella's itself is a Cabella's with a sale. Jen went ape shrat crazy trying on clothes and ended up spending a lot of money. This from the girl who, as we were walking in, said, "I'll just play on my phone while you look around." Silly girl. Cabella's is for everyone. Everyone COOL that is.

Rattlesnakes..their pens stink. Scary.

From Cabella's we headed to Animal World and Snake Farm (http://www.exoticanimalworld.com/) where Jen wanted to see some exotic animals, like armadillo's. I informed her the armadillo wasn't exotic but she seemed set in her ways. The last trip I took to San Antonio was with my friend Cher. We passed the Snake Farm and shivered, thinking, "Thank Gosh it's closed!" Later I saw the same snake farm on an episode of Dirty Jobs with Mike Rowe. Being a Mike Rowe (and Dirty Jobs) fanatic, I decided if I ever came back, I was going to stand in the place that Mike Rowe stood. (Not at all stalkerish. The thought was of love, I assure you) At Snake Farm the first animals we saw were some box turtles. One was upside down in the pen, so Jen tells the guy the turtle is upside down. He says, "No, he's not." Jen, who always has to be right, says, "Yes, the turtle is UPSIDE DOWN." The man says, "That turtle is EXACTLY where he wants to be." So I look at the turtles and see they ARE really close. I say, "So, um, the turtles are...making a baby???" The guy smiles and says, "Yes, in fact, the turtle starts out on top of the other turtle and when penetration happens, the turtle flips backwards off the female and lays upside down while they are doing it.

Turtles mating. I know, I've hit an all time low. Even turtles need their privacy.

At that point we found there was too much information being given out. However, I did find it rather entertaining that I'd asked two days in a row if a baby was being made (first at Waco and now at the zoo). I hope that's not going to be a repeating theme.

After the Snake Farm we headed toward San Antonio. Nothing all that exciting happened there until we were in the Marriott's bar, drinking our complimentary margarita (which by the way was WEAK) when it started pissing down rain and storming. San Antonio hasn't had rain in about six months. Amazing, considering in Oregon we get rain almost twice a week in the summer and almost every second in the spring and winter....and sometimes fall. We Oregonians are prepared for the rain. Texans, well, let's just say, no so much. The storm was so awesome it shut down the cable television for a spell. The noise was deafening as the rain crashed into the roof and walls. Suddenly it's raining INSIDE. Rain is leaking down through the walls and all over the floor. I'm thinking this is totally cool and I want to run up to the roof and scream, TOP OF THE WORLD! as thunder and lightening crash around me.

No roof access. Bums.

There was a guy sitting next to us who apparently is doing some work here in one of the hospitals and was trained initially as a nurse or something. He was saying he didn't think going on the roof was a good idea and I told him since he was trained if anything happened I'd just come down and see him for medical attention. He kindly pointed eastward and said, "The psychiatric hospital is over that way!" That got quite a few chuckles but frankly didn't sway my opinion of the task at hand. We took the elevator up to the highest floor, Jen held the doors open so I wouldn't get locked in (safety first) and I skipped up two flights of stairs to the roof access doors. Rainwater was dripping all around the doors and I could hear the lightening. I was so ready to go!

Damn Marriott thinks locking the roof doors will save someone's life. I guess it could be true. No entry for the stupid on this date. I'll have to save my TOP OF THE WORLD scream for some other storm. I'm praying it happens within the next few days or it will be too late for Texas.

Tomorrow is all about San Antonio and Jen's desire to see the Alamo (which I've seen and been sufficiently bored with) and the Riverwalk (which I've seen and been even more bored with). Somewhere along the line we'll hit Chuy's for texmes (thank you Lord) and head back toward Austin.

Bring it on, Texas. I'm praying for more storms and a more cooperative hotel roof.

Salado, TX Mr. & Mrs. Sean Taylor's Wedding 9/17/11

2011-09-18T07:09:00.000-07:00

First and Foremost, CONGRATULATIONS TO METTIE AND SEAN TAYLOR!!!!

When one of your friends (who happens to be younger than you by...um...a little...or cough...a lot...cough!) gets married it is a happy occasion. That's even true for me, who happens to live part time on Bitter Alley in the town of WhyMarry? Yesterday my good friend, Mettie (aka Cher) stood before God and all to profess her love for Sean (aka Sonny) Taylor.

The Groom and Groomsmen

They tied the knot at the Tenroc Ranch (http://www.tenroc.com/) in small but quaint Salado, TX. I flew half way across the country with a friend to see the event and I must admit I am glad I did. The venue was beautiful. And frankly, I've never been at a wedding where I heard guns being fired in the background during the vows. But, it's exactly how I imagine my wedding would be if I ever found Mr. Right instead of Mr. Right Now. The bride and the groom both showed up. There were moments of laughter, beauty, and my favorite moment: the Father of the Bride's toast.

Mary Catharine and Delton presenting Mettie to Sean

I was finally able to meet some of the people I've been listening to Mettie talk about for years. It's always great to put a face to a name. Or a name to a face. I've know Mettie for probably 8 years.; we met when we both started working for an insurance company. I'm still there but Mettie has moved on (a few times) to greener pastures (or brown if you consider the fact that she moved back home to Texas). I've been lucky enough to watch Mettie grow and succeed through law school, and I've listened to countless stories about boys and men (as she's done for me). I've had the privilege of watching Mettie in love and in heartache. Mettie has always been an inspiration to me. She has always been the one person who I wish I could be more like. And, truth be told, Mettie is the only person I know of who can wear white on her wedding day and actually deserve to.

Mettie's family is awesome. Mettie's Dad is a quiet, hardworking man who was smart enough to marry the world's most wonderful woman, Mettie's Mom. If I could choose my parents, I would choose hers. They are both friendly, caring, considerate, compassionate, funny, supportive, and accepting. The toast Dad gave (I may as well just claim them both since they probably aren't going to volunteer) was so beautiful I almost shed a tear. Wonderful. Simply wonderful. Lucky Girl, that Mettie. Very lucky in love and in family.

Mr. & Mrs. Sean Taylor (aka Sonny and Cher Taylor) Sept. 17, 2011

Texas Part Duex: 9/17/11 Waco Texas...Crazy doesn't only come in a can.

2011-09-17T22:49:00.000-07:00

Woke up this morning and heard Waco, TX calling our names. Why you ask? I have no idea. Maybe because we all have a little bit of curiosity about mass murders and religious fanatics. Koolaide anyone?

So, we cruised to Waco looking for the site of the Waco Davidian Standoff where in 1993 David Koresh (real name Vernon Howell, no wonder he changed it) and the FBI & BATF had their 51 day "disagreement" about whether or not the Davidian's should stand down. As a young adult (key word young, no matter what Jennifer says) I remember seeing this on television and thinking, "what a shame." Today I thought, "Holy Shit someone opened a can of crazy and it spilled into the ground and has affected the water (and they are still drinking it)."

We found the site with the help of the GPS coordinates. Apparently Waco, TX isn't really looking to brag about said standoff. We passed it, then drove back to ask for help and there it was. Two guys from Florida were there looking at the memorial, set up by the Branch Davidian's themselves (as evidenced by the obvious slant in the history, embedded on memorial stones). According to the memorial, the FBI rushed in and opened fire and burned the place down. Them poor Davidians were innocent victims of our government and it's evil ways.

A couple on a Harley rode up and said you could go all the way back to the site and see the bunkers so naturally the Florida duo and the two of us thought we should mosey back there and check it out. Florida dudes went first and were standing inside the church listening to what I thought was information about the event. What it turned out to be was a half hour sermon from a current resident of the compound, who I like to call CC (for Can of Crazy). Color me paranoid but I swear to my tequila bottle that CC stopped paying attention to everyone else in the room and started really just staring at me while he continued to inform us about the ENTIRE history of the church. I should mention CC had a few teeth missing and was kind of a bit scary. I noted Jen slinking toward the door after about five minutes, leaving Florido duo and myself with CC the starer while I nodded my head and smiled. Over and over.

When we finally got to the oversized photo on the wall of Koresh, who took over the church (sect, cult, whatever) from it's former leader, a Lois Roden (who was in her late 70's at the time of their acquaintance) I had to interrupt. CC had just told us that Koresh thought having sex with Roden would produce a "chosen one" who would rule the church. I looked at CC and then pointed to the photo of Koresh, then pointed to the photo of Roden then asked, "Um, so she's OLD, right?" CC said, "Yes, she was really old." To which I asked, "So, they um, you know, tried to make a.....baby....?" CC kind of ignored my question.

After we heard the spiel on Koresh I interrupted again. "So, Koresh is a bad guy, right?" CC said Koresh sinned to be an example, to show us what we shouldn't do. Hmm. Ok. So is sin good or bad? I can't tell. I'm just going to keep talking to that tequila bottle until I can email the lead guy there and ask again. Seems safer.

CC invited us to come back and make an appointment so we could learn more. One of the Florida duo asked if they worshipped on Wednesdays. CC told him they were following a calendar that wasn't exactly right so CC was actually going out the next day to see what time the sun came up and then what time it set so they could "realign" their calendar. He asked if any of us had an astrology background so we could help. I, at this point, am thinking if this church has been around for as long as he says then they should already have their calendar figured out. I mean, geez, how many sunrises have they had the chance to monitor? In the morning I'm going to be monitoring my intake of free breakfast. Love to help, though. Love to. Maybe in another life. I shook CC's hand since it's been a long time since I've touched crazy (other than my own) and frankly he could be on my television in a few years, leading the charge to the underground bunker and burning school buses full of puppies.

After the compound we couldn't think of anything more entertaining than the Dr. Pepper Museum. We stocked up on straws and headed on over. No free Dr. Pepper there, though. Jen did have some soda fountain Dr. Pepper (mixed right in front of us) and I had a great root beer float. Yum. Somehow crazy lingered, though, so instead of calling it a day we thought we'd round out our Waco trip with a stop at the Texas Ranger Museum (not the baseball team but the Law Enforcement Team). It was kind of like balancing the scales.

If you go to the museum, watch out for the horses.

The Texas Ranger Hall of Fame and Museum has photos of all the rangers on the walls and has an impressive amount of guns, used cowboy boots and hats, and wanted posters. You won't find this surprising based on what I've already shared with you about my thoughts on money (having it is good, not is bad) but we just went to the gift shop. Which, coincidentally was in the back of the museum. So, we walked through the museum and tried to keep our eyes closed, lest we view for free, but it was hard to see where we were going. So we peeked a little and I may have taken one photo.

On the way home we stopped at a roadside garden statue store in order to have a photo op with a giant chicken. It's an inside joke. Trust me, you are all too mature for that.

"...just the two of us, we can make it if we try...just the two of us, you and I"

------------------------
On a serious note, my heart goes out to all law enforcement personnel who were involved in the Waco Branch Davidian incident. The Davidian we spoke with is actively recruiting for the church and says more followers will move to the compound when they are believers. I hope and pray the tragedy of 1993 does not reoccur. However, if it does, please kick some crazy ass.

Texas Part Duex: 9/16-22/2011 Mettie's Wedding

2011-09-16T19:53:00.000-07:00

I promise and swear this is my last trip to Texas this year. I'm in the Austin/San Antonio area with a friend from high school (weird that I've know her for over 20 years and she's still talking to me) to attend another friend's wedding. If you're the counting type that means I have at least TWO friends! My first trip in August was on the moto, Runkle, and was to visit Sonny and Cher's place (aka Mettie and Sean's) and they are the happily engaged/soon to be miserable married couple. (I kid! Kind of. Since I've never been married I'm not sure it would be miserable but I do note that most marriages end in divorce so...oh wait, not the thing to mention on the eve of a wedding.)

Anyhoo, my friend Jennifer and I flew to Austin today. Our flight took us to Seattle first (because I always pick the flight that will ensure I get to see the most number of cities, or, as most of you will recognize, I'm cheap and I don't mind flying in the opposite direction for two hours if it saves me a few bucks). Once in Seattle we had an hour layover (time to cruise through the airport so we can experience Seattle) where I met this lovely guy sitting next to me. We bonded because I shared my napkin with him. I'm nice like that. It did turn out a little freaky when he stood and continued to talk to us about his pending trip to Tennessee and his road trip back to Oregon with his friend and the friend's two year old Golden Retriever. I was really interested in talking more about the dog and less about the man and his friend. My kindness only goes so far.

A big mountain. (Perhaps Ranier)

The plane to Austin was packed. I always try to sit behind the wing so I can watch the flaps go up and down and be one of the first people to see the fluids pouring out. I have this dream of my 15 minutes of fame going something like this: Television cameras pan in to my beautiful pearly whites as I say, "Well, we were just flying real normal like when all the sudden I saw this huge amount of liquid squirting from the wing and then we dropped about ten feet before the pilot corrected." In my dream the pilot always saves us and I come out with the best story since I happen to be the only person obsessed with watching the wing looking for leaks. It's like a public service. I should get to fly for free because of my diligence. And, truth be told, I could really use that 15 minutes of fame.

See that weird shaped cloud in the back???

The flight from Seattle to Austin was uneventful except for the stranger sitting next to us, whom I will call "Dick" for obvious reasons. This man was intent on leaving his cell phone on during the entire flight and even when asked three times to turn it off, he ignored the attendants. I was about ready to grab that phone and slap him over the head with it since I was frankly frightened. Fear makes you do strange things. Surely the plane will go down if even one cell phone is left on. That HAS to be why they tell us to turn them off.

By the grace of all goodness we flew without a hitch and landed with a few bumps but safely (no thanks to Dick). Once off the plane we hopped in our fancy Chrysler rental car (I pushed for a convertible but the lady didn't think I was all that entertaining. I do much better with men who are about 70 and looking for love) and promptly went what I thought was the wrong way. The GPS and the cell phone's mapping system seemed to be contradicting each other. The weather, a balmy 92 degrees, was a delight, and with Jennifer driving (and me alternating between whiplash and seatbelt burn due to said driving) I was happy when we saw a restaurant worthy of us stopping.

