More Motorcycle Camping

I woke late in the tent. I had to crawl out and walk over to the washroom, do the 3 S’s, then come back and make expresso on the wilderness campstove. It tasted good with honey and canned milk.

Laura eventually crawled out of the tent an hour later to go to the washroom to do whatever girls do since they don’t share the same biological functions guys do. She sure likes the shower though. She returned radiant and had expresso while I boiled eggs which we had with the Bavarian smokies.

After all that effort I had to have a nap. Laura rinsed the dishes in the tap by the picnic table then lay down on her air mattress on the lawn to read. After a while I got bored with all the relaxation, fresh air and sunshine.

I geared up and hopped on my motorcycle. Laura was happy just to hang out at the camp with books, magazines, sunshine and fresh air. She asked that I bring her back an apple. Yea, right. I read the book about the snake. New times, though. Men get the apples and take the blame. And they beat the snake, too. A lot of money in fig leaves still.

I drove up Copper Mountain on the Harley and even went a ways up Willis Creek gravel logging road. Going up is easy. I remembered that and turned around before I got too far. I rode back down in first very carefully using all my strength to keep upright on the loose gravel. I drove into Princeton and fueled up before heading north to the lakes.

Parking the motorcycle on the side of road at the second or third one, I walked down to the dock, stripped out of the gear down to shorts and t shirt. Then I set up the fishing rod and watched rainbow chase my lures but refuse to bite. Nature had been feeding them live bait and they were fuzzy. It would have been fly fisherman’s heaven but I only had the spin caster.

So I went swimming instead. I was floating on my back when a dragonfly landing on my nose. That was a first for me. I know my nose is big but to a dragonfly it must have seemed an island. Didn’t stay long. Flitting here and there defending the world from mosquitoes.

Blue sky, cumulus clouds here and there. Some geese with goslings off in the meadow. Green mountains. The water was cool and the atmosphere hot. I just floated and kicked a bit here and there remembering when I was younger I had to swim across lakes. Always had to be going somewhere. Nowhere’s become a lot more attractive with age.

After a while I headed back and climbed out on the dock to lie on a towel till I dried off. Some canoeists came by. Wore those ugly beige Bermuda shorts with matching new Tilly knock off hats. When they left. I was alone again.

After a while I geared up and drove back to Princeton Overwaitea, picked up barbecue chicken, a cold veggie tray and some little potatoes to boil and have with butter. I remembered Laura’s apples.

Laura was pleased I remembered the apples but even more pleased when I showed here the roast chicken I caught in the lake. She thought I was fishing for rainbow but I explained there was no ‘catch and release’ for barbecued chicken.

I’m reading another book, lying down again. Lying around flicking away the occasional ant. There were two mosquitoes yesterday. Some neighbours have come and gone. Others have stayed. We’ve had a couple of the “in passing” campground conversations about nothing in particular.

I walked over to the stream when I got supremely bored with having such a relaxing good time. I waded about in the rushing water splashing water on my sunburn and generally cooling off.

Then I came back and ate an apple. I’m reading a book about espionage. People getting killed and shot and bombed. Nothing like that happening here. Across the road, outside his camper, an old guy is reading a newspaper, probably last week’s. A crow landed on the other picnic table. Laura told me again how much she’s enjoying herself. She’s quite radiant. I think the grass has grown some.

I noticed most of the people here in these campers look really old. I guess too much relaxation can do that to a person.

Princeton Muncipal Campground

Princeton Campsite
We never left the Princeton Municipal Campsite. The plan was to go onto the Okanagan for the dry heat. Larua and I both had colds and taking a medicinal break from the coast was part of the trips design. We found Princeton had heat and dry enough for both of us. Laura wasn’t quick to leave indoor plumbing. The campsite was quiet with lots of elderly people and little kids and dogs and no teen agers. Probably that had to do with the hometown friendly hosts, Karen and Jim, being in a trailer here themselves. It’s a motorcycle campers dream escape with amenities, proximity to food and drinks and restaurants but camping by a river off the highway in the country.
I left Laura to her lawn book reading in the sun while I drove the Harley all over the back country. The Summerland road was a biker’s delight for travelling by farms and ranches on an easy winding road. The Old Hedley was paved but really backcountry. I took my rod and tackle with me planning to catch rainbow because there’s certainly a lot of those about as I’d found on earlier trips but exploring just got the best of me. What’s over the next hill? What’s around the next bend. Pine trees, mountains, streams and rolling ranch country. I had my camera but who wants to stop when the winding rolling motorcycling flow is on one. And what camera captures the wind and the fragrance of pine and sage. Heavenly feelings. Then back at the campsite with the town little more than walking distance I dragged home the Bavarian sausages, rye and cheese wiz I’d captured in a Styrofoam container with cold drinks and ice. Roughing it never got better.

