A typical alpine scene.
One must not venture off the trail in areas like this. The
growing season is very short at this altitude. If the flora is
damaged by humans trampling on vacation, it may take several years
to fix itself.
Let me give
you the picture. I’m six four and 160 pounds (fully dressed), I have
hair down to the middle of my back that I wear in a ponytail, and
pale would be understating my skin tone. Dave is six one, 200 pounds
and shaves his head and has a seven inch goatee, which compliments
his ear ring and nipple ring. I always wear long pants, Dave always
wears black. We got more than a few interesting looks in the US, but
in Canada. I’m getting ahead of myself.
We took my Ford Explorer, which had at the time 90,000 miles on it,
but was in great shape. Big red family style SUV that has the Grim
Reaper and his Biker from Hell sidekick in it. Dave has a huge
backpack and his camera bag and I have enough clothes and gear to
live out of my truck for the next three years. Can you say
fugitives?
I’m up at six the day we leave to do this parade. I’ve done it for
eight years now and it is as exciting as a dentist appointment. It’s
time consuming and hot and drains the will to live out of you. Plus
my mind has been going over scenarios for the trip for six months,
and since this is D-Day, I have to review them all, just to be safe.
The parade is finally over, and if you’ve ever worked with a large
group, you know that finishing what you are there to do is the least
of it. We return to school at 1:00 pm and I leave at 2:30 pm with a
building still half full of kids and parents and a dozen people all
striving to be the first one I kill.
On the road by 3:30 pm, from Fort Wayne to Indianapolis. I’m heading
for several of the most spectacular places on earth, and I’m not
sure which is bothering me more, that I must begin this journey with
a stretch on I-69 that would make the Pope suicidal, or the
knowledge that this will also be the last leg of the trip for me
when I return. If you are unfamiliar with it, let me help you. Go to
an open field, somewhere flat. Now lay down, face down, in the sun.
See you in two hours. OK, for fun have someone from Michigan run
past you as fast as they can once in a while. The trip rush wanes.
I plan everything, except the needs of others. I get to Indy ready
to get on it. And an hour later we are. I don’t know what happened
in that hour, but every trip I’ve ever left on has begun with the
people I’m traveling with trying to give me a stroke before we get
on the road. Let me give you a few examples. Jon, Dave and I are
heading for the Smoky Mountains. I say I’ll be in Indy at 5:30
Friday to leave, it’s just a week end trip with nine hours of
driving each way, so time is crucial. I get there and Jon is under
his van (that we are taking) and the bumper is in the yard. Choice:
kill him and leave or help. Well, he has been my friend for over 20
years so I don’t think about it for more than a few minutes. Another
trip started with me showing up on time (read as half an hour early)
and Jon is not home. He lives across the street from my brother, so
I go over there. As I’m pulling back my hand to knock, Jon opens the
door, facing away from me and says to my sister-in-law, “Well, I
better get home and pack before Ken gets here.” I’ve worked a great
deal on controlling my blood pressure. Now that I’ve quit smoking, I
really can’t be responsible for what may happen on the next trip
(read as before the next trip).
I know, what’s an hour. Nothing and I know it. This is why I am
careful about who I travel with. I’m a big pain in the ass.