Our first choice (due to the availability of margaritas) was Chuys. An hour wait wasn't going to work for either of us since we hadn't eaten all day except around 7 am (the worst airport burrito you could ever experience) and we were hungry enough to eat baby kittens (I'm not too proud to admit it). We ended up at my favorite place (wait for it....) Rudy's BBQ!

This was Jen's first experience with Rudy's. I don't think she was impressed with the fact that Rudy's is actually in a Shell Station. And it's clean and good but not exactly up to her high standards. But, the service was spectacular (free samples, can I get a horray!) and the guy helping us was adorable (for a twelve year old).

The verdict is in. Rudy's is "good." Great. Fantastic. Just the review I expected. "Just good." Gebus, someone take that girl out and teach her about BBQ and what's good and bad and what is THE BEST DAMN BBQ ever.

Jen's first thoughts on Rudy's "It''s Good." Me off camera: Head hung down in shame.

Tomorrow we attend a Bride's Brunch in a church (probably Mettie's way of ensuring we don't catch fire once we enter her wedding chapel) and then the wedding at 7 pm. I'm looking forward to watching Mettie walk down the isle with a man who I think is perfect for her (does he have a brother??). Jennifer and I are going to head into Austin during the day and see if we can find something pertaining to motorcycles so I can get my "fix." We passed a Harley dealership on the way here, I shutter to think that may have to do. Research is needed.

And for those keeping track, the Holiday Inn Express has passed the "Jennifer Test" for bed bugs. None evident behind the headboard, on the mattress, behind the t.v. or on the night stand. It has also passed the "BMWGSGIRL Test" and has no bodies under the bed and no peep holes in the ceiling. Whew. Who knew traveling could be so high stress???

Truer words were never spoken, written, or slapped across the back of a gas station.

Runkle needs a bath....

2011-09-14T21:34:00.000-07:00

Today marks only the second time I've taken Runkle out since my big trip. I haven't washed him yet and the bugs, dirt, and grim call out to me like a nagging mother. I must make the time. The weather is starting to turn here in Portland, OR. The clouds have come and the rains aren't far behind. This is the time of year that separates the riders from the posers. I love riding in the rain since it feels like more of a challenge yet I'm still just a poser.

There are a lot of things that have been going through my mind since my long ride to Texas. It seems like a lifetime ago. On the way to Texas I thought, "I want to do this for a living!" and on the way back from Texas I thought, "Please just let me make it home so I can park this thing!" Now, a month out all I want is to get back on the bike and ride somewhere, anywhere for a week or two. I think I'd bring a friend this time so camping wouldn't be such a chore (i.e. so I wouldn't be too chicken to camp).

I'm headed to Texas on Friday (flying!) and will be there for almost a week. I'm not really excited to be seeing things from the car but hopefully I'll still get to meet and greet people. There's just something about being on a bike though that makes people feel better about talking to strangers. In my paranoid mind I personally think it's because no one has ever heard of someone being abducted on a motorcycle. (Although I am up for the challenge.) If I meet anyone or see anything grand I'll let ya'll know. In the meantime, stay safe and above all else, be happy and laugh every chance you get!

Ride Log 14: Texas: Day 13

2011-08-13T12:07:00.000-07:00

Current location: HOME
Total distance traveled: 4145 miles

I woke up in Ontario, OR (which is good since that's where I went to sleep) and realized the room was dirtier than I thought. I have allergies to dust mites as well as to various plants, so I was sniffling nonstop. In a rush to get out of there I showered at warp speed and threw on my dirty clothes from the day before (my socks almost walked out by themselves). I loaded up the bike and hit the road around 8:00 AM. My first stop was the Love's fueling station for a little breakfast (I know how to live!) and some ice. There was ice for my camelback at the hotel but I wasn't willing to risk it.

At the gas station I met a nice guy and his wife who were riding two up on a Harley, just returning from Sturgis. They were very proud of their trip and about Sturgis in general. How precious. They didn't ask if I was alone (so maybe people from the West coast are more observant? I'd been asked the day before about ten times if I was alone, followed by the standard, "Oh you are brave!" As if there are wild people all over the country waiting to find a lone female rider and do unspeakable things. See, my paranoia has limits.)

Preferable over the Budget Inn?

I took Hwy 20 from Ontario toward Burns. Burns will fool ya. Don't get gas at the first place you see, instead go into Hines (about a mile away) where they actually have gas stations that have new pumps. I had to wait for the attendant to manually add up the purchase before mine and hand write a receipt. Imagine my dismay when around the bend I see gas stations that actually have the ability to take a credit card. Damn it. I also found another place to sleep along the route, which would have probably been better than the one I chose (look left).

From Burns I rode toward Christmas Valley on US 395. This is where Hank (GPS) started getting all stupid. For awhile he told me I was on an unpaved road (good for me, finally Runkle sees something besides asphalt) and then he stopped working all together, telling me to take non existant roads to nowhere and then politely telling me to turn around and head back the way I'd come. After that the power kept flashing off and on. If there is one place you need a GPS to work, it's in the middle of nowhere, which I can safely say is where 395 is located. This was a cool stretch of road but is open range (like most of the smaller roads I'd traveled on during the trip). Of course, in Oregon when they say "open range" the cattle are so smart they can read and they actually take to the roads. I had some great photos of this, but my expensive camera died the day before (thanks Nikon).

There was one point where I was worried about my safety as I slowly pulled up to a herd in the road. I wasn't that frightened, having passed some earlier..until I saw the largest arse ever. I stopped behind it about 20 feet and when the animal turned it's head it was a bull (hence the large part) with horns that could have gone right through the bike. It looked at me and I could tell by the way it's eyes were glaring that this was not a good time to remind him about all the beef I'd consumed in Texas. The ribs I had left in my camelback (kept cold by the ice) were pork so at least I had that going for me. I wasn't sure if I should go by quickly, slowly, or at all. Since he didn't seem to have any intention of moving I started to slowly ride by when the bull on the side of the road started heading onto the tarmac. I was essentially riding between two animals that could have crushed me on accident and my paranoia, kept at bay briefly, sprung a leak and I was mentally watching them "horn" me to death. I could think of worse ways to go, especially since my diet of beef was probably going to kill me eventually anyway.

I eased my way into LaPine around 1:00 PM and stopped at the Taco Bell for lunch. I was going to transport it back to the house and eat while relaxing on the deck so I needed a Pepsi to compliment this gourmet meal. I don't have a cup holder (want one, dork gage just hit the red) and trying to get the Pepsi back to the house in one piece gave all the locals something to laugh about. I made it, though, and pulled into the driveway full of awe that I'd made it that far (to and back from Texas, not due to the Pepsi, although I'd say that really was a Pepsi Challenge. hahahah Okay, I'll stop)

Once there I thought about Trout who in my mind was alone and sad because I wasn't there. I got back on the bike and hit the road again, heading toward my final destination of Aurora, OR and home. On Highway 97 through Bend then onto Highway 22 toward Salem I rode 55-60 mph which seemed slow after my previous day of 75-80 mph. I marveled at how the mountains in Oregon still have snow, how the sun seemed to shine brighter (but not be that hot) and how a familiar road gives you a sense of contentment.

The view from Bend, OR to Sisters, OR

The last 100 miles of my trip were the most challenging. Perhaps it is because they were miles I've done a million times, perhaps because I had to use the rest room but didn't want to take the time to stop, or perhaps because I knew I was nearing the end of my journey. Whatever the reason, my arse felt like someone had paddled it relentlessly over the last thousand miles and no movement on the seat was making things better. I moved up and back and sat straight and slouched. I leaned and even tried to just take my mind off it by imagining what I was going to eat for dinner (exciting, eah?) Nothing worked. Near the last ten miles from Woodburn to my exit I felt relief wash over me as I counted down the miles and told myself I'd already gone over 4,000 miles, ten more would not hurt.

Pulling into my driveway I checked the GPS and saw I'd ridden 4,145 miles over the last two weeks. Others have ridden farther, ridden faster and ridden better. The sun was shining, my plants were all alive and the garden was tended (thanks to my landlord and neighbor!). I threw on a pair of shorts and flip flops and jumped in the car without even unloading the bike, anxious to pick up Trout before my motivation failed. I drove the thirty minutes and picked her up. She licked me and jumped up to kiss me repeatedly (not a good trick to show a dog when you have friends who are shorter than you). When I opened the front door she ran out and jumped right in the car, tail wagging and eyes glistening (maybe I imagined that glistening).

Trout at "pick up" time. She jumped in and wouldn't get out!

It was then I realized that over the last 4,145 miles I'd traveled, there were so many beautiful things I'd seen; so many mountains and drylands, waterways and freeways. But the one view I would not want to live without was the one view that warmed my heart and made me smile, time after time.

That view could only be the one from home, with Trout laying in the grass or playing in her pool, me on the porch in a comfy chair sipping on a cold drink remembering the time my journey took me solo to Texas.

Thank you all for coming along with me. I hope you enjoy home as much as I do.

As always, Be safe.

Ride Log 13: Day 12

2011-08-13T10:53:00.000-07:00

Current Location: Ontario, OR

The past is but a memory...and another shack

Miles from home: 415 miles
Distance from Torrey, UT: 603 miles
Food: Left over ribs from Utah and Cheetos (I've slipped since Texas)

From Torrey, UT I let Hank (the GPS since the bike is Runkle) tell me where to go. I ended up riding west on 24 to Hwy 89. This stretch in Utah was much better than the Arizona portion. Curves, farmland for views, and small quaint towns blessed the path.

More of this view to look forward from Torrey, UT on Hwy 24 toward SLC.

Highway 89 between Richfield and Provo, UT: Not bad at all!

Hwy 89 fed into the interstate (15 then 84) for hours and hours. The interstate is a great way to travel if you're into traffic, wind, construction and large towns. Awesome. The only good thing I found about the stretch of interstate through Salt Lake is the HOV lane and the fact that the interstate allows you to completely bypass the city. However, Hank (GPS, keep up, people) led me astray (even on the interstate) and I ended up doing a few loops in a part of town before finding my way back to the interstate.

I thought about stopping in Twin Falls, ID for the night (430 miles from Torrey, UT) then thought if I could make Twin Falls I could certainly make the other side of Boise (only 129 miles farther). Once I got to Boise I figured the Oregon border was only about 60 miles more so I may as well make a run for it. It didn't hurt that my dog sitter was sending me texts showing photos of Trout buddied up to her kids. Nothing motivates a dog mom (me) like seeing your only child loving someone else. (Trout the traitor)

Around 7:30 PM I crossed into Oregon and wondered if I should just keep going. Ontario, OR is right on the border and it's not the nicest of places. Last year we camped in an RV park that was the worst place I've ever seen. I still have nightmares. I filled the tank and headed to the Budget Inn since it looked inexpensive and was near the gas station.

I parked outside and walked into the Budget Inn to be greeted by a nice man who's first question was "What year is that bike?" It made me wonder if he was asking for resale value. I got a room anyway and once inside realized I'd have been better off at the RV park. The nonsmoking room had cigarette burns on the carpet and blankets. The AC was a wall unit from circa 1970 that was loud and only had one speed. The toilet didn't flush right. I actually put my own pillow on the bed and pulled the comforter off completely, wondering how many cooties were on it. The headboard hit the wall with every movement (I didn't even want to think about that) and towels were off white/tan (and not on purpose). As I moved my stuff inside a praying mantis decided to hang out on the door, giving me a glimpse of the bugs I could look forward to.

I thought about leaving, just packing up and heading to a campground then I thought about the last 600 miles (and my aching hands and my iron butt that is NOT iron at all) and figured I'd sleep well, regardless of my surroundings.

The next day I was headed to LaPine to stay with the parental units...a fresh bed, a hot tub, a deck and two dogs to greet me. I was almost home and the one thought I had was I hope I don't get in a wreck this close! (Paranoia really never leaves, does it?)

Ride log 12, Texas Day 11

2011-08-10T20:29:00.000-07:00

Current Location: Torrey, UT
Distance from home: around 1,060
Distance from Lubbock: 832 miles
Food situation: Dismal.

I stopped in Torrey, UT out of pure desperation (I'm tired!). I've been on the road for about 12 hours, although probably only on the bike for about 10.5 after my many stops for photo ops and to buy a cowboy hat for a friend. Skipped lunch today since I kept waiting for something to peak my interest...apparently after gorging myself this last weekend in Texas a burrito from the gas station was sufficient. I'm at the Days Inn which was about 90 buckaroos for the night (a discounted price and the last room left). I passed up camping despite the good views because I'm a chicken but also because I had no water. I filled up my camelback in Albuquerque and sucked it dry about 100 miles ago. Moto mojo is turning black again.

My mojo was bad starting this morning at the hotel when I went down for breakfast around 6 am only to find a couple empty nesters hogging the waffle maker. I mean, really, do you need to stuff five waffles in your face while people are waiting? And guess what? Only white bread. Who eats white bread anymore? I ate a half a bowl of raisin bran and hit the road, ready to swear off hotels and free breakfast. (I like how I'm disgruntled about a free service. I'm such an ungrateful Dork.)

From Albuquerque, NM I stayed on Interstate 40 to Gallup which was about 120 miles of traffic and annoying drivers. I had decided to keep to Interstates when I set off this morning then after about ten minutes actually on the Interstate I decided back roads, despite the fact that they take longer, would be more appealing. In Gallup I bought a cowboy hat and then lost my bike keys. (It's scary that I just KNEW that would happen at least once on the trip so I had a spare.) I ended up finding them after about 15 minutes of searching. I then went to the post office to mail the hat. They wanted my first born child and my dog for shipping costs. I thought the dog was excessive so I ended up strapping the hat to the back of the bike. I look totally cool now. (It's going to be THE thing to do in a few months, you mark my words.)