Princeton Motorcycle Camping

It never looks like we’ll get all we pack on the bike. All the gear starts spread out on the living room floor before being stuffed into bags to be hauled downstairs to be loaded on the motorcycle. At this point I’m certain I need an Electro glyde, ie a much bigger bike. Laura is already little so it’s really the tent and camping gear that may just have to go. Motels are the alternative. With that thought I somehow get it all loaded on.
We made it 10 blocks before it shifted and I had to unload and reload and use that many more bungie cords. Then we added gas and the maximum air the manual says the tires need for maximal weight.
“It’s shifted again,” Laura called forward to me as the kitchen sink began to crowd her forward. I pulled over on the Burnaby freeway and used my last bungee cords. Aha!
At the new incredible stupendous ecstactically wonderful Barnes Harley in Langley I coveted the 2009 Ultraglydes and bought 2 more bungee cords. “I’m trying to change my Harley Roadster into a dresser with bungee cords.” I told the clerk. “Here, try these 6 pronged bungee cargo packs.” After that, the load was not going anywhere now.
We lunched at Mohawk, bikers amongst truckers feeling increasing in our element. On the road it was hot and windy with blue sky and pine tree scent. Mountains and rivers and blues and greens. I got another folding fishing rod in the great Hope sport store.
Because of the heat, the Hope police came round and forced us to have wildberry milkshakes. Only because they had a gun to my head did I swallow the cold decadence. I was really impressed with Laura because she was sucking on her straw when the gun was at my head. Friends.
Manning Park was great. Winding roads. Some excitement changing lanes because of the winter road shifts. Despite our weight we were airbourne a few times and I just thought of moguls skiing and motorcycling took the pavement as it eventually came. I lost Laura a few times but she kept getting caught on a bungee cord and springing back down to her seeat in front of the kitchen sink, and biker equivalents of a motorchome behind her sissy bar.
Brown deer and happy brown marmots were in abundance.
Then we were beyond Manning Park headed up to Sunday Summit with all the hairpin turns and steep cliffs. To add to the excitement I had butt ache and began to squirm much to Laura’s horror. Imagine and adult male biker doing the rug like a dog does when the guest are over. That’s what she had in front of her. Not very inspiring.
Eventually, we drove into the Princeton Husky. A mere child on a Honda 550 Nighthawk pulled in beside us looking refreshed with youth and confessed that he too had ridden all the way from Vancouver. He was perky in comparison to my own human puddle of fatigue. Laura and I got a city block further, (how do they measure distance in the country), where she collapsed and sent me in to fetch her a cold A&W Root Beer. I brought her one and had a Root Beer Float in sympathy. Revived we drove a mile further where a sign said Princeton Municipal Campground.
Yes.
It ‘s by the river. They had a spot. We unloaded the bike over the next week, slashing through a Gorgon’s knot of bungee cords and eventually finding the tent. I put it up finally remembering the poles go on the outside when they didn’t fit on the inside.
All the while, a cougar began to stalk Laura. The camp lady had told me about the cougar stalking the campground for the last 24 hours . It must have known Laura was coming. The camplady had had their friend killed by a cougar last year and when Laura asked what we talked about I tried to protect her wilderness innocence. She found out pretty quick though because everyone in the campsite gathered to take pictures of the cougar across the stream staring at Laura.
Soon the police and conservation were called. I showed Laura again how to use the bear banger. Insisted she carry with her and was thankful that the conservation officer opted to shoot the cougar.. “We’ve never had one come right into town like this one. It’s hunting too. “
The shooting caused a drunken city woman and city man without children in a fortified camper to shout obscenities at the police and conservation officer. I told Laura about the cougar which ate the kid who lived next to us in the country and made a point of thanking the police and conservation for protecting us all from what was clearly a rogue animal intent on eating Laura. The dozens of other campers were also thanking the conservation people and police so I assumed they too wanted Laura to live.
Cougar are themselves very tasty. Working with the Indians in the north I was honored to share their meals and cougar fondue was a favourite.
After that I was sent for cold drinks, got on the lightened Harley and drove down the street to town. After picking up pepsi I put in an order for Pizza Delivery. A girl brought it in her truck and it was delicious. I have a battery operated speakers and we listened the Corrs and the new Dylan album while we ate campsite delivered pizza.
Laura is in heaven because there’s a washroom with running water and a shower. She has told me several times about this feature of our ‘roughing it’ experience.
Now we must clean up our campsite so we can get into the tent and read novels by flashlight. I’d say this experience of camping is almost as much fun us kids put up a tent in the backyard in summer time. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear Mom or Dad calling us in the morning for breakfast. Otherwise I’ll have to make expresso before taking Laura into town for a real breakfast.

