Thursday, August 23, 2012
How Far are You going Mr. MotoMan?
Blondie and I had a reasonably early start from the rounded hills of Vernon (somewhat scarred from the recent grassfires) and headed out towards Lavington, Lumby and generally in an easterly direction.
I couldn't find a coffee shop in Lumby, so by the time Cherryville rolled up, I was ready for some caffeine. The restaurant at the local golf course served up a great breakfast, and I was once again enamoured by the pretty waitress who spent her days off boating at the the local lake. (Mable ??)
There was an older couple having breakfast, and they had just rode in on a 1000 VStrom. We ended up chatting about bikes and rides, as riders tend to do. The guy was from Vernon, and he had lots of useful information about local rides. He mentioned Edgewood, and memories of another life and another time filled my brain.
Edit: Can you imagine leaving the Alison Hotel in Vernon with a beater van filled to the brim with stoned and drunk hippies heading for an all weekend party in Edgwood and actually surviving the road trip? This was before Garmin and GPS routing, so somewhere in my memory tracks, I believe this actually happened. Because some of the participants are still alive, I think, I will not mention names or specific body parts that come to mind...or the choice of intoxicants that the driver consumed.
As I was leaving the great restaurant, two old Beemers blasted by, They looked like old airheads, and I thought that I would easily catch up to these two ancients. The ride between Cherryville and Nakusp is a great road for riders. At one time, I knew every corner in the road like the back of my hand, as I had worked for the now defunct Department of Highways as a paving guy and general flunky. I tailed the distributor, getting continually sprayed with oil and crap all day long. I also spent a few lonely hours as a flagman over the course of two summers as we sealcoated the highway between Lumby and Edgewood. Because this was over 40 years ago, and my aforementioned van trip had created a time warp with my memory cells, I took it relatively easy as I moved through the corners. I was also aware that my front tire was on its last legs, and there was not too much rubber to make it to my appointment next week at the Victoria shop where Blondie is getting her forks renewed as well as new shoes.
In short order, I arrived at the Faquier ferry, and was very quickly across to the other side. I chatted up the two Beemer riders, and their old bikes looked great. They were from Seattle, and were heading through to Revelstoke.