Road construction plagued my route (491 N to Shiprock) and made for delays about every fifty miles. Of course, once I got going I was stuck behind a line of cars and missing some good curves. From Shiprock I went into Colorado then backtracked on Highway 60 to ensure I hit Four Corners, where Colorado, Arizona, New Mexico and Utah all meet at the, duh, corners. I thought it would be cool to say I was in all the places at once. In reality it was just an extra 30 minutes out of my way. But gee, I can mark that off my bucket list now. (And that's what life is all about, right?)

From Four Corners I took a small route (41, which turns into 62) which was actually quite nice. Lots of turns and twists. I ended up near Blanding, UT and veered onto Highway 95 toward Natural Bridges National Monument and Glen Canyon National Recreation Area.

Glen Canyon, Utah

I'm going to share a secret with ya'll. The Glen Canyon area is the prettiest, most spectacular thing I've seen thus far (and it feels like I've been to hell and back). I found myself at a loss for words after using my quota of "holy shit" and "wow". I eventually reasoned with myself that if there ever was such a thing as "God's Country," Utah would be it. The sheer cliffs and columns were borne to perfection by the wind and rain. The colors were spectacular and varied, the views breathtaking. In sections it was as if someone had built a Lego mound and pushed it down. The rock was flat and square. There were big pieces and little pieces. Other areas had round rocks that made me think of giant chocolate marsh mellows (I have a food fascination). It was amazing. Simply amazing. Other locations appeared like chocolate frosting, whipped smooth and fine. I imagined the smooth parts were giant's bellies and if I looked closely enough I would occasionally see faces or hands built into the rock. (Of course that could be in part to my overactive imagination.) Ya'll can have Zion (which I thought was remarkable) and Moab and all the others. I'll take Glen Canyon.

I do not kid when I say just when you thought it couldn't get any better, it did. I think the most mind blowing thing was all that beauty and the dryness then turning the corner and seeing the Colorado River flowing through it. I hope one day you all get to view such a place.

Glen Canyon with the Colorado River

After riding to the edge of the Glen Canyon area I was in no rush to move quickly. I wanted the memories to last and twisting the throttle seemed like pushing them away. Finally I sucked it up and moved along...toward Capital Reef National Park. Oh, and trust me when I tell you that this is also one stretch of road you do not want to miss. It was curvy and twisty and most assuredly helped to make this day of riding the best one yet.

I'm hoping to be in Bend/LaPine, OR by Friday and frankly I'm getting frustrated that I've traveled so far and don't seem any closer to the end. Today's beauty make up for it but still I'm ready for my bed and to see my Trout again. I'm debating on heading straight for Twin Falls, ID (430 miles on the interstate) or monkeying around with different, smaller roads which will increase my miles and time. I guess I've nothing but time. And after all, this is God's Country, remember?

Ride Log 11: Texas: Day 10, Westward HOME

2011-08-09T19:45:00.000-07:00

After staying up too late last night I slept in with Roxie laying at my knees. It didn't feel right to disturb her. So, I slinked out of bed around 8:30 AM and found some git-along in my get n go. I left Lubbock around 10:00 AM (it takes a long time to pack 64 ounces of BBQ sauce and spices along with t-shirts and hats plus all the stuff you came with!). I started the day with my cooling vest and figured rain would come shortly thereafter. Of course, when you want rain you don't get it. I baked my way across Texas and to Clovis, NM. The roads were nothing to write home about: flat and dry with heat pushing it's way from the asphalt to your boots. I stopped when the spirit moved me, quickly realizing that after a week of riding eastbound the home trip would be slower because my arse started hurting after about 30 miles. From Clovis I went northwest toward Albuquerque.

I stopped and did a walk through the Billy the Kid Museum in Fort Sumner, NM (since I'd passed the place he lived in Lincoln, NM, it only seem fair I stopped at the place he died). I don't have many historial concerns (i.e. I don't give a shrat) but, I was impressed to see historical items relating to Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday (Tombstone is my favorite movie ever and yes, I know it's a movie and Doc Holliday probably wasn't as awesome as Val Kilmer was in his prime). There were a lot of pieces on display: pistols and shotguns, irons and kettles, wagons and stoves, glassware and everything in between. If you are a history buff it's well worth the $5.00 admission charge.

Herse wagon with a child's coffin inside

After the museum I put the rubber to the road and finally started seeing some mountains near Albuquerque (thank goodness). Tomorrow I'll have some scenery to knock your socks off. Today, you're stuck with Billy The Kid's remnants and my photography skills (which are lacking).

This was interesting, a calf was born with extra legs sticking out it's side. Kind of gross.

Can you imagine packing these heavy pots around ? No wonder those women were tough.

It being my birthday (I don't look a day over 52) I had earlier decided to grab a hotel in Albuquerque and cut my day short so I could enjoy some quality hotel time (i.e. I'm too damn old to ride so damn far). I'm in a Days Inn within walking distance to a restaurant. Worked out great, until I went over and was informed it was an all you can eat affair. Can you imagine what it feels like when your stomach turns around and walks out of a place and the rest of you is still inside? My stomach agreed to go inside if I'd just get a plate to go. So, I grabbed some roast (what is it with me and the cow?), mashed potatoes and gravy, corn, and a garlic biscuit and headed back to my hotel. I think it's the best birthday ever. Thank goodness my stomach has been stretched over the last week or I'd have had to cut out the biscuit.

Tomorrow I head northbound, toward Salt Lake City (maybe I'll run into Ely, riggghhht) or farther west. My only plan is to enjoy the ride and to remember these are the best days of my life.

Ride Log 10: Texas Days: 7-9: Lubbock, Dallas & Fort Worth

2011-08-09T19:12:00.000-07:00

Current Location: Fort Worth, TX

Friday night to welcome me to Texas we headed right to a BBQ place in the sticks called Cagle Steaks. It wasn't the best place but since I refused to put on jeans in the heat (around 104 degrees at 7 pm) they conceeded we should go someplace less fancy. Cagle Steaks was like an adventure park with a saloon and a gift shop and rustic boardwalks. All I can tell you is it was around $19.00 per person and we ordered steak that came with a baked potato. There was a "buffet" full of baked beans, potato salad, peppers, and other assorted goodies which we piled high on our table. The entire table was full of food and we all sat and ate until it felt like we were going to puke. I'm not kidding when I say the word "purge" was mentioned numerous times. By males and females. Texans know how to eat and eat well!

After an awesome night's sleep on Friday night in a comfy bed (how could I not sleep well with a calf in my belly and a potato farm keeping it company) I didn't want to wake up at 6:45 AM on Saturday morning. But, I somehow managed and Sonny, Cher and I jumped in the car and drove the 5 hours to Fort Worth/Dallas. Call me crazy, after six days on the bike somehow riding in the car for 5 hours one way didn't sound that bad. However, it was a LONG drive. And, as some of you may be aware, Texas is the place for good BBQ but scenery, well, that's where Texas falls short. At least this time of year, when the temperatures are high at 109 and low at 100. The grass is brown and sharp as needles and the green only comes from trees that seem to be reaching out to you in order to suck the water from your pores. Along the route I saw cows, fields, some more fields, and gas stations.

DISCLAIMER: Before you read any more I should warn you. There are several reasons I LOVE Texas but its a toss up which reason would be first on my list. I think the people are awesome. The Southern charm and manners is a welcome change from Portland's rush and rudeness (yeah, I said it, suck it, Portlanders). But, the food, oh the food, the BBQ, the TexMex, the great burgers and steaks, the green chilis and the tea, well, that's what I focused on during this trip. So what follows is a quick look at Dallas and Fort Worth via food.

Chuy's Fajitas and green chili salsa

In Dallas we hit Chuy's (http://www.chuys.com/) for lunch. We found Chuy's about five years ago when Cher and I took a car trip from Albuquerque, NM to San Antonio, TX and some guy I'd met suggested it. Chuys is now and has been since, one of our favorite spots...hand rolled tortillas, spicy and flavorful Hatch green chili sauce, the margaritas and the salsa fresca...I may turn the bike around right now. If there's a Chuy's within a 100 mile radius, I'm making the trip. Come temperatures that melt your boots, floods that threaten to take your bike away, and crying babies, I'll be there. After gorging ourselves so much we could barely walk, Cher had to go to a dress fitting (yeah, great idea, stuff a bunch of food in yer gullet then head to do a fitting, heeheheh). Sonny and I drove around until we found Chocolate, a shop in a trendy part of Dallas where we proceeded to stuff more crap in our mouths (how? I have no clue, but trust me, it was a bad idea). We each had a banana and mango smoothy and a piece of hand made chocolate. Mine was peanut butter and jelly chocolate. I think I still have some mango in my spleen since it wouldn't fit anywhere else. We picked up Cher (who waved away her piece of chocolate, a huge glob of chocolate covered peanut butter). Of course, eventually she caved in and the glorious chocolate was consumed.

BBQ from Railhead, Fort Worth, TX

After eating enough food and chocolate to feed a small army, we headed to the hotel where we were forced to take naps in order to prepare for dinner and the evening's festivities.

After a fitful two hour nap I still wasn't that hungry, but I was able to force myself to eat since we were going to a place called Railhead BBQ (http://www.railheadonline.com/ ). This place was a little dirty but the food was really, really good. When I say dirty, I mean the place needed someone to actually walk around and pick up the mass amount of napkins and straw covers that littered the floor. They needed to wipe down a table or two and the bathroom had toilet paper instead of paper towels for you to dry your hands on (but perhaps that's how they tell who washed their hands..those who walk out with bits of TP stuck to their hands and faces). Still, I'd go back in a heartbeat. I mean, you can't get this food in Oregon! (By now you've probably gotten the idea that I like BBQ??)

From Railhead we went to...wait for it...Billy Bob's. Now, I'm not much for Texas nightlife (or any nightlife that doesn't involve a couch and Trout snoring at my feet) but Cher and Sonny thought it would be cool for me to experience a honky tonk in Texas. So, they procured some tickets to Billy Bob's Texas, THE LARGEST HONKY TONK IN THE WORLD! (http://www.billybobstexas.com/). You know how some people say they're the largest, or the best, or the biggest, or the hottest, well, Billy Bob isn't a liar. It was like walking into a freaking small town. There were so many bars, pool tables, live bull riding, and a concert area. It can accomodate 5,000 of your favorite cowboys and cowgirls...which to me means it will hold me, Cher, Sonny, and 4,997 strangers whom I don't care to meet. We didn't eat while there (I know, shocking!) but we did get tickets to see David Allan Coe perform. He's an oldie but a goodie and I like to think I was able to watch one of his last concerts (mainly because I'm a firm believer that if someone needs to be helped to his chair and then mumbles his way through a concert, he should retire). But, I enjoyed Mr. Coe's songs and am still devoted to him enough to want to submit his lyrics to my boss when the time comes (Take This Job and Shove It as written by Coe and sung by Johnny Paycheck in 1978) (Oh, and take note, I was a little kid then...way little....tiny...almost not even born...)

Yucatan Taco Stand, Fort Worth

The next morning I hung out in the hotel (no, I wasn't turning tricks) while Sonny and Cher went back to Dallas. I was an angel and ate a tiny zuchinni muffin and had a glass of milk for breakfast. Truth be told I was too lazy to go get something better and I was saving room for lunch. Which, as it turned out, was a good idea. We stopped at the Yucatan Taco Stand on the way back to Lubbock. YUM. (Sorry, I started eating before taking the photo, oops, got a little worried my expanding stomach couldn't go a full four hours without food.) After Yucatan I was glad for the five hour car ride back to Lubbock...it gave my belly time to stop screaming. I mean, I haven't eaten so much food in such a short period of time since, I dunno, maybe two weeks ago. I need to learn to pace myself.

Back in Lubbock we were all pretty tired and still full, so instead of going out we stopped and got some pizza to bring home. We ate pizza like there was no tomorrow (and at this rate of food consumption there were serious concerns) and Sonny and I watched "The Jerk" and laughed our arses off while Cher walked around and made faces as if Sonny and I were 12 years old. Pointing out that "The Jerk" is a classic didn't seem to add any good light to the flic. Hmm...weird.

The next day was Monday and Sonny and Cher (both respectable with jobs and everything) had to go to work. I took the opportunity to lay around, read a book, do some laundry (which had to be hung on the line...outside...in the 105 degree heat...so by the time I got a load up I was ready to relax while the sweat poured into my eyes and my brain came back down to room temperature, which was near 97). I met Cher for lunch and had one of the biggest, thickest burgers ever. I did errands after lunch, riding around on my moto (sans jacket and pants..I mean, I had shorts on but no protective layers) because it was so hot outside I thought I'd keel over at a stop light. Back at the house, sunburnt from the mere ten minutes of ride time, I decided it was safest if I just kicked back on the couch with my Kindle for the rest of the day. I mean, I wouldn't want to burn any unnecessary calories. It takes a lot to keep this round figure.

I told them to pose, it's not my fault Cher is molesting Sonny.

That night we all trekked over to Rudy's BBQ (http://www.rudys.com/) for my farewell meal. Rudy's BBQ, to me, is the holy grail of BBQ. I don't care what you say, I will never love anything as much as I love Rudy's. (I'll probably have to marry someone named Rudy just so he doesn't get jealous.) Rudy's is actually a "country store" and has gas pumps out front and a small store inside where amongst some of the best rubs, spices you can find are basic supplies...like antifreeze. Don't let the store fool ya. Rudy's is primo numero uno in BBQ. I actually order the stuff and have it shipped to Oregon. A steak, potatoes, ribs, chicken (whatever you fancy) isn't complete without a dash of Rudy's Rub. Come over sometime, I'll prove it to ya'll.

The problem with Rudy's is I never know what to get. It's all good. Creamed corn, smoked turkey, jalapeno sausage (to put spice in my life, the server said), brisket, potato salad, baked beans, a smoked potato (lathered in meat, cheese and butter), and sliced white bread. So we all over-indulged yet again. It was worth it. We rolled back to Casa Taylor and sat around talking and playing with the dog, Roxie.

Special thanks to Sonny, Cher, and Roxie for making my Texas stay wonderfully fattening and fulfilling. I can't wait for mid September when I head to Austin (I'm flying and shall do so shame free since my arse will still be numb).