Thank you

Thank you God of no name, of all names. Generic and specific. Transcendent and incandescent. I am glad to be alive today. I don't know the alternative but I'll take this. The sunshine is a blast. Thank you for the sleep. I have known too many sleepless nights and last night I slept the whole night through waking with only the standard aches and pains. My life is not so much like television. No alien monster has exploded through the wall of my room and eaten my entrails. I have not been bombed by friends or foe. My cat is not dying. I have plants that surprisingly live and fish that even as I speak are swimming contentedly, I believe, in the tank that a wonderful young man made wholesome after I filled it with sludge. Thank you for the friends that make things right after you screw them up. Thank you even now as my boat is being restored and I can dream of sailing once again. Thank you for my body parts that work. Thank you for my education that has helped me appreciate that which is less obvious. Thank you for all manner of matter that comes with discipline and the discipline that I've had to know this all. Thank you for the patience I've had in learning and working. Thank you for the kindness I've had from family and friends. Thank you for my past and my present and my future whatever it may be though I do hope that Arnold Schwartzeneger doesn't have to protect me from cybords or that I must be whipped away with only a towel from the dreaded Vorgon and their awful poetry. Help me to appreciate all that I have and not so often be wanting more and unhappy with the horror of two footightis. Help me to be forever grateful and may I know you the source of all, creator and imminent forever resurrecting imploding exploding energy and light and being and beingness. Thank you friend and parent.

Sumas Goats

These are goats Laura and I stopped to watch when we were motorcycling in the Frazer Valley.

Seeing Kirk Again

"We've known each other since we were 6 years old," he told her, smiling, happy, jubilant. I'd heard the same joy in his voice when we connected earlier by cellphone. Old friends. We hugged as only old good friends do when we met on Granville Island. I'd taken the little ferry boat from West Vancouver. Anticipation.

"I'm at the ferry dock," I told him over the phone. "I"m there too but I don't see you." I looked around for something he'd see instantly. "I'm standing by the two beautiful women." "I see you, now," he said. Little changes. I could have used a dozen architectural landmarks and he'd never have found me. He's human that way. "It was the aesthetic," he said. "Yea, right!". Dirty old men.

Non stop talking till we found a restaurant without a line up. There are that many on Granville Island. On Canada Day. Fireworks in Coal Harbour. Here outdoor muscicians, multitudes. Line ups for food on a holiday evening. Cat's Social House. Great ambience. Vegetarian for him. Steak for me.

I tell of my sailboat. He tells of his Big Sur place in California above Malibu. Cellphone pictures of the mountain views. "Right along the ridge at the fire line. I'm 11 minutes to the beach driving down the narrow winding road. Three hundred motorcycles drive that winding road each weekend just to be up there. That's one of my "pet" geckos. " The last time we got together he told me Angelina Jolie lived down the drive. Now tonight he tells me of his own story of love of dancing and hanging out with old rock and roll musicians at a little Friday night California bar. "They play the Beatles". I remember getting their first album and later the two of us going to their Help movie.

Then we're trying to fit dates to experiences together. "Strawberry Mountain Peace and Love Festival was July 1972." he tells me as we go back memory lane. "I'm sure because that was when God was supposed to appear above Boulder, Colorado." I thank him because I couldn't quite figure out when my first wife and I had gone over to Europe. Now knew it was the fall after we were all together at that festival.

