memorial day 2011

   Finally, a beautiful day of spring-like sun graced us. It was Memorial Day  in our small town and kith and kin were here with their assorted tasks to abide. The boyz, Graham and Eli, marched with the scouts in our town's brief parade to Memorial Rock. Daughter Quilla, would be marching with her school band and my outlaw biker man decided to bolt the 3x5 flag to his Harley and cruise into the village to watch it all.

walking the great flag to Memorial Rock

   I love our town's solemn tribute to this day. The local women and men in uniform will participate bearing flags; they will adorn the veterans' graves in the town cemetery, make some speeches and, hopefully, feel the appreciation of the townsfolk who line the route and surround the service.
   Lining up the parade participants at the school, it was a somber group of scouts, vets and families. Uniforms were straightened, flags were unfurled and formations were practiced, as the bands tuned their instruments. My boys were assigned corners of the very large flag. Along with their den-mates, they would walk this flag, holding it taunt, for the quarter mile distance to the ceremony. A den leader defined their roles, "...you all need to walk in time, be aware of each other..", as the young grade schoolers flapped the great flag and marveled at its breadth. I had to add, "... I don't think they can understand that advice, Mr. Barnes; may I? men! just keep this off of the ground, do not let it touch the ground, ever! You can do it!", was my simple advice. Eli took the front corner and then, Graham walked up and took the back corner. I was delighted and then realized I would have to walk that distance along side him on this hot day. With a shout from the leader we were off.

Eli with serious thoughts

  These young boys can walk briskly, but I managed to keep up and we arrived in perfect form to the ceremony. I was pleased with these youngsters, taking this so seriously and rising to the occasion. I snapped a few pictures. The speeches were made, a couple kids needed to be escorted to shade while I delighted in the event's small town endeavor. It's so humble, an authentic tribute to our local sacrifices. I ignored my inner doubt of war and focused on the human scale of the offering. By the time we had returned to our car, settled the kids with their charges, the afternoon had be planned. My bikerman, inspired by the patriotic tone, announced the flag would stay on the bike and we would "...take a little ride, go get some lunch, and enjoy the day.."

a shade break in Eden Mills

   Back at the farm, with chaps and lid buckled, sun glasses adjusted, tail bag full of jackets, map, trailmix and water; we mounted and headed out. We followed rte 109N; it was in good condition compared to so many other VT roads. Smooth and lightly traveled in the northern reaches of Lamoille County, it was nearly free of traffic. An occasional traveler, some bikes out for the sites, like us. But most folks were gathered around picnic tables at family round ups, was my guess. As we rolled by small groups, the loud pipes would turn their heads our way; the whipping flag would garnish waves and "wows" and thumbs up. The deeper we rode into the small towns, the farther along the way back roads we traveled, the more exuberant the random spectators became. They would leave their lawn chairs, stand up on their porches, lean over the fence rails to give a long look and enthusiastic wave at our one bike parade.
   We left the state roads of the county and followed the winding pavement of the back roads through Eden Mills, Lowell, Westfield and Troy. Gliding past crumbling hill farms, bygone shanties from the asbestos mining era, and rusting homesteads still occupied by the same generations that staked out these sites. This was a very real Appalachia, very much alive and firmly rooted at this edge of the Northeast Kingdom. This is a Vermont that the 5 o'clock news has ignored and a media savvy government has neglected. Riding past the poverty, I thought that maybe these Vermonters like it that way. No one bothers them and they don't bother anyone else. A patch of shade loomed ahead, and my driver elected to stop and stretch.

   The road would take us to rte 100N, the main way to Newport and its spectacular Lake Mempremeggog. We've been to it many times, but manage to enjoy it afresh in every visit. This trip, we would divine our way to the Eastside Restaurant and Bar. Taking a table on the deck, we would enjoy the eats, the rest and the shade. Thankfully, it was noticeably cooler at the water and the crowd was thin so we could linger and revive for the ride home.
   Mounted up, we resumed our odd circle of the north country with our flag still in full glory. Route 105 to the Port of North Troy was in near perfect condition and too few cars to count. The station was all quiet, no cars, or cyclists or flags. Tough day for the patrollers assigned here; we snapped a picture and went south.

2up in the Green Mountains

These border towns are small, remote and original. The architecture hasn't changed much and offers a glimpse into the past of  Vermont's glory days. I get lost in these imaginings evoked of the old sepia prints of the decades past. In those historic still-lifes, people were abustle, streets were busy, and villages burst with community. As we roll by, there were no dapper strollers on the sidewalks, no patriotic banners on porch rails, no parishioners gathered on the church lawn for cool drinks. These towns weren't dead, just in a coma of comforts as folks had retreated inside, in their own living rooms with cable or Wii or iTunes.  I held on  with a squeeze to my driver and changed my thoughts to the emerald wilderness around us. We are so lucky to live here, to travel to places that weave past into present while the mountains, the valleys, the waters stay constant.

sunburnt for the East Side Grill

  With that, we trolled through Jay and then onto its infamous ascent. Where expansive vistas and tight twisties challenged the bike. The Low Ride throttled, climbed and wrangled that mountain road easily, proving her worth and grace in that gauntlet. Over 38K in miles, a major spring tune up, and a sparkling day to ride as she showed herself off to all viewers. The road was rough, unkept for some years, but it was doable and my driver made the journey happen. Up south over Jay Peak and then down north and finally onto the familiar road home.