Ride Log 9: Texas: Day 6

2011-08-09T16:57:00.000-07:00

Location: Lubbock, TX
Distance from home via routes I rode: 2075 miles
Distance traveled in the last week: 2300 miles (includes riding around Portland prepping)
Approximate fuel cost: $150

Planned on a great night's sleep (aw...the best laid plans)... I didn't plan on being the biggest yellow bellied chicken in the south. The campground at Valley of Fire was deserted except for the camp hosts and myself. You'd think that would be a good thing. However, it was there that my paranoia hit an all time high amidst the glorious scenery and secluded hilltop. I pulled my tent under the metal building that housed the metal picnic table perching it between the metal posts of the outbuilding. I parked my moto in front of the table, thinking that would block some of the wind since I was literally on top of the bluff with a 360 degree view of all the mountains. As dark approached I questioned my reasoning of camping in a spot with no gravel (since I wouldn't hear footsteps approaching) and be forewarned of any unwanted guests (since we ALL know there are serial killers running rampant). Then, as the wind picked up and the flaps of my tent smacked the picnic table making me feel like I was in a wind tunnel, I sat upright and still, thinking I could hear creatures scurrying outside my tent. It wasn't until I thought I heard the zipper being pulled that I finally laid down and rolled into a little ball covering my head with my moto jacket, thinking at least I wouldn't have to SEE the boogey man coming for me. I started to question if I should shoot first, through the tent (and possibly ruin my new tent) or if I should actually wait until I saw the white of my would-be killer's eyes (or red, if it were an alien). I uncurled myself and finally slept until I had to get up to pee. What a pain in the ass that was. I sat up, my bladder about to burst from waiting so long, and put an ear to the side of the tent. When I didn't hear anything I grabbed my headlamp and weapon (aka stick left over from a Starbuck's cake pop) and slowly undid the zipper of the tent and peered out into the darkness. By chance I looked up and saw the beautiful sky and thought surely the devil would be sleeping. Now, as if worrying about animals and crazy psychotic men isn't bad enough, I realized there would be creepy crawly bugs and snakes just laying in wait for me on the asphalt. I had to turn on my headlamp and scan the ground in front of me to ensure it was safe since I was barefoot. Then I started thinking that if the crazies (besides me) weren't asleep and were just waiting for signs of life, I'd surely just given them a precise location via my headlamp on where to come to kill me. I did my business and dashed back inside the tent faster than Trout eats rotisserie chicken.

I thought I should have camped closer to the hosts, then I started to wonder if maybe THEY weren't the serial killers. I was not safe anywhere. Back in the tent I looked at the stars through my tent window and then thought, why can't they make a material that we can see out of but no one can see in to? Wouldn't camping be so much more fun? I could see the danger coming from far away! As I looked up to the sky I noticed the lightening had started in the distance again...and ya'll should remember at this point I'm in my tent under a metal building near a metal picnic table near a moto on top of a hill? Yeah. Great stuff. I finally feel asleep after exhaustion hit and my eyes were so heavy I could fear no more. Of course, before I did, there was a brief moment where I wondered if the animals would come and eat from the garbage can right next to my tent, maybe a grizzly? He could grab the rotten bread then realize there was some chunky meat in the tent...

View from the other side of my tent

Once daylight blessed me and I thanked the Heavens I made it through the night, I unzipped the flap on the tent to look upon all the glory that is nature and quickly fell back asleep. Around 8 I woke up again and started clearing my camp and stowing my gear. It was then that the camp host came riding along in his four wheeler. His first question was, "Can I ask why you didn't camp down on the grass where it's comfortable?" Not wanting to sound paranoid (since the real reason was because it was down in the gully and my screams wouldn't travel) I said, "The view!" He and I spoke for probably a half an hour about the campground, my yellow belly behavior the night before, and where the best food was in Roswell. As I was ready to roll the rains were upon me again. Someone hates me but the camp host thinks I'm the funniest "biker" he's ever met. (I've never considered myself a "biker" and frankly, it doesn't sit well. I mean, aren't biker's tough and macho and not afraid of the wind while camping???)

On suggestion from the camp host (Earl), I headed for breakfast in Roswell to the Cowboy Cafe. Earl had told me the weather would be HOT once I got about twenty miles down the road but I resisted my cooling vest since that had worked so well previously (so well in calling the rains, that is). I passed Lincoln (home of outlaw Billy the Kid) where they were having a festival in his honor, but it was too early for the bbq to be done so I pressed on. About two hours later I rode into Roswell, NM. I was happy to be there and excited to see the UFO Museum, since Roswell is so famous. (And I'd ridden the ET highway so i sensed a theme.) I stopped at the Museum and paid my $5.00 entrance fee. Inside were mostly written documents hanging on the wall relating to the famous sighting and other abductions and the like. You can really just get all this information from the internet and save yourself the sweaty, 105 degree ride into town. But, if you happen to be in Roswell, the UFO Museum seems like the tourist place to visit, so just go with it.

I lunched at the Cowboy Cafe which is at the east end of town (another MUST stop, locals only hangout!) As I was getting ready to go inside I knew I'd found the best possible food place when a cowboy walked by and said, "Ya'll best get inside and cool yerself down!" The place was tiny and packed wall to wall with cowboy hats and wranglers. The waitress asked if I didn't mind sitting with someone else and despite the fact that I'm normally not that social, I told her I didn't mind if they didn't mind. I ended up sitting with a couple (I'll call them the Roswell's) who lived about 15 miles outside of town who were some of the nicest people I've ever met. We talked about my journey, their kids, their ranch and the famous Roswell UFO Festival. As I suspected, the locals tend to stay away from the main stretch in town when the festival occurs, July 1-4, and my hosts claimed they were sick and tired of the whole UFO thing. Turns out Mr. Roswell was a retired trucker so he was able to give me great advice on what to see and do on my way home. Oh, and just so you know, I ate the battered catfish with fries, home made slaw and hush puppies. My belly misses the Cowboy Cafe. It was a fantastic experience (food and the company). On my way home I'm tempted to go back the way I came, just to pass through Roswell and hit the Cowboy Cafe again!

Cher and Sonny Taylor, my Lubbock pal's.

After lunch I hit the road and quickly felt the heat from the bike searing through my Aerostitch AD-1 pants. I kept going, on and on, until Lubbock boomed in front of me like a mirage. You can't imagine the feeling of relief when I pulled into town and then stopped in front of Sonny and Cher Taylor's house, which was my destination (Not their real names, but a close resemblance, see photo.)

After six days of straight and twisty roads, hills, mountains, dry plains, green brush and dead grass, cows, alien sightings, limited traffic, and countless hours of moving back and forth on the seat, attempting to find comfort where there was none, I was there. I was happy I'd made it...but I'd be lying if I told you I wasn't wondering how much it would cost to ship the bike back to Oregon and fly!

Ride log 8: Texas: Day 5

2011-08-07T09:38:00.000-07:00

Current location: Valley of Fires State Park, Carrizozo

Distance from home: 1806 miles

AZ 260 out of Camp Verde, finally some twists and turns!

From Camp Verde I hit the pavement going east on AZ-260 toward Show Low. This section of road led me through the Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest and the White Mountains. I must admit my earlier disappointment with Arizona waned and by the time I'd ridden a mere 50 miles I thought to myself, "This part of Arizona does NOT suck!" AZ-260 (which later becomes 60) is perhaps the best part of Arizona I've seen and is a fantastic motorcycle road. The flat, straight roads of the previous day were replaced with curves and lush greenery (and trust me, I don't think of lush greenery when I think of Arizona) that seemed to go on and on.

I stopped for lunch in Springerville and for the first time in the trip I actually took the time to eat in a local watering hole. If you are ever in Springerville stop at Los Dos Molinos (the two grinders) http://www.losdosmolinosaz.net/ at the east side of town (trust me, you can't miss it, it's one of the few places to stop). The restaurant has been around since the last 1970's and serves only fresh ingredients. Their slogan is "Some like it hot." And trust me, it's HOT. They serve two kinds of salsa with their chips and place a pitcher of ice water on the table at the same time. It's needed. The first thing I thought when I tasted the red salsa was "HOLY HELL!" I could feel my face redden and little tears forming in my eyes. It wasn't pretty. The waitress, J, was very friendly and suggested the pork burrito with a side of beans. The beans aren't refried as "if they are done right the first time you don't have to refry them!" I have to admit I had to get a side of sour cream after testing a few bites to help "cool" the fire on my tongue. The pork was huge chunks of perfectly seasoned goodness and the beans, well, the beans were the best I've ever tasted. Amazing. They have locales in Phoenix and Mesa. If you pass this place up you will never forgive yourself.

After lunch the roads got flat and straight again but the view was fantastic while the sun was shinning.

Somewhere near the AZ, NM border

I meandered over to Highway 380 toward Roswell, NM where I wanted to stay the night. The heat had not been an issue but in Camp Verde I'd donned my cooling vest just in case. It was probably due to my vest that I hit storms again. This time, the storms were not beside me, but directly in front of me and appeared to go on and on. I had the presence of mind (and enough experience with my bad moto mojo) to remove the cooling vest and put the rainproof liner in my vented jacket before riding into the darkness ahead. After about half a mile my leather gloves were soaked through and I'd ridden through some weather that would even disappoint a fish. The rains, thunder, lightening, and blackness continued for miles off and on. When the wind arrived I almost laughed out loud. My luck sucks!

As I continued toward Roswell the rains let up and I decided I'd stop in Carrizozo, NM instead of Roswell since I had plenty of time. I passed the Valley of Fires Recreation area and was blessed with a view that made my mouth drop open like I was being spoon fed chocolate. I rode about two miles past the camp ground and decided life was too short to wake up in a cheap motel when I could wake up surrounded by mountains in the distance and lava flows. I turned around and headed back to the campground.

View from my camping spot at Valley of Fires Campground

Camping was $7.00 and the facilities were clean and well maintained. It was, in fact, better than the RV park I'd stayed at previously. I could almost live in the bathroom. Showers were free! The view was breathtaking and included a nature trail through the lava flows. I hunkered down and planned on a great night's sleep.

Bathroom/shower area at Valley of Fires (see, they are awesome!)

Ride Log 7: Texas: Day 4

2011-08-03T22:37:00.000-07:00

Current location: Camp Verde, AZ
Distance from home: 1387 miles

Woke up in Caliente around 5:30 am. Did I mention there was a train track right next to the RV Park? Well, there is and it's a lovely alarm clock. I decided I may as well get up and get moving and try to beat the heat. After a quick shower (moto mojo black, forgot a towel) and a rather extensive pat dry with brown paper napkins, I stepped out of the shower room and almost walked into the maintenance man. I don't know who was more scared (he was frightened since I had on short shorts, my apologies to his eye doctor). He said I'd best be moving along since a storm was coming so I rushed to drop the tent and pack my belongings. As I flicked as many ants away as I could (off the bike) the first drops of rain started pounding down around me. I wasn't sure exactly where I was going but I took off anyway and rode Hwy 93 to 319 (turns into 56) toward St. George, UT.

These roads were a little better for moto enthusiasts, as they curved and turned, much to my relief. I stopped in St. George to grab stuff to make a ham and cheese sandwich and marveled at how I was making good time. To my dismay I realized I'd lost an hour on the ride due to time zones and now it was more like lunch time rather than breakfast. Drat! Oh, and somehow from the time I walked into the store and walked out someone lit a fire because it was fricking HOT outside. I went back in and filled my Camelback with ICE and hit the road, now feeling behind schedule and sweating like a school boy in a Catholic Church (my bad, sorry).

In St. George I decided to take my time today and see the sights. To this point, Utah had the best scenery and my moto mojo was doing great. I'd outran the storm in the morning and rode parellel another, feeling the love from the moto Gods!

Just before Zion I stopped to buy some trinkets in the town they named after me, Virgin, UT.

I rode into Zion and paid my $12.00 to experience 22 miles of park while attempting to reach Highway 89. Zion is well worth the money. What I could have lived without was everyone else who was there. I spent the entire 22 miles following RV's that seemed intent on driving the speed limit (25mph) so the only good curves and twists and switchbacks I'd experienced on my trip thus far were wasted! (Doh! Moto mojo black!) I loved (LOVED) Zion. It is remarkable and to call it simply "beautiful" is an understatement.

I didn't dilly dally in Zion as I was ready to hit Route 89 which runs from Canada to the Mexican border (in two sections). I read about this route previously in National Geographic's Adventure Magazine, which said Route 89 was a MUST take route. And, well, I did it. And guess what? I'd go back and ride the boring ET Highway ten times rather than take Route 89 ever again. Traffic was heavy in both directions and the speed limit of 65 is most assuredly a "suggestion" since even semi's were passing me. (Don't even get me started on the road construction.) I wasn't so lucky to outrun the rain this time and unfortunately, about 50 miles before the rain caught me I was so hot I decided to give my cold vest a try. So when it started raining and the wind started blowing I was wearing a vest packed in water. (Moto mojo? Off the charts B.A.D.)

I spent the next 100 miles or so shaking off the cold only to be trapped in another storm right after warming up. I got to Flagstaff, AZ and was finally warming up enough to get gas and ponder moving on another few miles. I hit Interstate 17 out of pure desperation to get moving quickly and get this day over with. I ended up here, in Camp Verde at the Motel 6, counting my lucky stars I'd gotten inside before the torrential downpour, lightening and winds picked up again.

Today, not one Subway or Shell dude was there to light my way. I think perhaps I'd already had enough chances in the love department (and failed! Doh!). No more free lunches. I did, however, meet a lovely man from Georgia at the hotel. He saw the bike and looked at me and looked at the bike and then looked at me and shook his head and then said, "I can't believe you're riding that! All by yourself?" He was amazed that a woman would get on a bike (first amazement) and go that far (second amazement) and that I wasn't gay (third amazement). Wow. He was very nice and even saw fit to share some of his wisdom with me. His name was LT (maybe it was, maybe it wasn't), and he said he thought I should ride as much as I wanted (err, thanks) because our lives are our own books.

