Rolling with friends..

Our friends were brave enough to ride their rented scooters with us through Vancouver today. I felt like the parent, riding behind, praying for their safety as I saw wobbles, feet down at corners and a few near misses within moments of leaving Quebec Street. I remember reiterating to "look where you want to go"...as emphatically as I could. I told her..don't look at the curb or other cars...look and your bike will follow. Less than 10 minutes in and we round a sharp corner at Nanaimo and McGill and I see her narrowly miss the cement abutment and head straight for the curb on the other side of the road...It would have been instant calamity if any other vehicle was nearby. My heart was in my throat beating loudly - reminding me we are alive and safe. I was pulled over, amazed that such a busy corner was clear... She bravely carried on...perhaps out of naivete. At the next corner she slowed..a slight wobble - right foot trying to skate...but she was fine. The ride was awesome...through Gastown, Stanley Park, Granville Island... I felt like the big sister - making sure no one would hurt her. I would ride up beside cars that might not hear or see her...I made sure to dominate lanes and give her room to move over when we needed to change. The man lead and I lagged...a reflection of us.

The music scramble was not typical...for some reason Norah Jones and an unknown artist of a genre I think is screaming cats with terribly syrupy lyrics are on my iPod. The night was perfect despite my hesitancy at a chill. The river was like glass and as I chased the GB coiling down River Road I imagined longer rides in unknown lands. Familiarity is good, but adventure happens in the unknown. I play the balancing game at stop signs and lights and I am proud that I did not have to put feet down. There were little wobbles - but no feet. Following the painted Motorcycho on his jacket, part of me wants to get one to match. Now I actually don't like that look...matching helmets, jackets, etc. I don't care if others do it...it just does not suit me...but his jacket painted by our son is special. It has a look I can't describe but know it embodies nostalgia for me. Back to the ride..that although is a typical route, still evokes enthusiasm for me. I wonder how I will be behind him in Nova Scotia....will I ache to get behind the bars? Will I be bored of looking to the right instead of straight in front - or will I be enchanted by the verdant hills and rolling waves? I am sure we will fall in love with it all...

yin/yang

I like routine...most weeks ebb and flow with familiarity. I wake at the same time and tuck in the same way. My man is flexible. He swirls around activities of the band, motorcycle meets, events in the city. Today he is waking up in Edmonton, I'm sure on little sleep and mostly adrenalin. He will have tiptoed around bodies to get out and find some coffee. He will rally them together to hit the road for Calgary. After the show they will be at Tubbydog at 3:00 in the morning - or 4:00...and he will awaken first and be on his quest for coffee and then motivate everyone to hit the road for the long drive home. It will feel twice as long returning with their tiredness. There is nothing attractive in their adventure and yet he will be content. My day started with his alarm going off just after 5:00 waking up the little dog. She was full of vigour and out she went sniffing and exploring. That did not satisfy her - she needed water - food - and treats. This roused the other dog and my day began. It is the weekend so it is mostly ad hoc typical activities. I am content with this.

Cooool

....the more you try to be it...the less you are... That is my observation from decades. I have no idea what cool is. I know this. Norman though...he does and he doesn't care about cool. He confuses me. He is comfortable playing kissy face with our mite of a dog, talking in baby voice and relishing in her... He orders fluffy drinks that have whipped cream at Starbucks... and he is utterly comfortable riding the turquoise GX. I know it is not cool. Yet, arms embraced around him as we test it on the highway, the definition of cool is trying to be filled in. The lack of hubris is admirable. Admirable because he is the nerdiest, cool person I know. Back at home base he declares the new handlebars cool. Once again, I defer to the man, for I have not a clue.

scents and scentsibilities

Gliding through the valley in the warmth of the rising sun the smell of fresh cut grass evokes memories of entering my grandpa's garage. A smell so distinguishable from all others. Next a waft of sweet peas is mixed with the churning of cow dung as we make esses down the country roads. The funk of the river is barely noticeable over the pristine moment of peace with the movement of water. My mind catalogues the aroma of the landscape and I am traveling through time...oil and gas from a nearby lawnmower and I am in our garage watching my man tinker. Bacon drifts briefly by my nose, replaced by pine and cherry blossoms exploding in flower and I am transported to yesteryears when our cherry tree was in bloom and united with our cooking for this same bouquet. They say the sense of smell is one of our strongest memories. I believe this now as I feel in hyperdrive of recollection. Rubber, warm pavement, hay bombard me. Skunk cabbage or skunk swirl acridly by causing me to take notice of that moment. Sweet emanations are upon me again, a mixture of seedlings, tulips, and magnolia. My cheeks are sore from smiling..the experience so pleasing, that although I am looking up at majestic ranges, I am imagining the smell of the clean, clear air and potions that are created along that route.

dirt

yep..that's what I was doing...learning to feel comfortable with bumpy, soft, squishy, muddy, dirty, wet, unwieldy terrain. Bumping, scraping, tipping, shaking...exhausting, exciting and daring at the same time. The challenge of a chicane in sand, a puddle over my ankles or a hill that required a thought of "throttle, throttle, throttle"...was my Tuesday. I love the road...shifting, twisting, leaning the bike at 60 or even 50 degrees emotes bravado and amazement at the science of motion. Sand, gravel, peat, dirt and mud require more muscle and courage. Being tossed around and shaken like a martini left my arms weak and rubbery...so was it any surprise that as I mustered bravery for the end, rose to the challenge - mastering both down and upward slopes and took a dip in the pond to cool off? That's my story...

Life Behind Bars

I recently gave that speech...about life behind bars - shocking everyone in the room. When they finally realized I meant handlebars they seemed less at dis-ease.... I related curves and esses and fluency of the ocean, and yet I was thrilled with the thought they wondered. I have never regretted life behind bars. It has stretched me in ways beyond my imagination. I have always loved yoga - good thing!!