A Day of Nerves and Murphy’s Law
OK, I have to admit that I was wreck for the past two days. Getting ready for this trip proved to be a formidable task. Just preparing myself to be away from my family, having the necessary equipment, and then questioning if any of this is worth. Why punish myself?
After a restless night, I said goodbye to my wife who has been my constant source of support, although I understand her worries, and to my youngest daugther who has been my most ardent supporter, despite her concerns. Off to work they went, while I pondered with my cat, “Black”, what could I have been thinking of. I then loaded up bike with my personal belongings, the rudimentary camping equipment (tent, sleeping bag, and a self inflating pad), and the oversized pelican case to hold my video equipment. I managed to get everything on the bike and then called my good friend Ross, to finalize our arrangements to meet. Although appearing unruly and overloaded, the bike rode fine. The ride east on Interstate 90 was uneventful.
When I ride without my wife to engage in conversation, I am left to have conversations in my own head. I comfortable with that but, without the outside stimulus of dialogue, or music from a radio, one hour seems like two. I arrived forty minutes early at our prearranged rendevous and as I lay on the grass, waiting for Ross, I dozed off for a moment before he called me. He was running late. Having a some time, I called and left a message with Robert Gilbert in Brattleboro to make arrangements to conduct an interview with he and his wife Regina. Their only son Kyle died in the Iraq war on 8/6/03. Regina Gilbert still leaves posts on the Legacy.com Guest book for her son.
When Ross finally arrived, we stopped for a beverage and confirmed that we would stop in Brattleboro, Vermont and decide from there if where we would go. He was anxious also, as demonstrated by his inability to keep track of the key to his bike. I told him to tie it around his neck, and showed him the key to my bike hanging around my neck. I understood.
We left Amsterdam, New York and taking Rt 67 east through Balston Spa, and just as we entered Vermont, the bands of rain came. Bands of heavy rain, that slowed down the ride. We made to Bennington, Vermont wet but with the sun coming out as we arrived, we decided to go on and dry off as we rode. Not a bad idea, but around the next bend, over the next mountain, we ran into several bands of heavy rain. We stopped to wait for the rain to slow, and again we would ride into another band of heavy rain and for a few minutes a half hour from Brattleboro, we were pelted with small hail stones, just to taunt us even more. Each time we hit the band of rain, we stopped for shelter, we waited and each time we started riding we met another band of rain until we came into West Brattleboro. We debated, pitch a tent at Fort Dummer State Park (yes that is the correct name) or stay at the Bates Motel. Neither, we opted for the Molly Parks motel where the front desk attedant, a man in his late forties, had Hell’s Angel tatooed on his right bicep. He was pleasant enough, the room was clean and it was inexpensive.
So much for the camping equipment and roughing it. I didn’t hear from the Gilberts.