As LT explained, each day is a new page and what we put on those pages (or don't put on those pages) is up to each of us individually. Some of us have big, thick books that are full of fun and excitement and some of us have small, thin books that are closed too soon. The only constant is the beginning and ending of each book. We are all born and we all die. How you choose to fill your book is up to you. If you listen to those who say you can't, and you don't, then it is only your book that suffers.

I was digging LT. Right up until the moment he asked me to have a drink with him. I mean, we'd already discussed the entire meaning of life. What more was there to say???

Tomorrow I head toward Roswell, NM and then my destination of Lubbock, TX. Today was a good day. I was screaming into my helmet that I would not quit when the winds threatened to push me over and my head was bobbing like a pogo stick. When I was shivering in my cold vest with the rain water smashing against me like a sledge hammer, I was smiling, thinking how lucky I was to live in Oregon where the weather teaches us how to tolerate such things. Tomorrow will be a new page in my book. I hope I write it well.

Ride Log 6: Texas: Day 3

2011-08-02T18:59:00.000-07:00

Current location: Caliente, NV
Distance from home: 932 miles

The Owl Motel's bed was about as comfortable as sleeping on a piece of plywood. I tossed and turned all night and woke up about ten times. Once I awoke to find myself scratching a hole in my arm. Worried about bugs, I had to turn on the lights and inspect the sheets and surrounding area. (Paranoid much?) I chowed on a granola bar and hit the road around 8:00 am, heading to Austin, NV.

Highway 305 to Austin is BORING (notice the capitals). The best thing about the road is it finally ended. Austin itself is a tiny town with two small cafe's where the food is adequate but expensive. Eggs, ham, and potatoes for $9.00. WOW. From Austin I rode south along Highway 376 for 107 miles to Tonopah which was another 100 miles of straight but sparsly populated asphalt. I'd guess in the almost 200 miles of riding I saw about 30 cars total. Most of the time it was me and the road...add some curves and you'd have a terrific moto ride.

This is a good portion of the Austin to ET Highway...mostly flat and straight...blah.

The entertainment started in Tonopah, where I stopped at the Shell station to fuel up after heading toward Warm Springs and seeing a sign indicating "NEXT GAS 163 MILES." To risk the ride or not? I decided not, given my stellar track record on all things moto. While attempting to fuel up (I had to move twice to get a pump that worked), a guy pulled up on a 1200 GS (I call him Ely since that's where his next stop was). He was friendly and we shared about a half hour conversation about bikes, Pelican bags and routes over candybars and soda. Having learned my lesson about falling in love at first sight (think Lakeview, OR), I played it cool. He was on his way to Salt Lake City and was looking for dirt roads to take into Ely (NV) and I was on my way the opposite direction. He had sold his Harley to buy the 1200GS (which quickly earned him bonus points in my book) and was from Los Angeles (which quickly removed said bonus points).

As we stood talking near the bathroom (romantic, no?) an older dude pulled up on his moto. He started talking to us, assuming we were together (we must have made an adorable couple). Eventually the older dude informed us about how dangerous the road ahead was, that gas was scarce and people got stranded all the time. He then proceeded to give us both advice which apparently is necessary from everyone at every stop.

When "older dude" left I asked Ely if the dude was trying to scare us. Ely said he was trying to play it cool since he didn't want the guy to know I was alone. You know, "it's dangerous for a women to be riding alone." I told Ely not to worry because I had a gun. Ely's response: "Good, you should. A gun is a great equalizer." I shall remember Ely whenever I hear the word "equalizer." (Who says that???)

Fueled up and ready to go I put the rubber to the road and headed east on US-6 toward Warm Springs. Warm Springs used to be a town. Now it's a few trashed buildings and a fence. From there the excitement built as I turned onto State Route 375, the famed "Extraterrestrial Highway." The ET Highway is 98 miles of, wait for it, BORING. But, I probably saw ten cars the entire time so it was clear sailing...err...riding. And, if I still owned the 1200 GS, I could have been going 90 mph, hauling along like it was nothing. Instead, I was on Runkle, and well, it felt like I was standing still. (Seriously, I've been passed by semi's. How humiliating.)

The only stop along the ET Highway is the town of Rachael, which has a cafe and that's about it. But, since this highway is close to Area 51 and UFO sightings are high, I expected to see a little action of the science fiction kind. With three slight movements away from "straight" the ET Highway is not going to make you feel all warm and fuzzy while on your moto. In fact, it is mostly flat and the only real entertainment you'll get you can see in the photos on this blog (I saved you the trip, thank me later).

This was the only UFO I spotted along the Extraterrestrial Highway.

Oh, but wait, you don't want to miss this one, either (now you can thank me):

From my disappointing tour of the ET Highway, I set my sights on Caliente, NV for a night of camping at Young's RV Park on recommendations from Jerry. I outran the rain and only felt about 20 pelts on my face shield (moto mojo gold!). Young's RV park was clean and inexpensive ($15.00 for a tent sight). It would have been awesome had my bad moto mojo not have followed me from Oregon. My first mistake was setting my tent under a small apple tree. The apples were only about the sizes of plums and clearly not ready...so I thought, "let's get some shade." What I did not ponder was the wind which would blow the apples off the tree and onto my tent at various times (all coincidentally after dark) and scare the crap out of me (repeatedly). Then there was the deer who snuck into the RV park numerous times during the night to eat the apples. I was awakened numerous times to the sounds of "crunch crunch" when the deer were close enough for me to almost touch them. Still, I slept better than I had the night before in the motel. Upon packing to leave I noticed I'd parked near a main thoroughfare for sugar ants, which were crawling all over my bike the next morning. Some of them have been relocated to Arizona (hope that helps their tourism).

Despite my moto mojo, Caliente is thus far my favorite place. The RV park lady told me I'd best get to the store for supplies since it closed soon. I hopped on my bike and rushed through town (maybe a two minute ride given the speed limit) and bought some overpriced water and some potato salad for dinner. When I walked out a woman was checking out my bike. She looked at me and noted I was riding the bike. She was very excited about this and proceeded to tell me her name was Susan and she owned the shop next to us. The Spare Tire in Caliente, NV sells motorcycle &ATV parts and riding gear and, according to her business card, is right off US Highway 93. Susan welcomed me to Caliente with a quick tour of her shop (even though it was closed) and then a tour of her apartment behind the shop. She told me all about her ex-boyfriend (member of a motorcycle gang, whose name I shall keep in confidence since frankly, I don't want to be killed), and gave me her phone number just in case I have any issues on my way to Texas (although I don't know what it really costs to be saved by a motorcycle gang, probably more than I'd want to expend). Susan is a retired school teacher who is all of about 5'2" and is peppy and fun. She has enough energy to probably start her own daycare and juggle at the same time.

Susan walked me to my bike and introduced me to three of the town folk who were going to the store. She also told me about a date she had that night with a guy who worked for Union Pacific, which worked out great since he wasn't from town. Turns out I was camped next to this Union Pacific guy, although he didn't talk to me that night but instead when I was on my way out of town when we were both at the gas station. Talk about a small world (town?). Look her up if you are ever in Caliente. Seriously, I think you'll like her, too!

Susan, owner of The Spare Tire in Caliente, NV.

Ride Log 5: Texas: Days 1 & 2

2011-08-01T21:03:00.000-07:00

Current location: Battle Mountain, NV
Distance from home: 601 miles

In one piece and setting off from LaPine, OR

From home in Aurora, OR I rode 186 miles to LaPine, OR to stay the first night of journey. I went to bed late because Jerry was mapping my route. (Thanks! This just proves procrastinating is a good thing) I didn't get up and moving until around 8 am and didn't actually end up leaving until around 10am. I am probably one of the few people you know who can have a GPS, a paper map, and verbal directions and still get lost. I missed the first turn of the day and ended up riding about 40 minutes in the wrong direction before realizing it and turning around. Good times and good vibes to start the journey! Doh! This is why I need someone with me...I can not seem to follow directions! (Which is one of my many faults, but the most annoying one to me personally.)

The proper route was Highway 31 which is, at least to me, a lot like Highway 97 minus the traffic. Miles and miles of minimal traffic made this a great road. Lots of twists and turns and no deer sightings. That's a win win in my book. I rode to Lakeview, OR and stopped for lunch and gas. I actually stopped three times for food since I had a difficult time deciding what I wanted and how much time I wanted to spend since I was already behind. I settled on Subway, which I think was fate since I encountered two locals there. The first started chatting me up while I was in line for my food. The woman was well dressed and about 65 and was actually getting lunch with her daughter and grandkid. She was very kind and actually informed me after we had spoken briefly that her daughter would sit and wait for us to finish our conversation, as they had planned to take their food to go. The woman and I stood in Subway while she continued to tell me the route I should take, how to ride in the wind, which side of the lane I needed to be on, and even how fast I should go throughout the process. When she told me to get fuel in Denio and bypass Winnemucca I suddenly started thinking that a little advice was good, but too much was, well, literally, too much. She left me with the standard, "May God Bless you and Keep you safe" that seems to be the standard departure line (right?).

I was smiling as I left Subway, amazed at the kinds of advice people will offer when it's not solicited, when a tall, handsome, much needed drink of water stepped up to my bike. (I shall call him Mr. Water.) Mr. Water asked what kind of bike it was (now if that isn't a pick up line, I don't know what is) and as I stared into his blue eyes (brown short hair with bits of gray flaked into the side, for those of you who are curious), he told me all about a trip he'd taken with his twin brother years ago. He apparently rode a BMW F650 GS to Mexico and Belize. I could have talked to him all day and had he asked me to stay and never leave, chances were pretty good I would have. But alas, he didn't ask, and I was back on the road around 2:00 pm. (I just KNOW right now he's kicking himself for not coming back to Subway to find me, and truth be told, I waited an extra five minutes just in case.)

Near the top of Blizzard Gap with beautiful views.

Lakeview, OR to Denio, NV on Highway 140 was a dream come true. Traffic was minimal and there were many of the 81 miles when I was without a view of another vehicle. One section about mid-way through and slightly before the border had me climbing in elevation (Blizzard Gap) at a severe incline. The road follows the mountainside and seems to go on forever. It is lacking one important item: guardrails. I was on this stretch that I suddenly realized I have a bit of an issue with heights. When I pulled over to take a photo I waked near the edge and thought about all the ways my photo op could go bad. Apparently I have an obsession with negativity.

Hwy 140 from Denio to Winnemucca: long and straight!

Denio to Winnemucca was a straight stretch from hell. The pavement was new blacktop which you could see the heat rising off. The two rest stops had tiny canopies for shade which were both occupied. The bathrooms smelled like hot sewage (hmm, wonder why?) and I quickly realized riding in the heat was better than being stationary in the rest stop. One of the rest stops even had a gaggle of forest service men hanging out, but after realizing I'm old enough to be one of their parents, the allure faded. Why can't time stand still???

As I passed Denio I DID NOT fuel up, discounting the Subway lady's suggestion. I was on top of the world, still picturing Mr. Water in my mind. When my miles clicked over 200 and the gas light came on Mr. Water was suddenly replaced with the old lady and her advice to get gas in Denio. As I sludged ahead with about 30 miles until the next fuel stop I started thinking maybe unsolicited advice is better than unrequited love. Maybe.

My motel room, someone spilled a can of "gross".

Fueled up in Winnemuca, I had about 51 miles on Interstate 80 to Battle Mountain. On advice from Jerry in LaPine, I am cozied up in the Owl Casino and Motel. It has an air conditioner and a toilet. That's about all I care to mention. He said it wasn't great but it was cheap. He was spot on! I'll be lucky if I don't get bed bugs. But, after riding about 419 miles today, I am tuckered. I'll probably spend the night peering out the window to ensure Runkle doesn't get stolen. (And Yes, those are stains on the carpet.)

Tomorrow I head, against Subway lady's advice (again), southward. She told me to just stay on Interstate 80 as long as possible, but the thought of riding 75 mph when it's allowed isn't much fun. I'm attempting to stay on as many highways as possible and leave the interstate to those who chose to reduce fuel consumption and drive or ride like maniacs. In Oregon, it's "55 to stay alive" so going 75 (with permission) makes me cringe. I'm torn between riding what is known as "The Loneliest Highway in the World" (Route 50) or staying on the side road and hitting the "Extraterrestrial Highway"(98 miles of road near Area 51 and reportedly the most "visited" areas in the country). I'm betting the Extraterrestrial will win the battle. After all, I hear there is a GIANT extraterrestrial in some parking lot near the road. Who wants to miss that???

Oh, and Mr. Water, I'll be stopping back through Lakeview in about two weeks if you want to meet at Subway.

Ride Log 4: Texas Bound: August 2011

2011-07-31T13:15:00.001-07:00

I'm ready to roll!

I've been reading Neal Peart's Ghost Rider (thanks, Ash!) for the last few nights to get into the groove. He's amazing and the book is really neat. It's crazy to think he's not even from Oregon yet he's seen more of it than I have! Not cool, Neal, not cool.

I've packed what seems important. I always overpack, which is DEATH on a moto, since that means I'm underpacking what I really need. But, I'm going to be hanging with friends for a few days so I wanted to make sure and bring at least something that was presentable. (Good thing I'm low maintenance because "presentable" to me means something totally different than to everyone else.)

I dropped Trout off this morning. She's in good hands with Marti, Kyle and the kidlets. I bet she doesn't even notice I'm not around. I've been going room to room looking for her and picking up her toys, smelling them as I put them in her toy area and she's probably playing and running around with a big smile on her face. (Ok, the smelling them part was a joke, I'm not crazy yet!)

My first stop is Bend, OR to stay the night with Kelli and Jerry, my surrogate parents. So far, that's the only place I know I'll be. The rest of the trip is still an unknown, other than the fact that I'll eventually end up in Lubbock, TX, which is about 1726 miles and 27 hours from me now. Yesterday I rode around while doing errands and started asking myself what the heck I was thinking. Texas alone? People do it all the time without fail but for some reason it seems daunting to me. Most of the people I meet say they wish they could do a trip like that...I supposed motorcycling across country is much like skydiving...there are those who do and those who wish they could. Thanks to my friend Kristie I've already done the skydiving (which was a crazy "what was I thinking" moment for sure). So I guess this is the next logical step.

