Personal Hygiene on the Road

"I'm riding out," the Spouse told Joe.

Joe, sitting in his office in Chicago, replied, "I'll meet you in the Badlands.  I'll grow my hair."

Joe likes the way his hair sticks straight backward after a day on the bike.  Joe has known the Spouse since college.  He's been with us since the before the beginning.

The Spouse left me in Missoula and stayed in the KOA in Billings the next night. He warned his neighboring camper that he was getting a very loud, very early start, laid his ground-pad on the picnic table, and slept in his clothing.

During the early nineties, the Spouse, Joe and another friend rode from Chicago, through Canada and into Alaska.  They almost reached the Arctic Circle before heading south again to the west-coat ferries.  On that trip, the Spouse bought a four-pack of new underwear.  One pair for each week. When it came time to change, he threw the used pair into the campfire.  I didn't ask him about his hygiene on this trip; better not to.

Also on the Alaska trip (AKA the Iron Butt Tour), the three friends felt the need for a bath right around the B.C./Yukon border.  They found a remote lake in the woods.  "Should we take off all our clothes?" asked Joe, who is very modest.  "Of course we should.  We're in the middle of nowhere!' said the Spouse.

So, the three undressed, jumped in the lake and started scrubbing.  Rrrn, rrrn, up pulled an RV.  An entire family spilled out, chattering in some Scandinavian language.  They looked and pointed at the men in the water, took photographs of them, and got in their van and left.

This is the highway approaching the Bighorn Mountains.  A day later, the Spouse met Joe in Sturgis, South Dakota.  (Don't worry; the rally's not until August.)  They could've met in Rapid City, but the Spouse wanted to make Joe travel that many miles farther than he.

According to the Spouse, Joe took a photo of him as they rode alongside one another.  He said it could be titled, "This is the man you married?"

Six Hundred Miles in the Rootbeer Sparkle Helmet

If you want a little background to this post, click here...

This is the helmet I bought the Spouse for his last birthday.  It's what he asked for.

A bit over a week ago, the grandparents took the boys to the cabin, and the Spouse began packing for one of his Chicago rides.  He's done three or four since I've know him, in an effort to shed the skin-crawling feeling he gets from sitting on airplanes, among other things.

This time, though, I got to go.  At least as far as Missoula.

The bike, all packed with clothes & camping gear, and my shadow at 8am, departure time.  The Spouse left business clothing in Chicago on a previous trip, and shipped his laptop.

Day one was Highway 14 up the Gorge to Walla Walla. (You'll not get scenery photos, because I can't take pictures at 65 miles per hour.)  Our friends the Fayettes fed us and kept us overnight.  The view out their guest room window the next morning:

Notice who got to wear the new helmet. We were on the road by 8:30, determined to have breakfast in Lewiston.  So we headed off into the Palouse, which is some of my favorite landscape in the world.

Here is a list of some things you can smell from a motorcycle:  Grass, flowers, pea fields, wheat fields in all stages of ripeness, asphalt, tar, roadkill, cows, horses, creeks, all the cool-smelling plants that grow near the creeks, and rivers.  The Snake River has its own smell.

Breakfast in Lewiston:

My bagels & lox were good, but if you notice, there's a big pile of cream cheese on my plate.  I'm guessing the waitress told the cook, "That one has a skinny face.  Give her extra cream cheese."  But a person just can't eat that much cream cheese all at once, delicious as it is.  This cheese issue will recur, but it's not a bad problem to have.

Heading toward Lolo Pass:

Did I mention that the weather was hot? After a point, there is no wind-chill.  Finally I asked the Spouse to stop so I could jump in the Clearwater River.  He got in, too, and we took off all wet.  Dried in fifteen minutes.

Lolo Pass has a great visitor's center at the top, with ICE WATER to drink.  We rode into Missoula at 6pm, and went almost immediately (after we washed the dirt off our faces) to Famous Dave's where we ate an embarrassing amount of barbecue from a trash-can lid.  Then we went to the hotel and slept very, very well.

Next morning we found a cafe' for breakfast.  I ordered a dish called "the heap," which was tasty, but once again smothered in cheese.  I like cheese a lot, but just not all at once.  Still, it was good.

Then, after riding around Missoula, the Spouse dropped me in the airport and I flew home to the boys. The Spouse kept riding east, on and on.  Next time I'll post some of the photos he's sent.

Back Story

This post is a preamble to my next one.  I feel the need to explain how I met the Spouse, and the role his large, loud motorcycle played in our relationship.

Since my late teens, I've liked Harley-Davidson motorcycles.  They sound so good, they're designed beautifully, and riding on one you can smell every smell, good and bad, and feel all sorts of changes in the air.

During college a friend told me I reminded him of a Neil Young song:  Somewhere on a desert highway/she rides a Harley-Davidson/her long blond hair flying in the wind.  I couldn't look blond if I tried, but I was flattered.

I met the Spouse the day before my 25th birthday, on the first day of my first job after college.  He was one of the engineers on the team I was hired to support, and I saw him across the room right away.  He was wearing a blue dress shirt and he was scowling.  I learned later that he scowls when he's concentrating.

He is cute.  NO! This is my first real job.  I will not become attracted to a co-worker. Unacceptable.  Besides, I've never liked beards.  I don't even know if he's a Christian.

I tried to avoid him, which to me, meant just not taking every opportunity to walk by his cube.  Also, I went to the Christian bookstore and bought a necklace with one of those silver fish on it, and wore it every day to work.  I figured that would identify me. Subtlety is not one of my gifts.

Still, we ended up talking and smiling at one another a lot.  Somehow we sneaked in the Christian conversation.  Still, I tried to avoid him.  No workplace romance!  You are a professional now, missy.

Then one morning, I was in the break room getting coffee, looking out the bank of windows overlooking the parking lot, when I heard a wonderful noise that got louder and louder.  Up the driveway came my cute, bearded engineer on a black Softail Custom.

God works in mysterious ways.  We've been married thirteen years, and the Spouse has made sure it's an adventure.  In a couple days I'll show you some photos of our latest.

This is my beloved, and this is my friend. Song of Solomon 5:16

Desultory midsummer post

Desultory means going aimlessly from one subject to another.

I am going to start with a couple parenting tips.  First, if you aren't the kind of mom who can let her kids loose in the kitchen without becoming a nervous wreck, just send them to Grandma's where they can make their all-time 100% favorite food in HER kitchen.

Second, if your kids are bored and school-bereft, and if you have a hideous bathroom that emits a foul stench...

...have them demolish it.  Trust me, the sinks match the color of the shower and toilet.

I'll post "after" photos when after happens.  The room is gutted now; my job is to paint and order a counter & tile while the Spouse is on his next business trip.

Our next subject is the life cycle of the American robin.  Once again, we watched four baby birds grow outside our dining-room window.  I simply opened the window, removed the screen and took the photos:

And finally, here's a photo taken of the Spouse last week, in Joliet, IL.