Jay Peak summit house

   It's still early in the season, and as the bike defied her vintage limits, we were aware of ours. One hundred ten miles and we were sunburned (forgot the sunblock), aching (forgot the Advil), cussing our Vermont roads, and smiling as we cracked our beers in celebration. It was a grand run; a few more roads highlited on our recorded map of traveled roads. No place in Vermont is disappointing to see; I am so blessed to have a biker man who plans to get me to every one of them. I close my eyes and recite a biker's prayer: 'ride safe with the rubber side down and the shinny side up ~ ride on.
ell
this is for them that take the road less traveled

I just wanna ride...

three pieces to my heart

"I want to ride. The weather today, sucks. The third day of hard rain, river is over it's banks. After 5 days of sun and dry roads. This after 5 days of rain that fell after the wettest April on record and a 100 year flood which has happened for the 4th time in the 24 years I've lived here. I want to ride so I can forget about the ruined pasture, forget about my un-mowed lawn that will now require harvesting. I want to ride so I can deny my financial realities and taunt my whithering gray matter. I just want to ride; to leave behind my child's special ed meetings and decompress my silent screams for his potential. I just want to ride, with arms around my lover, lulled by those vintage pipes, tickled by the scent of his leathers as we roll along in the primordial soup of it all. I just want to ride; to squint at the sun, feel the wind on my face and leave my worries in the dust of my door yard. I just want to ride...long enough to forget the bad-ass world and sooth my soul in the ride.
if only it would stop raining."
 I wrote this on my Bikers Post journal, earlier this week when it was still raining. I thought it was worth sharing on a motorcycle enthusiast site. But it garnered few responses. Perhaps too poetic for that posse of bikers. It is an interesting site to me, though. To follow discussions from riding in rain to why folks joined the site is a tiny glimpse into my mid-life obsession. It's a study in what draws remarks as many of the responses are short-and-sweet and often swelling with bravado. I hope to learn more about motorcycles, places, tricks to the adventure. 
  Like facebook, it's a 'social' network, yet they don't really replace the need to touch, hear, see each other. Kinda interesting to see how it will play out in 10 years. But still, when there is too much time in my lap, the weather is gloomy and my brain is foggy with disease, these sites offer a glimpse of a world bigger than my little piece of a small town.
 The bike is still in the shop for much needed upgrades  (I'm surprised how strong my affection for it has become) and the computer is still on my desk but the sky is blue for now and the list of life is calling. I believe I'll go visit the bike and plot our next road trip... it's about time to raise a some hell and disturb a little peace. Ride on. ~ ell

Read more: http://www.bikerspost.com/profiles/blogs/i-want-to-ride#ixzz1Mu6dOJ2i

a very fine line

   It's a fine line, that's what navigating life is all about. I'm easing into the April evening, trying to muster enough energy to finish the daily list of must-do's and should-get-done's. I must feed the horses and the kids, maybe I'll even eat more than a banana myself. But really, I'd rather go out to the carriage barn and polish my buddy's vintage Harley.
   I know winter is over, or nearly over, when my mind abandons all responsibility for riding that sweet bike' comfortably seated behind my outlaw sweetheart. The fences need mending, I need to scout out some additional Learn'ed Horse Project students and I really need to re-home the last five rescued horses. Yet my mind is easily distracted with the memories of past miles and the dream-scaping of this season's expectant rides. A trip to the Maine coast and one perhaps to Niagara Falls; and always the glorious roads of Vermont. Am I lazy or just tired or actually ambivalent. Just this puzzle alone drives my mind, again,  to the bike and her beckoning chrome.
  He brought her up to my place as I'm on a paved road and have ample space in my barn. We even found an ace shovel-head mechanic for his vintage low ride. He might even get the bike fit enough to pass inspection and dawn a legal sticker. I'll need a new nickname for my driver then,  but that remains to be seen. Still though, it'll be exciting to assist in the low-ride's rehab and learn the mechanical details of the chrome pony I've come to love as dearly as my awesome brown horses.
 When he surprised me two weeks ago in arriving with her tethered in his truck bed; I was as giddy as a child on Christmas day. It got better still, when after unloading her, he dusted off the winter grime and turned the key, sparking the hearty engine to life. The sound of her throaty pipes and rhythmic Vtwins was music to my winter weary mind. He turned her around to face the road and signaled me to jump on. There were snowbanks in the yard and plenty on the mountain still, but the traveled lane was clean and the temperature was 60+; we were gonna ride. On April 9th, it would be the earliest I had ever gone out.

   Where to?" he queried. "East and north on 109; it's in good shape; no ball-buster holes anywhere..." my eager reply. Zipping my leathers up snug; I was struggling to swing my right leg over the familiar sissy bar. ' I'll need to limber up and start stretching for the summer ahead...' I muttered to myself. Settling into my pillion seat, I gave him a hug and and my ready to ride smile. Pulling onto the lane, he revved the throttle and set a a pace that made my heart jump and then soar. We were riding, rolling past snow banks that would hide the wintry acres beyond them and marvel and the snowy fields that blanketed the hillsides ahead. What a rush to ride in warm wind with ample snow still lining the roadways. Onward through Waterville and Belvidere; to Eden and North Hyde Park;  deeper the snow became as we rumbled north.  
   Pausing only for a brief picture of him next to the banks of snow, as we toured the snow-littered spring time, I couldn't recognize our summer landmarks. The vistas that were so green and comforting in July were frozen and foreboding in this early April spin. Not a time of year to break down and no room on the roadside to push a dead bike. Fortunately, our ride ran flawlessly, purring without hesitation in the effort. Seeming like even she wanted to bust lose of winter and stretch her chrome features against the bare roads.  As we wound our way home, we had covered a pristine 44 miles in our first ride out for this promising season ahead.
   Watching the ribbon of road fading behind us in the side-view mirrors, it struck me how all of life is defined by a very thin line... between dreams and duty just as it is between winter and spring... a pile of work here, a bank of snow there. It all works out as long as we 'mind' the line and keep all things where they belong.
   enjoy the day and keep the shiny side up ~ ell

this one is for them that live their dreams, and share that ride ~ peace