So, I'll post more about my gear and update ya'll along the way. Before I go, a big shout out to Giant Loop (http://www.giantloopmoto.com/) for the sweet white Diablo tank bag and the Great Basin Dry Bag. Both products are awesome! More to come on those!

Be safe ya'll. I'm off....to unpack some of the extra clothes...forgot to leave space for my laptop! Doh!

Ride Log 3: Texas Bound

2011-07-30T09:11:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I hit the pavement towards Bend, OR to stay overnight in comfort before pointing Runkle southwest to Texas. I should be running around putting the finishing touches on my packing and planning but instead I'm resting while Trout sleeps. I listen to her as she dreams and watch her legs twitch, only imagining what could be going through her mind. She has no clue as of yet that I'm off for two weeks and I'll leave her behind. Once I start packing there will be no denying it and she'll get all frazzled and confused. I like to think my procrastination is just helping her stress levels stay down.

View from my back porch

In truth, I want to ride but I am being lazy enough to think it will be easy to just throw some stuff in a bag and head off. I'm sure in an hour I'll be running around like a crazy fool. Right now, I am enjoying the morning, the sun warming my legs, the wind rustling the trees and the sounds of birds fluttering. This moment is what I've been searching for in life. Just this single moment with a devoted friend (who happens to be a dog) and the peace that surrounds the stillness.

Trout: Best Friend, Alarm Clock, Sympathizer, Enabler, Garbage Disposal and Bird Chaser.

Soon enough, I will be off on the moto toward the BMW shop yet again, to exchange and obtain the correct part to enable my camera to work on the bar mount of Runkle. Then I'm sure to have hours of rushing around, attending to details that should have long been attended.

Enough, huh? One more look at the view.

I'm off to plan what should be planned.

BMW FORK FAILURE: Has this happened to you or someone you know?

2011-07-20T19:56:00.000-07:00

If you know of anyone who has had this occur on their BMW 650 GS, can you contact me? I can be reached at bmwgsgirl@gmail.com

Thanks!

Ride Log 2: Texas Bound: August 2011

2011-07-17T20:58:00.000-07:00

Prepping for the directionally challenged.

I'm calling what I'm doing prepping since "planning" seems like it would require a spreadsheet and some maps. I am more of a "throw what you can into a bag the night before" kind of gal. But, I do realize there are some things I need to ensure are done before my trip. One, that the bike is up to date on maintenance. Since I just got my 600 mile service done about 400 miles ago, I figure the bike is golden. I still have to grab some grease for the chain and a good tire pressure gage, but other than that I'm calling it good on the bike prep aside from the bags I'll be carrying.

Two, I need to avoid getting lost. Since I practically get lost just walking to my mailbox I figure one of the most important things I can have on my moto trip is a GPS. I hate to admit it to ya'll (just practicing the lingo), but I am too cheap to buy a nice and expensive GPS specifically for my moto. I mean, I have one for my personal car, one for the work car and one for the phone. Do I really need to shell out big bucks for one specifically for my moto? I think not.

I contacted BMW Motorcycles of Western Oregon http://www.bmwor.com/ and spoke to Scott (owner) on the tele about what I would need to use my Garmin Nuvi GPS. He was quite nice and I was impressed with his willingness to help. (This store has some great people working, but there are times when I feel like they don't have the time to help me, so trust me, this was refreshing.) I told him I'd stop by the next day and see what he had to offer.

When I arrived Scott actually had about six different things all tucked safely in a box with my name on it. Basically, he said I'd need some RAM Mounts http://www.ram-mount.com/ in order to make the GPS fit appropriately. I'm glad Scott was there to help. Frankly, I would have been lost (see how directionally challenged I am?). Apparently the RAM mounts come in pieces, a double socket arm, a base, a round base, a connector to the bike's handlebars. Really? They can't just put all the stuff you need in one nice package and call it good? Scott actually walked me over to a BMW GS and had me sit on it. He showed me how everything was going to hook up and how to position the mounts. We talked about the GPS and also how I'd be carrying my cell phone and possibly an Ipod. Scott suggested I use an SAE cable that would fit right into the SAE cable that BMW Motorcycles installed before I bought my bike (thanks for that, by the way, it's a great addition!). This would help me avoid using the socket that came with the BMW and eliminate a cord hanging down the side of the bike. Scott was also nice enough to bring up the fact that I could purchase a SAE connector that had two sockets, so I could charge my GPS while also charging my phone or other items. (Seriously, I probably wouldn't have thought of that until I was on the road.) He even suggested I get longer screws for one of the mount pieces, just in case.

Scott also brought up the fact that if I didn't like the mount set up I could always use a tank bag and put the GPS in the map pocket. He even took the time to show me a few different tank bags. This was definitely not the service I was used to so when everything was rang up (mounts, not a tank bag), despite the price of $96.00 I felt like I came out ahead.

And, $96.00 won't bother me at all when I'm on a road surrounded by nothing and hear banjos playing and pigs squealing. Knowing which way to turn to get out of there will be priceless.

Thanks to Scott from BMW Motorcycles of Western Oregon for taking the time to help!

Ride Log 1: Texas Bound: August 2011

2011-07-17T19:54:00.000-07:00

It was around 10:30 PM and I was riding to my house, the full moon guiding me on a dark country road. I was wearing my riding pants and jacket but because of the distance I had to go (a mere 11 miles) and the weather, I chose to slip on a pair of converse instead of my heavy boots. It's always a mistake when I do that, since I spend most of the ride imagining what would become of my ankles if I were to crash. And, well, to be honest, once I start imagining that, my mind leads me to other areas as I replay my imaginary crash bit by bit in slow motion. First, I weave to avoid the deer and then the rear tire hits gravel and I quickly over compensate with a fast turn and a slamming of the breaks. In my mind, I'm razzled and accidentally hit the front brakes instead of the rear (and trust me, this is something I would totally do) and am thrown over the handlebars and onto the ground. I land on my shoulder and as I tear all the muscles and dislocate the shoulder, my head contacts the ditch and causes a concussion and a bit of whiplash. Not to be forgotten, my hip slaps the ground and the hip padding that has always seemed too bulky suddenly is wholly inadequate. I begin my slide into the far side of the ditch as the bike follows me and almost tumbles over me. In my mind I lay there until a car sees what's left of the bike and stops to find me, battered and bruised but only managing to mumble, "My bike, how's my bike?"

This is not the first time my imagination has led me down a path of destruction compliments of my riding. However, this was the first time that I stopped to imagine what would hurt the worst. Would it be my shoulder, which took the brunt of the fall, or my ankles, raw from being dragged on the asphalt and then pushed into the dirt, bloody and bony? After much consideration I suddenly realized the damage to my body would be painful but eventually I'd get over it. It would be my pride that would be tortured. My pride that would have me looking down in shame as anyone asked what happened.

My pride? Would that really matter? Not just yes, but HELL yes. That put some things into perspective for me.

I thought of all the times I'd dreamed of a destination but didn't even begin the journey because there were too many unknown variables. One, I didn't make the time. Two, I didn't really want to go alone. Not that I was afraid, but more that I'm pretty clueless when it comes to the bike. I don't know how to do things that I should know how to do. Tire problem? Oil light on? Bike running rough? Not running at all? Stopped on the side of the road with no cell coverage and no one to call anyway? What would I do? And would some dude pull up and in two seconds fix the issue, walking away, shaking his head at how silly I was for being out there alone with no idea?

I realized those issues wouldn't be the end of the world. I would get past them. I would find help, get back on the road and carry on. That's what I've always done. Pick myself up and carry on. There is no reason I wouldn't do the same thing as far as the bike is concerned. Suddenly, riding to Texas didn't sound so difficult. I'd always wanted to do it, had in fact been threatening to make the ride for about three years. What was stopping me this year? Just myself.

So I did what anyone who has just faced an imaginary wreck would do. I put two weeks of vacation on the work calendar and cancelled my summer class. I contacted my friend in Texas and told her to expect me in early August. I rounded up a dog sitter, house sitter and someone to water my garden. And guess what? None of that was difficult.

Now, if only I was actually a planner. What I've accomplished thus far has little to do with the trip itself and everything to do with trying to get my work done in order to go. The hardest part was that first step, actually admitting that if I didn't go now, I probably never would. I finally faced the fact that I had more to lose by NOT going than by going. When you realize that there is no question about your next step. The only question left is where the journey will take you.

And that's what life is about. The Journey.

Milner: Someday. That's a dangerous word. It's really just a code for 'never'. (Knight and Day, 2010)

Chris Kilcullen Memorial Ride, June 2011

2011-07-06T20:46:00.000-07:00

Last month I had the pleasure of tagging along with 250 fellow motorcycle enthusiasts on the Chris Kilcullen Memorial Ride (http://www.chriskilcullenmemorialride.webs.com/) which was organized by Brian Antone (Springfield Police Department). The event raised money for Kilcullen's wife and two girls and covered 248 miles from Eugene, OR to Sisters, OR. The number of miles, 248, was a tribute to Kilcullen's badge number. I've gone more than 248 miles in one day but never had the privilege of doing so with 250 other riders.

My first thoughts of the day? Simply, "gosh I hope I don't make an arse of myself." Which, of course, I promptly did by forgetting to put up my kick stand while attempting to pull out behind the minivan which was our pace vehicle. Hey! Guess what? I killed the bike and thought I heard one of the Harley rider's yell, "Kickstand!" If that's not making an arse of oneself, I don't know what is. Things improved from there until I ended up following about five riders who appeared to have gone a different way from the pace van (later I found out the van actually took a wrong turn). It was at that moment, only about a half an hour from my house, where I thought, "I can just go home, no one will notice." But I kept on and eventually we ended up in Sweet Home, OR. I was amazed at how many bikes filled the parking area (Thanks, Sweet Home PD). Upon leaving Sweet Home I tried to stay with the van and ended up cutting some Harley riders off. Oops. My bad. That left me with some choice words for myself, and I actually thought, "Thank gosh there are police officers present just in case I have to kick some butt." Okay, really, I thought, "I hope those Harley riders forget the color of my bike before we stop in Sisters." Turns out those Harley riders are awesome dudes and dudettes and I had nothing to worry about. But, I would by lying if I told you that cutting off a bunch of leather clad Harley riders didn't give me pause. I had ample time to consider my actions and actually thought about throwing myself at their black leather boots and offering to lick them clean. Thank goodness that wasn't necessary.

I have never been around that many riders before and I can't see myself doing it again unless I have the privilege to do this ride again. I'm more of a "lets take our time and check out the scenery" rider who likes to go fast or slow, depending on how the spirit is moving me at any given moment. Trying to keep up with others is torture for me. When I do that, I feel like a 90 year old who is going to have a heart attack at every corner. I worry about the people behind me and the people in front of me. Heck, I even worry about the people a mile away. I ended up at one point trapped behind a Honda scooter riding dude (seriously) who for some reason waved others past but didn't wave me by. I wondered if he could tell that I was a girl or if he just thought I'd eventually get tired of following him and go home.

When we arrived at Sisters (Thanks Sisters School District for the parking area) there were many many bikes already there. There were Hondas (more than just the scooter dude) and Suzuki's, Yamaha's and Harleys. There were even a few bigger BMW's, not many, and we were all outnumbered by the Harleys. One guy even had a dog on the back of his bike. If that's not cool, I don't know what is. I can picture Trout on my bike and think she'd probably want to be in control of the throttle. Needy, greedy lab. A leisurely lunch at the local pub with some great gals who actually tolerated me was followed by a relaxing time lounging in the grass, hanging out and chatting with our new found friends.

Harley Riders & Van Chicks, (photo: Lori Bumgardner)

On the ride home I cut away from the pack and headed to Salem while the rest went on to Eugene. I waved goodbye and smiled for the next fifty miles, thinking of how great it was to be a part of something for such a good cause and counted my blessings. I had met some wonderful people who made me laugh and consider possibilities I'd never pondered. One thing I learned was that waving constantly to other bikes makes your arm hurt, but more importantly I learned that it's not important to keep up with the crowd but to forge ahead at your own pace. I also learned not to be so judgmental of others. I mean, just because they aren't riding BMW's doesn't make them bad people. In fact, the Harley riders who stayed with the van were great people. Ones I'd be proud to call my friends.

So here's a shout out to everyone who joined the Memorial Ride. Kudos for taking the time out of your day to share stories and laughter. A big THANK YOU to those who helped raise around $10,000 for the Kilcullen family, a HUGE tip of the hat to Brian Antone for putting the ride together and for the volunteers who checked everyone in at the start of the ride, and a heartfelt hug to those special Harley riders who showed me it's not the color or brand of your bike that matters, but that you ride.

Moto Gear: SCORE! AD-1's from Aerostich

2011-07-06T20:10:00.000-07:00

Hey All! I've been needing new gear for the longest time but have been having difficulties trying to decide what to get. It seems like there are so many options...and yet even at lunch I have a hard time ordering. Can you imagine me surfing the internet looking for the perfect jacket and pants? Whew. In the end, I've decided to stay with what I know and ordered a pair of Aerostich pants.

I've had a pair of Aerostich Darien pants for about the last five years. I've loved these pants. They are the perfect outer layer when it rains, or when it's hot, or when I want to wear shorts and still be protected. Aerostich has improved the pants and now have a pair called AD-1's. I have to tell you, I was a little hesitant to do anything other than the Dariens since they have served me well. But, on first glance, these AD-1's are another WIN for Aerostich. I'll let you know how I feel about them in a few months when they are more flexible and have been worn a bit. As of now, I can tell you, if you are looking for a pair of pants that fit in the WIN column, check these out. These pants have pockets of plenty, improvements to ensure they zippers are more waterproof (though I never had a problem with the Dariens) and have closures on the pockets (which the Darien's lacked) so you can ride assured your valuables won't be slip sliding out.