"I was in India later that year. A bunch of us hippies rented a bunch of 747 jets to get to a festival there . Guinness recorded it as the largest non military non emergency air lift until that time."

We'd gone on to the Vancouver Latvian Song Fest before flying to England to buy bicycles for the ride across Europe.

"I loved her, you know. My first wife. We were passionately in love. But just kids." And we talked of women. We always talked of women. "Because the women I married were dancers they made fun of my dancing. To them I couldn't dance. Now I just love to dance and almost every Friday somebody says they like my dancing. I just let loose. You know it was the Wise Eye Coffee house I first let loose dancing." More memories of the Wise Eye Coffeehouse I'd started with the YWCA girls.

Amy, the waitress told us she'd been a gymnast and studied theatre. "We were in the provincial gymnastic championships." I said. "Three of our team went on to win national and international medals." he said.

"You did theatre, too." he said

"Yes, the Manitoba Theatre School and University of Winnipeg Theatre Department." The memories surge back. Gyms and green rooms and forgotten friends.

Then we talked of India. Slum dog Millionaire. Wasn't it amazing how Bombay has grown. "I was there when they still had a 40 watt lightbulb swinging over their main intersection". "We lost track of each other for a few years then Bill wrote me from India." he said.

We'd connected when I got back. Then we talked of our different times in Israel. Him on the kibburtz, me as a pilgrim. He was shot at farming.

Later he and she reminisced of southern France. She lingered pouring coffee and chatting with the customers. I thought of Paris, drinking champagne and eating baget in the early morning hours by the Champs Elysse. They talked of Marseille.

"I"m going back to Minaki end of next week." Minaki. Summer holidays, pickerel fishing and mosquitos. Macdonald's House Boat Stories come to mind.

"We're going motorcycling in the Okanagan."

Too soon the meal was over. Night had fallen. We heard fireworks in the distance.A Gordon Lightfoot song played in the background.

Walking outside the children's store I looked at the time and said, "the last ferry left at 10:30." "It's 10:40. I can give you a ride back." As we walk we talk of mutual knee injuries in the previous year, mine a meniscus, his a patella. Discuss back pains. His got better after he was laid up with the knee injury.

Suddenly some mysterious beautiful dark haired damsel runs up to us and says , "Tell him to give me my keys back."

"Hey man give her keys back," he shouts. Sulky fellow in white shirt further along the street looks back over his shoulder and continues to walk away.

"Would you like to use my cellular phone?" I ask. She curses us, "No one will help anymore." and runs after him.

"I didn't want to hurt him." I say to my friend.

"In your fantasy," he replies.

"No really I'd probably have had to hurt him." I'm remembering my father teaching the two of us and our older brothers how to box. Later he and I studied jujitsu together, my first martial art.

"We're alot older now."

"Yea but I didn't want to hurt him and I didn't want to play rescuing knight."

"In your fantasy. He looked strong and he was younger so he would be a whole lot faster."

"I still would have hurt him. We've still got power. Older we're more powerful. And dirtier."

"We're supposed to be wiser and avoid fights."

"You shouted at him. I wasn't going to get involved except maybe to call the police. And yea, I'm slower and haven't any stamina. I'd have to hurt him quick in the first round because I couldn't go a second. That's why I said I'd have had to hurt him."

"It's not very sexy if you have to ask the rescued damsel to call you an ambulance either. I'd probably get hurt blocking blows. I wouldn't have done more than offer a cell phone either." he said

"I told you the last time I fought this a punk who attacked me I pulled my groin muscle kicking him. I limped for weeks after that."

"I would have broke something for sure. " he said. (Later that night I replayed this scenario and remembered the girl was drunk. The guy had taken her car keys. She was trying to get us to get her car keys back. Getting involved we would have been two sober old guys ganging up on a probably sober young guy to give back car keys to a drunk irresponsible woman who was playing the sexual triangle to get her sick way. He was trying to rescue her from herself, her greatest enemy and we would have been there playing chivalry re runs for indirect sexual gratification. We didn't get involved. Maybe we are getting wise with age. Come to think of it there were alot of drunk women out that night. The angry drunk one trying to get into a fight at the next table for instance. )

"There's the Honda 250 enduro." We're outside Carter's Motor under the Granville Bridge.

