Monday morning emerged with another blue sky and ideal weather for our motorcycle obsession. Ok, it's my obsession and my biker man indulges me often. The bike looked too good with its banner to undecorate and it was July 5th with plenty of celebration in the air. It was also my boyz ninth birthday and they would be having their party at their dad's place 30 miles away. "Can we take the bike?" my hopeful plea. "...we can stop in, give 'em their books from the Fort, get some lunch in St A. and tooly-dooly around..." My driver never hesitated in his soft spoken reply, "...why not..."
With the sidebags off the bike, it was much easier for me to mount even with the pole standing strong in its improvised mount. We rolled to the end of my driveway, double checked our lane of travel and commenced our journey. Already day-dreaming, I was brought to attention when he would brake quickly enough to bump my helmet into the back of his lid for a click; if I was fast enough, I could put my left hand on his back and stop my momentum from crushing into him. Sometimes this happened in a quick stop to avoid harm, but in as many times, he would do it to wake me up, get my attention and 'cop a boob-jamb' for his own enjoyment. Men will be men, "...behave!" I'll retort and smile at his lusty reminder; I need to pay attention. This type of play is for fun and giggles, but the crumbling road conditions can really jarr me if I don't see the hole in our path in time to stand up on the pegs; this is his way of saying, "...the road ahead is rough; be ready..."
A quick fuel-up at the Cupboard Deli and we were ready for the back way to St. A. People were still delighted to see the flag and often stopped to gander and ponder the mechanics of riding with it. The first mile of the first day, my driver noticed the pull on his bike; he adjusted the tension of the flag with zip ties and adapted flawlessly to it's backward yaw on the bike. Everywhere we took it, back roads or city streets, it captured people's attention, if not their imagination. We would encounter more waves, thumbs ups and complements from all walks of folks. The bike purring along the roads, I would notice election signs for many of the gubernatorial primary candidates of all parties. Dems, GOP, a few I didn't even know their parties, some townships were clearly aligned in their interests. Some folks would openly announce or denounce their preferences in coffee shops, ice cream stands and post-parade banter. Sides were being chosen, fingers were being pointed; a polarization of politics and blame gaming was becoming increasingly terse, even in Vermont.
The flag on our bike, the national symbol of unity hushed these opinions, if only briefly. Gliding by, the brilliance of the banner would elicit stares from all manner of witnesses. Always, we saw common ground in their appreciation for her. The bike was beautiful, the flag was glorious, everyone seemed to enjoy the vision. "...no one complains when they see it; moving or parked, it's so good to see folks deeply affected by it...it's very moving to have that impact on people..." , thoughts I privately spoke into my driver's left ear. At that moment, we rolled up to a traffic signal somewhere outside St. A. Up ahead was the enigmatic scene familiar to its town center. As rte36 rolls down hill to Main Street St. A, there sits an old WWII army tank, in front of an armory. Across the congested black top, stands a massive redstone church. It just seemed to be an oppositional sight: war or peace. As we waited for our turn to proceed, an SUV idled up on our left, I didn't notice the auto or its driver but my sweetie did: "She saluted! Did you see her? She sat up in attention and saluted...what do I do?" "...smile, and nod...any people who serve will salute THE flag... cops, firefighters, boy scouts...they're supposed to...and I think maybe, they really want to..." was my understated reply. At the next stop signal, I would say it out loud, "....it matters, at the end of the day, this flag really matters...to everyone...and we are allowed here, to display it, run the roads with it, flaunt it or hate it...we're so lucky..."
We stopped for lunch at Mimo's and continued on to his riverside fishing camp for a break by the water. The day was hot, traffic was still heavy with holiday travelers so we chilled at the humble lodge for a little while pondering the sameness from corner to corner of Vermont, the first republic, the 14th star. The day was flowing into evening as we finally picked a route home. Cutting across the northern lanes of Franklin county, through this humble corner of Vermont, we came across a hot air balloonist floating low in the summer sky over High Gate. "...the air is so warm, I'm surprised that he has any lift at all..." I remarked aloud. No sooner said, he dropped from view for several long minutes. "crashed?" my partner wondered; with the sound of his flame blower pushing hot air into the orb, we saw him rise up again, to an even greater height. 'don't give up; never give up...' was my self speak. We spotted a creeme stand in Sheldon and took a break to admire the early evening. We could see the Missisqoui river lazying by from our seat and watched the sun ease below the treeline. It was time to head home, covering back roads ideal for motorcycles, watching the day mellow into night. Drifting through Enosburg Falls we crossed the river south, into Bakersfield, our riding duet conjoined with the late of the day.
Reaching back, he patted my left knee and spoke over his shoulder, "...this is the best forth ever... the flag was an awesome idea...everywhere we went, people liked it..." "yup, I replied, "...it was important for me to see that, to see people respect it, to see their reverence no matter what else they think..." In silent agreement, we enjoyed the pensive ensemble of twilight; the best part of the day to ride...anywhere, everywhere...
luv, peace, ride ~ ell
this one's for them that make it possible for one like me to search for my meaning of the forth of July...
A quick fuel-up at the Cupboard Deli and we were ready for the back way to St. A. People were still delighted to see the flag and often stopped to gander and ponder the mechanics of riding with it. The first mile of the first day, my driver noticed the pull on his bike; he adjusted the tension of the flag with zip ties and adapted flawlessly to it's backward yaw on the bike. Everywhere we took it, back roads or city streets, it captured people's attention, if not their imagination. We would encounter more waves, thumbs ups and complements from all walks of folks. The bike purring along the roads, I would notice election signs for many of the gubernatorial primary candidates of all parties. Dems, GOP, a few I didn't even know their parties, some townships were clearly aligned in their interests. Some folks would openly announce or denounce their preferences in coffee shops, ice cream stands and post-parade banter. Sides were being chosen, fingers were being pointed; a polarization of politics and blame gaming was becoming increasingly terse, even in Vermont.
Reaching back, he patted my left knee and spoke over his shoulder, "...this is the best forth ever... the flag was an awesome idea...everywhere we went, people liked it..." "yup, I replied, "...it was important for me to see that, to see people respect it, to see their reverence no matter what else they think..." In silent agreement, we enjoyed the pensive ensemble of twilight; the best part of the day to ride...anywhere, everywhere... 
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