Now, about that jacket....I'm kind of wondering if I shouldn't go for the Darien jacket as well...I mean, after all, why mess with a good thing? Aerostich has my vote thus far. Check out Aerostich here: http://www.aerostich.com/

Thumbs up from bmwgsgirl!

Runkle and Onewheeldrive.net

2011-05-19T17:46:00.000-07:00

If you ever see this...STOP!

Hey all, sorry about not writing. I know my two viewers (Hi Mom and Dad!) have probably been wondering what I've been up to. Well, Runkle (my new G650GS) has been rarely getting out due to the fact that I injured my foot. I've been in a walking cast for the last month or so after foolishly attempting to get on a bicycle without hurting the already sensitive plantar fasciitis I'd acquired by going to a boot camp (I swear, I'm too old for that crap). What did I do? I overextended the muscle at the bottom of the foot causing a partial rupture of the plantar fascia. I knew it hurt but finished a 4 mile ride since I was already on then the next day noticed the bruising on the bottom of my foot. Well, and I wasn't able to walk...that was a sure sign of something! I called my doctor who made time for me that day (unheard of!). He informed me I'd ruptured the tendon and would be needing to stay off the foot and use a walking cast for a month! What the! So, new shiny bike is in the garage and I'm finally walking without the boot on a daily basis. Today was the first day of no boot all day and plenty of walking and I'm feeling the pain. Oh well, learned a valuable lesson: bicycles are bad.

In my off time I've been attempting to write a bit for an online magazine, Onewheeldrive.net. You can check them out now and see my first published article about my bike, Runkle. Basically I combined a few stories from here and rewrote them to introduce the bike to my ever growing fan base. (Yeah, I mean the two people who read this and also my friends whom I force to read my stuff under penalty of my singing at the next karaoke night).

So please, stop by http://www.onewheeldrive.net/ and check out my story about Runkle. The direct link is here: http://www.onewheeldrive.net/2011/05/17/returning-to-a-brand-a-story-of-2-bmws-and-1-jack/
More to come as I am able to ride again...Be safe all!

Moto Officer: Chris Kilcullen, Eugene Police Department EOW 4.22.11

2011-04-29T21:50:00.002-07:00

A week ago today Eugene Police Officer Christopher Kilcullen was fatally shot while in the line of duty. He had been with Eugene Police Department for 12 years and was most recently a motorcycle officer. His friends, family, wife and two beautiful children were left to wonder how something so awful could occur to someone so wonderful. Since that time I've read numerous articles about what reportedly happened (with accounts varying by station), what should have and could have happened.

I found myself at his memorial today along with approximately 5,500 other people who were either lucky enough to have met and been a friend to Officer Kilcullen, had simply a passing encounter, or just wanted to pay their respects. There was a sea of uniforms, dark blue, light blue, shades of green and red from the many law enforcement personnel who were in attendance. One officer on the shuttle with us was from California. One honor guard member was from Canada. Others proudly wore badges from Gresham, Multnomah County, Portland, Bend, Rainer, St Helens, Cottage Grove, and every place in between and farther away. There were TSA agents and Forest Service enforcement there too. An equal opportunity mourning location.

I'd never been to a police memorial before. What struck me was the silence. A silence so loud that my heartbeat seemed a disruption, my occasional sniffle an obstruction to the cause. Bag pipes that I'd heard before never sounded as beautiful, and photos I'd had the opportunity to review before never shined so bright. The Honor Guard, slowing walking two by two to the front of the room then back somehow made me feel secure in knowing that even though Chris was gone, someone else would still be there to fill the gap. The end of watch call out brought tears when I thought I'd finally found the strength and courage to hold them back. And now, hours later, I am still fighting a battle inside myself, willing myself to be a better person and to remember that the best people always leave us early. They are here briefly to show us the way then they go, confident that we can follow the example they have left us.

It is because of Officer Kilcullen's tragic death, his life cut short much before his time, that I am trying to be a better me. Trying to follow the advice Officer Kilcullen's dad gave at the funeral. John Kilcullen made a point to remind all of us that making time for family is important because you never know when you won't have tomorrow to share with them. I've been thinking about this more as I age. It's not just family though, it's friends as well. I rush to work then rush home to rush to the gym to rush some place else. When there's a break I am alone, content in the quiet peacefulness of my own world. I don't stop to question what would happen if tomorrow never came. I am always so sure tomorrow is a few hours away, waiting patiently for me. I don't call that friend whom I care about when I stop to think of her because I am sure there will be time later. The years tick past as if they are simply seconds until I realize that friend I held dear is almost a stranger and that family, well I don't even know them, either.

I hope this tragedy that has befallen Officer Kilcullen's family (which includes EPD) will make everyone stop and do what his wife requests. It's not much, just tiny things that will make you a better person and the world a better place. Because, as Mrs. Kilcullen said, and everyone would agree, that's what he did.

"Be kind to one another.

Do something nice for a complete stranger when no one is looking.

Volunteer at a school.

Adopt a sweet animal at Greenhill (Humane Society).

Tell your wife that she is stunning without even trying.

Give someone a compliment because it is true."

It's time to follow his example.

____________________
Christopher Kilcullen March 22, 1968 - April 22, 2011

Moto Gear: BOOTS!

2011-04-23T14:38:00.000-07:00

I'm looking for some cool duds to wear on my new bike, Runkle. I thought I'd start small with boots since I'd love a pair for off road use. I'm currently styling in my Danners (goretex) while cruising around town. I'd like something that offers a bit more support that's easy to put on and can take abuse better than the leather of my Danners. I hate scratches and knicks in stuff, so a knicked toe and I'm peeved.

Icon Hella Womens Street Boots

I started checking out various sites and when I looked at women's boots, well, this is black and red two buckled dream came up. I think the Icon's are a pretty sweet pair of boots and if I were going out on the town I know they would impress my friends. But, on the bike? How can I be taken seriously when I'm wearing heels on a dual sport? (I do like the colors, though!)

Oneal Element Boots

Ok, that was fun, now onto some serious boot reviewing. My next attempt was to just type in "women's motorcycle boots" in Google. Everyone loves a good Google (or two). What I found was not impressive to say the least. There were various versions of black boots with different heels that are supposed to make you look sexy while riding (I don't look sexy anytime so why try to when I'm riding?) and other boots that were very "chunky" (which I can relate to) that appear to be made mostly for girlie Harley riders who want to look macho. Finally I Google "women's motocross boots."

Alpinestars Stella Tech 6

I mean, it can't get any worse. The first site that comes up offers me the Oneal boots. Cute, functional, flares of pink. Unfortunately, I'm one of those girls who isn't incredibly fond of pink. I am goo goo for the color red and that's about as close to pink as I can get. I don't like to advertise that I'm a chick on the bike. Pink screams "girl rider waiting for you to ridicule." I mean, the one time I accidently forget to put the kick stand up while attempting to ride away becomes a whole "chicks shouldn't ride" episode if there's any pink involved. (Not that I know what happens if you forget to put the stand up.) The Oneals are around $100 but I can't tell if they are waterproof. I need waterproof since I live in Oregon and the weather here is mostly rain with showers thrown in. And, frankly, I worry about the quality of a pair of boots that are so economically priced. I like the look of the Alpinestars Stella Tech 6 boots which come in around $199 on sale (regularly $279). But, again, no mention of water resistance or proofing. This is more work than I had anticipated or wanted.

Anyone want to share what they are wearing? How do they fit? Any suggestions? Is waterproof/gortex important or worth the cost? Help me before I drown in a sea of high heel motorcycle boots fit for a porn star!

May 6, International Female Ride Day: Just Ride!

2011-04-06T17:04:00.000-07:00

Reviewing One Wheel Drive.net (http://www.onewheeldrive.net/) I happened across their article on May 6th and International Female Ride Day. My thought: I must research this.

International Female Rider's Day began in 2007 as a way to get women on motorcycles to "just ride." What's exciting about International Female Rider Day is that women around the world, including "Canada, United States, Australia, England, The Netherlands, Greece, Italy, Poland, Israel, Qatar, Denmark, and Russia as well as other countries will be contributing to the campaign in compelling numbers." (http://www.motoress.com/PressReleaseFRDFeb2011.htm).

On Friday, May 6th take the day off , hop on your bike and ride baby ride! There is no better way to support women and motos!

The Bike That Got Away...2001 BMW F650GS

2011-03-31T17:53:00.000-07:00

My first BMW: 2001 BMW G650GS

Ever wonder what happened to that bike that got away? I once had a 1964 Sears Allstate (Vespa) scooter that haunts me still. And, I have a particular fondness for my first BMW, a 2001 F650GS in titan blue. I bought the bike in 2004 from Sparks, NV (http://www.sierrabmw.com/) from a salesman named Lane. We did everything online and sight unseen I traveled from Salem, OR to Sparks to pick up this beautiful bike with only 1688 miles. My boyfriend at the time rode it from the dealership as I was too scared to ride it through the mean streets and traffic. Once out of town I got on the thing and rode like a granny all the way home. We went around 500 miles in one day...the first time I'd ever ridden anything other than a scooter for more than an hour. As you can imagine, I wasn't prepared. It rained like crazy for probably 100 of those miles and I had just my moto jacket, ski pants and tennis shoes keeping me warm. Every time the wind blew it felt like I was going to tip over and by the time we hit my parent's house in Lowell, OR (about two hours from Salem) my fingers were permanently stuck bent. I have bragged that since I survived that ride I know I can survive anything.

Eventually there was a parting of ways with the boyfriend and the bike. I sold the bike with about 6000 miles on it to a man who lived in Corvallis, Art. (The boyfriend, well I wish I'd have gotten some cash for him.) About a year later I checked in on my old blue bike and Art said he was looking to sell. I did the only logical thing and bought the bike back (he'd put around 2000 miles on it!).

Reunited again, I vowed never to part. We rode and rode until one day a big blue R1200 GS caught my eye. I know it was wrong but still I did the unthinkable. I bought it. Sitting side by side in the garage the 650GS (now with 18,000 miles) and 1200 GS (2 miles) were the most beautiful things you could imagine. But I knew our time together was short and that I clearly did not need to keep the 650. So off the bike went again. This time, to Washington State. Farther out of my mind and grasp.

Forks...shouldn't they be attached???

The other day I emailed the lucky guy who bought the bike and found out my beautiful blue 650GS was no more. He experienced a major malfunction of the fork at the axle hub while riding at about 10 miles per hour and went head and shoulder first into the pavement. An injured shoulder and one totaled bike later the blue GS has passed beyond my reach.

It turns out the guy I sold it to was lucky...to not be seriously injured in the crash. And I, well I count myself kind of lucky that I sold it. I had no idea when I sold the bike to him that there had been reports of issues regarding his problem on the forums. (see Adventure Rider, http://www.advrider.com/forums/showthread.php?t=393785 for more information) And not one dealer had ever mentioned, during service or otherwise, that this could happen. I guess anything can happen when you ride but one doesn't really expect danger to be lurking on the bike instead of around the bike. Based on what I've read the 2002(ish) and earlier bikes are only the reported ones with potential issues and BMW has since slightly redesigned and reinforced the area in question. I can only hope that's the case, especially since I'm now riding the 2010 version of this bike!

Farwell my Titan blue baby...farewell.

The Perfect Accessory: A fantasy Giant Loop Tail Bag, "The Trout Tail"

2011-03-27T21:04:00.000-07:00

"Charlie Brown's" F800GS

"Oh God! It's starting to rain!" That's what the man said. But imagine it coming from Charlie Brown and you'll get the flavor. It was entertaining but more so, shocking. This big, tough man living in Oregon concerned about a little rain! Imagine!

We were standing outside BMW of Western Oregon (http://www.bmwor.com/) talking about his BMW F800GS, a beautiful bike three years old with luggage that was my current envy.

I've been riding around on my fancy new G650GS and pondering luggage. My first trip on the bike made me realize I needed something. That feeling was exemplified on my second trip as I was headed to downtown Portland to go paddling (dragonboat dork, yep). I had fancy paddle bag strapped around my body (one end in the air and the other flapping against the bike), a personal flotation device with a rain jacket, Teva's, and a pair of rain pants bungee corded to the back. Too much stuff and no where to put it, in the pouring rain.

Ocelot 17 liter tail bag

What I really need is something like what Charlie Brown has. I mean, that bag...he says it was only $80 and it expands. But, security? Nil. I mean someone can just come and take the thing off and walk away. And it's much too large to be packing in and out of my office downtown from the parking garage. Maybe I need hardcases. Jesse Bags are only around $1000 and they offer security...but they won't come off easily. I think this time around I want something that will be removable so I don't have to pack around that extra weight when I'm not using it. The Giant Loop bag would be great, but at times it's too big, especially to throw on when it's not in use. I think I've come to the conclusion that my ideal bag would be able to scrunch up into a smaller bag...maybe fit in a tail bag that has a strap that I could easily remove and carry with me when I go into stores. But, if I'm putting a bag into a bag why not just use the tail bag? I have one, a Ocelot 17 liter tail bag that has about four rides on it. It's in perfect condition except the huge seam rip out that occurred the second time I used it. I would have returned it but I kept it in the closet for about six months before I made that second trip with it. Way past return time. I've been stuck with this great bag of crappy quality for years. Sides, in Oregon I really want something waterproof. The Ocelot came with one of those black bags you can slide over it when the rain starts. What a pain.

Maybe what I need is a Giant Loop (http://www.giantloopmoto.com/) quality tail bag. Something for those days when I don't need all the space of the Great Basin but need more than the tank bag or the Coyote can offer. You know something waterproof with nice zippers (or roll down top, I won't be picky), strong material that comes in awesome colors. About 17-20 liters with some height, a couple external pockets, and bungees or straps holding it down for quick release and easy access. Is that really too much to ask for?

Apparently.