"But you've got a 1200 Harley."

"I know but I want a 250 to replace my scooter for off road and city."

"I haven't trusted bikes since I crashed the last one."

"I didn't ride for 15 years after I crashed the Norton but now I love it all over again."

"I'd like to start again on a scooter."

"That's what I did."

Then we were walking down the street. Suddenly he's opening the door of this car and rummaging through the stuff on the seat. Somehow I'd forgotten about key fobs and just saw him opening this strange car and wondering why the guy left the car unlocked. Then I'm wondering why my friend is rooting about in some guys car looking for something to steal. We weren't kids anymore. So I ask him.

"It's my car." I tell him what I was thinking. We laugh.

I remember stealing the car lighter together from unlocked car when we were 13. One day every 13 year old in the school had to have a stolen car lighter. Thinking back most were probably lifted from the family cars. But we had to steal ours. A week later the car lighters were gone and we were all back to lucky rabbit foots.

"This is great car." I said as we were crossing the Granville Bridge. "What make is it?"

"It's the Mercedes I got 3 years ago. "

"Really. I love the sun roof. I've got to get one in my truck. After riding the motorcycle I feel caged."

"I got it because it's got a dozen air bags. I like the safety."

" Harley's don't come with air bags. That's why I pray alot."

Pulling up to the condo complex he said. "You still live here."

"Yea but I'm thinking of living on the boat again. After the repairs are all done. I like this place alot but they don't allow dogs and I want another dog."

And we talked about our dogs, over the years. The family pets and the ones we each had.

Then we talked about our parents. Talking about Dad I saw he was missing his. He'd talked with such pride of his father earlier. Both our mothers were dead too. We'd known each other's families since we were six.

"Next week you're still here. Let's get together for the Tuesday Night Movie."

"I'd love that. This was great. I really enjoyed tonight."

"Me too."

We've known each other since we were six.

GIRI Boat Work Progresses

Tom is a perfectionist. It probably could be treated with SSRI drugs or even neurosurgery. But like the obsessive compulsiveness of most professionals it's of benefit to others. So if there was a drug that removed caring for instance perhaps we wouldn't want our friends to have it. Right now Tom's perfectionism is being applied to the GIRI. If I'd been working on the boat alone once Barry welded the patch on I'd have had the boat in the water but much to my surprise I find that Tom and Barry felt that in addition to the welding to prevent further deterioration the whole interior needed to be sanded and rust proofed and epoxied. And that's what they did. The much larger stronger compression pole than the original factory one is also welded in more solidly. And well Tom was epoxying he looked up at the shameful bow and said that didn't look good against the rest of his skookum repairs. So he removed the dent and epoxied the bow to a pristine crease.

While I was happy to see all the grand foundational work done that bow repair truly lifted my spirits. It was a bit of scarlet letter on the forehead of the boat. I'd been motoring out of Astoria along the Columbia River on a beautiful sunny blue sky calm river day when I decided to read the instructions of the new handheld VHS radio I had, put it together, while making an expresso coffee on the stove. Between the my not paying attention in general and coffee steaming I stepped down below to pour the coffee when the GIRI felt like it had been hit by a tanker. Kabang. It was horrible. I ran up on deck and throttled down as I looked at the huge Channel Marker Buoy some fool had purposefully put in my path. I next ran upfront saw the dint and ran below and checked for leaks. Then I ran back on deck and looked around to see if anyone had seen me and wondered what the fine for banging into a marker buoy might be. The marker buoy was wholly untouched and unmoved so then I began looking around again to see if anyone saw what a fool I was. Then I steamed away hoping no one saw me. Every harbour after some one has been sure to comment on the big dent in the front of my boat. When Ive told them terrorist attacks and such or just mumbled the older boaters have of course smiled. Tom has finally removed any need for me to shuffle my feet on the dock and say something absurd or tell the stupid story of how some stupid fool boater wasn't watching and got away lucky. Anyway I'm really glad no one will know now about that Columbia River incident. The captain was a real bozo that day. The coffee did taste good and the new VHS Hand radio was assembled but still the captain was was real bozo.