So, early Saturday morning, just as we were all finally ready to crash for some much-needed sleep, Paige decided she needed to go to the store one last time. And, a half-hour later, at 7 a.m., she arrived back home on the back of a Gold Wing being trailed by two Harleys.
"They need oil, Mom, and I told them you wouldn't mind being awoken this early and that you'd have the oil or that you'd know where they could get some cause you're a biker too. They're nice guys, Mom. They were at Sturgis. And they have nice bikes--well...two of them, anyway. Come on, Mom, you know you don't mind. Get up. You have oil, don'tcha Mom? 60 weight?"
And from the guys when I went out to the curb to meet them, "We couldn't get away, she wouldn't let us leave...." accompanied by shrugging shoulders and sheepish grins.
I invited them in to have some coffee while we waited for auto parts stores to open. I offered 50-weight, but the oil-seeking biker was stubborn. I didn't have much hope (60-weight, in Montana? Yeah, right.) but I made all the calls. No luck--seems there isn't much demand for the stuff here so it isn't included in normal stock.
Jeff (the oil-seeking one) fretted about the oil, Shawn (#1 son) demonstrated his video conferencing capabilities to Roger (the Gold Winger), Paige relayed tales revealing all of the idiosyncrasies this family has ever exhibited to all who listened and convinced Vince, the third biker, to take her for a ride on my bike. Don, the no-longer-homeless owner of the 73 Pontiac wagon, made *real* coffee (I make whimpy coffee) and rolled real cigarettes for Roger. Don's dogs wrestled with Shadow (my other beast) under the table. Ebony, the puppy, jumped all over everyone and chewed at their boots. Ric (#2 son) yawned and went to bed.
Welcome to the Mandera household. Enter at your own risk.
Moving this story along...the guys finally managed to escape and headed west to cross the Continental Divide and to make their way up to Glacier National Park. The rest of us, all suffering from severe sleep deprivation, headed to our respective corners, and the house quieted.
Just as I was settling in and closing my eyes, the phone rang. I answered the ring with a less-than-energetic, "Huh."
"Hey, we stopped over here in Avon (about 45 minutes away)...we were talking and realized that we were pretty rude. We should have invited you along for the trip," said the voice on the phone.
Me: "I'd have loved to have gone along." The Voice: "Well, throw your tent on the bike and come on." Me: "I don't have a tent." The Voice: "Do you have a bag?" Me: "I can steal one from one of the kids." The Voice: "Well, come on...we'll wait here for you." Click.
I ran downstairs to ask Shawn if I could use his bag--he grumbled a no and snuggled further under it. I check with Paige, she wouldn't give hers up either. On my way out the door, I went in Ric's room and announced that I was taking his bag, yanked it off of him and tossed him a blanket. He whined, "Take Shawn's or Paige's." To which I replied that they were using theirs. He tried to tell me that he was using his, too, but since I was holding it by that time, I was able to argue--quite factually--that he was not. I escaped with his bag, my pillow and some basics before he had any chance to reply.
In the garage now, check the oil, stuff the t-bag, leather up and go! With one quick stop for gas and cigarettes, I was headed out of town and over the pass. From phone click to departure in less than 45 minutes! (NBCK, I think you've been outdone!) Hey, when adventure comes knocking, you gotta be quick! (Besides, I'd been wanting to do the sun road since last summer, but kept putting it off because I didn't think it would be wise to make the trip alone and without weapons. There are wild animals up there! Lions, tigers and bears! Well, lions and bears, at least.)
I met up with the guys in Avon and we ran the 380 miles to West Glacier in 98 degree summer heat. Moving felt great, but those stops for construction operations were a bit much to take. The water bottles served up warm water--more conducive to bathing than to drinking. So I wet myself down pretty thoroughly during each stop and dried quickly in the wind.
We arrived in West Glacier before dark and searched for a place to camp. We checked out a KOA, decided to look elsewhere, and headed back out. Jeff and Vince led us out, neither stopping at the end of the gravel drive before turning left. I was next and glanced left to check for traffic, but could only see the sun. So I stopped. And tried to put my left foot down only to find that the ground was a little low on that side. With an "ahhhhhhhhhh, shit!" I went down in the gravel. (Hey, at least I broke my previous record....it had been a year, one month and eight days since the last time I'd dropped the bike.)
Fortunately, no real damage was done except that done to my pride. My elbow was a little skinned and bruised and the dust all over my chaps was a dead giveaway to the fall. But the bike was just fine. (She sure does survive mishaps well.)
Back on the road and into another campground--this one with a huge sign in front that welcomed bikers. Yeah....to the spot on top the hill, up the rutted dirt path with the deep ditches on either side and around some very narrow tight curves. I made it up...a little shaky, but I did it. We unpacked, set up the tent and set out to find dinner. Going down was much worse than going up had been, but again, I managed. Only to have to go back up once more after dinner.
Vince had returned to camp early and was already curled up in the corner snoring when we returned. So the three of us sat around the outside of the tent under a sky filled with more stars than I'd ever seen and told life stories for a bit.
Trying to fit the four of us into the tent was a bit tight. My elbow was hurting and I couldn't get comfortable, but we settled in as best as we could. Sometime after Jeff's snores joined Vince's for a duet, Roger and I, still sort of wound from the trip, moved our conversation back outside.
We put the bags down on the ground, and sat up most of the night watching a spectacular meteor shower, spinning tales of nonsense and laughing at our own silliness. At some point during that night of nonsense, I became known as Princess Puma, a mountain lioness who sleeps in the ladled end of the greatest dipper--directly above us as the tale unfolded. And Roger became known simply as Coyote, a lowly creature of the night suffering with mange. (No self-respecting mountain lion would be caught riding a Honda. But a mangey coyote would consider it an honor!) 8-) <--- note smiley.
The absence of sleep does tend to make some of us somewhat punchy, and apparently we fit that category. Had anyone else been awake and within hearing distance, no doubt they'd have thought we'd totally lost our sanity. But we'd only misplaced it for a bit. And, at least for me, the night of nonsense provided a greatly needed, even if temporary, escape from reality. Eventually, the silliness wore thin and sleep finally settled in.
Skip the rest of the story and return home.
CLM -- 8/18/96