Maybe Giant Loop could at least consider it if it's not already on their list. I mean, I am more than happy to offer up a name for it: The "Deschutes Tail Bag." The name is in support of the mighty Deschutes River in Bend (where Giant Loop is located). I was going to go with the "Trout Tail Bag" (in honor of my Chocolate Lab, Trout and of course, the fish that comes out of the Deschutes) but I figured that may be pushing it a little.

I think I'll shimmy over to the truck stop and see if I can pick up some trucker's tarp. Someone's gotta have an industrial sewing machine, right?

My new bike: Ooops! I did it AGAIN!

2011-03-20T18:47:00.000-07:00

Stopped by BMW Motorcycles of Western Oregon (http://www.bmwor.com/) last week and found the bike I didn't know I was looking for. Yesterday I rode the thing home and now it sits, happy as a clam in my garage. I know some of you will be disappointed to hear I slinked back to BMW without even test riding my much coveted Triumph Street Triple. But, once I saw this bike in person I really couldn't pass it up. The bike is a 2010 BMW G650GS in what is probably known as some fancy version of red (with some orange thrown in for good measure). I'm sure simply calling it "red" is an understatement. The bike had a total of six miles on it as I rode it away. ABS, center stand and heated grips came standard and I forked over some extra green to get the grip guards (which were in stock thankfully!) Thanks to BMW of Western Oregon I'll be getting my 600 mile service for FREE (now that's a deal) and I did get 10% off the price of the guards. The bike itself was priced reasonably as the 2011's are already on the shop floor.

Does this bike make my butt look fat???

I've learned from my previous mistakes and did not spring for any side cases. My plan is to try this bike the "light and easy" way and get a Giant Loop Great Basin Saddlebag (http://www.giantloopmoto.com/) and compliment that with the Giant Loop Fandango Tank Bag. This bike is lighter and more maneuverable than my previous 1200 GS and I don't want to lose any of that by adding weight with hardcases. In the short term, I'm stuffing things inside my jacket and riding around like a black and blue Pillsbury Doughboy.

Trout and the new, nameless BMW

This bike is actually my second 650 GS (or third considering I previously bought the same 650GS twice) so I'm familiar with the ride and feel. However, this time it's going to take some getting used to as I've grown accustomed to the 1200GS and the POWER of it. Currently it feels like I'm back on a Vespa, putting around the 'hood weaving back and forth down the street with a silly grin on my face. Of course, the grin probably IS there. I've only put 50 miles on the bike thus far but I can tell you I miss the power and the fact that every little bump in the road didn't vibrate from the tires to the handgrips to your eyeballs. And the wind...oh how much more wind there is! But, I think this is a bike that "fits" me much better. No more climbing onto the thing, no more pulled muscles throwing a leg up and over a 48" spanned rear end (not mine, the GS plus hardcases!). And a bonus I hadn't counted on is the insurance is only $233 a year!

Since this bike is easier for me to maneuver and lighter, I've already taken it places the 1200GS never went. Trout and I took it into the field on a slow ride to the back '40. I was sliding around like a kindergartender on a slip n slide but not once did it cross my mind that I couldn't keep it upright. Frankly at the speed I was going I had a better chance of being abducted by aliens than I did of dropping the bike. After my attempt at coolness in the field (I hope no one saw me), I spent a good hour hosing off the mud and wiping the thing down so water spots wouldn't show. Yeah, I know, a little overkill but still, it's my new baby!

Hoping to ride with some friends to Alaska this summer and you can bet I'll be riding where ever the wind takes me. Thanks BMW of Western Oregon, again, for the awesome new toy.

Now it just needs a name....

Bike Hunting Saga

2011-03-20T15:05:00.000-07:00

With the Beast gone I've spent a fair amount of time thinking about motorcycles and going through what can only be described as moto-withdrawl. I started watching gas prices and freaking out about having to someday drive my gas hog of an Xterra back and forth to town. I was planning trips to the grocery store based on the least amount of gasoline consumption all the while hearing a voice inside my head screaming, "why did you sell your bike, you idiot?"

Idiot indeed. The voices inside my head and the empty spot in the garage gave me extra motivation to investigate bike options. I thought surely I'd skip the BMW this go round since I was tired of the expense of maintenance and determined to prove I could live without a BMW. I went to a local bike shop that sells Kawasaki's, Suzuki's, Yamaha's and all those other brands that most the time I just ignore. I met a great salesman who obviously hasn't spent much time with female riders. He first suggested if I were going to get a dual sport I'd best be suited for the Kawasaki KLR250 (250???) as it would be easier for me to ride and probably accommodate all of my needs and wants. I smiled politely and pretended to have real issues getting onto the thing so he could flex his manly muscles and help me hold up the bike. While I sat on it (in flip flops no less since I didn't want to intimidate the salesmen) I told him I recently rode a 1200 BMW so I thought maybe I could handle a little more power than a 250. Maybe. I mean, if I were really really careful.

Jack (not his real name but since I would like to rename him to Jackass it seems the most fitting) then showed me some other bikes. I sat on about 15 bikes that he carefully pulled away from the other bikes for me to throw my leg over. He was even kind enough to stand with his legs on either side of the front tire and hold the bike while I was on it, "Just in case and for my safety". I asked him once if he thought I was going to drop it and I started using my arms to toss the bike back and forth between my legs. I thought he was going to crap his pants. The bike was light and I was touching flat footed on the ground with about two or three inches of gap between me and the seat when I stood so I figured there would be no way for me to drop the thing. Jack didn't have as much faith. Poor sap.

Tiring of messing with Jack and getting treated like a chick who doesn't know a motorcycle from a lawn mower, I decided to get into specifics with Jack. How many miles can I expect to get from a particular bike earned the response of around 44k. 44k? My BMW would have gotten 144k. What about service costs? Around 200-250 for the full work up. Now that's what I'm talking about! What would you buy? Jack moves over to the VStrom and says he actually has one that's bigger but I'd fit perfectly on the 650. Look at the beautiful pealized paint. Oooh awwww.

Turns out I don't like Jack much. But he has convinced me of one thing. I'm putting my hard earned money into a bike that will last, has a great reputation, and is known the world over as an awesome dual sport.

I head over to BMW Motorcycles of Western Oregon (http://www.bmwor.com/) where I'm sure I'll find the dual sport of my dreams.

The Beast goes to Canada

2011-03-20T14:43:00.000-07:00

Henry, new owner, loading up the Beast

A few weeks ago my beautiful blue 2008 BMW R1200GS touched my driveway for the last time. I didn't get my farewell ride as the funds were deposited into the bank earlier than I'd anticipated. Maybe that's a good thing as I wasn't able to have any last minute doubts about saying farewell to the machine that made me love riding even more than I'd thought possible. My last memories of the Beast will have to be watching it being latched down into the back of it's new owner's truck. Henry and his wife drove from Canada to pick up the bike. As I watched Henry prepping the back of the truck for the bike I realized there was probably no place safer than in Henry's arms for the Beast to be. Six tie downs, a block drilled behind each tire, carpet laid out on the plywood flooring used to extend the truck bed...the Beast had finally found anal-retentive heaven. I imagined it was at that moment of passing from my hands to Henry's that the bike would be it's dirtiest. I'm sure it will be well ridden but I'm confident that every ride "after party" will involves a toothbrush, Q-tips and copious amounts of buffing and waxing.

The Beast got love from me but my rule was to only wash when I was trying to impress. Luckily I don't abide by that in my everyday personal hygiene. I think I washed the Beast twice during the two years I owned it. Once was before a long trip because I thought it only fair that was started on a good note. I think the second time was three days before Henry picked it up. And trust me, that wash job was quick and ineffective for the most part.

The Beast is now simply one of those things I can say I used to have. Like the 1964 Vespa I once owned, the Beast will forever remain one of my favorite things.

I was at BMW Motorcycles of Western Oregon, Tigard (http://www.bmwor.com/) talking to a woman who's husband had just bought a new RT the other day when I mentioned I used to have a 1200GS. She looked at me and asked why I got rid of it. I smiled and said the bike was just too darned good for me. And that it was.

Food Porn: Astoria, OR: Bowpicker Fish and Chips

2011-03-20T14:07:00.000-07:00

Bowpicker Fish & Chips
http://www.bowpicker.com/

Location: 16th and Duane, Astoria, OR

Bmwgsgirl's rating: 10 out of 10

Price: $$

Looking for the most perfect fish and chips you'll ever find? Take a two hour ride on your moto from Portland, OR to Astoria. There, on the north end of town on Duane and 16th you'll find one of the best food "carts" I've ever experienced. It's actually a landlocked boat sitting rather unexpectedly on the burr of a gravel lot.

The Bowpicker has been on the same site for 11 years since this family business opened. They serve fish and chips and only fish and chips. But, they do it superbly.

Half order of heavenly tuna!

There has been a line up the dock and down the stairs every time I've passed. This week I was lucky enough to drive by just as they opened at 11 (sign says 11ish to 6ish Wednesday through Sunday). There were already five people waiting in line. As you wait for your order (which is actually not long at all), you can read about the bowpicker and it's history. Where else can you an education and great fish?

In a town full of fish and chips and breweries fighting for your attention passing this place up would be easy. It would also be one of the biggest mistakes you've ever made. Their fish is fresh tuna that has been beer battered and fried to perfection. Their fries are big and thick cut. I'm not a big fan of fish and chips since they always seem to be soaking in grease. Not these. The fish was perfect (none of that fishy taste either) and the batter was tasty and not too thick.

Great batter and perfect flaky tuna

Prices are reasonable considering what you get: for $7.00 you get a half order which includes three pieces of fish and fries. For $9.00 you get the full order which is five pieces. And PEPSI products! Yippeee!

I highly recommend Bowpicker Fish and Chips and so do the "regulars" I was sandwiched between while waiting in line. One had been coming to Bowpicker since it opened 11 years ago. It's a place where they know your name, are happy to see you, and serve awesome food that will keep you coming back for more. I know I'll be back over and over.

Bye Bye Beast

2011-03-06T18:11:00.000-08:00

Just washed the Beast for the last time ever. It now sits in the garage awaiting pickup this Thursday by a man who bought it after just looking at some photos and trusting things were as I said. Obviously he's from Canada because you probably wouldn't find that in the States!

As I toweled off the Beast I noticed curves that I'd gotten so accustomed to seeing that I didn't even really notice anymore. I took a quick trip down memory lane while I was wiping the last of the water off. I fondly looked back to last May with Jerry and Rusty riding through snowy passes in Montana...scared to death I was going to spill it since I'd never ridden in such conditions. In 2008 just after I bought it I took my friend, Kat for a ride and almost knocked it over at a stop sign when we got lost using the GPS because laughing our heads off since we'd already passed that same spot four times. I remembered a ride along Hwy 14 in Washington following another rider as he pointed out with his foot a rock in the road...and hitting the rock since I was so distracted by his foot. Later as we looked at the view he said, "Least you weren't stupid enough to hit that rock!" I laughed at myself silly and so did he (he didn't have far to go). I remembered countless miles flying up and down I-5 from Salem to Portland commuting to work...and how at least once a week there was a near miss but the Beast always had enough power to quickly get out of the way.

I've loved my BMW 1200GS. I've loved the way it handles, the look, the power, the strength and the reliability. I've loved that it's never let me down though wind storms, sleet and snow. I've loved the way the BMW makes you friends before you even remove your helmet. That strangers share stories with you about their bikes of the past and present. I love the BMW club and their magazine (http://www.bmwmoa.org/). It is because of them that I can go anywhere in the States and I can find accommodations or assistance from fellow riders. It will be a shame to see it go. But, I think we part at a perfect moment in time. We part when we don't have to simply because it's time for each of us to go our own ways. I think the Beast will be happy in Canada with someone who will ride it more and probably wash it more often. Someone who will love it just as much as I have.

And me, I'm already trying to figure out my next adventure and the bike that will get me there. I look back fondly to my time with the Beast but I look forward to the future more knowing there are so many options and different directions to take.

Maybe a Triumph Street Triple, maybe a KLR, maybe a Suzuki or a Yamaha FJR. Who knows. That's part of the fun...not knowing.

TRON: Ducati, My new love....

2011-02-22T19:05:00.000-08:00

Ducati Sport 1000

TRON Legacy was a movie I didn't expect to enjoy. I guess watching it at Kennedy School (McMenanins http://www.mcmenamins.com/427-kennedy-school-home) helped....trust me beer and a movie is a good thing. But, what made the movie even more spectacular was the Ducati motorcycle. I've never really fancied cafe racers but this is a beautiful bike. Too bad Ducati discontinued it. Ducati just may be my new love....

2011-02-09T21:17:00.000-08:00

I stopped at the Woodburn Honda/Kawasaki store to inquire about the 4 wheeler that's keeping my dog, Trout, happy running through the fields. The wheeler isn't starting. Bums. The service department allows a view of the showroom...just enough to make you want to look more. Since I'm pondering a different bike I thought this time I'd check out the showroom.

I walk in and there are a sea of bikes, mostly big Hondas. But, tucked nicely in the middle is a pod of KLR's. They still had two 2009 bikes, brand spanking new for a price of $5k. They also had a green 2008 KLR in tip top shape, traded in by a 70ish year old man for around $3500. I spoke to the salesman who kept yawning through his speech. My mind was whirling as I inquired about where I'd plug in my heated vest or GPS. The poor salesman looked at me like I had three heads. I explained I've simply grown accustomed to the finer things in life (aka BMW) and wasn't really willing to lose all those luxuries.

It was around that time I realized BMW has spoiled me. Heated vest, secure metal bags, multiple trip counters, a fuel indicator light and an automatic switch over to the reserve. Not to mention a shaft drive which means never having to think about oiling a silly chain.

Surely there is life without a BMW, right?
In what alternative universe is that?

Crazy Bikes: Dragon Trike outside of Scappoose, OR

2011-02-03T18:05:00.000-08:00

On the way to Scappoose, OR (population 6,392) I spotted this little goody and couldn't pass up taking a photo. Does it run? Why was it made? Oh the mysteries of life...