Tag Archives: getting lost

Riding the Hog – Part Two

Disclaimer:
If you haven’t already read my Riding the Hog – Part One, please do so.

ducksWhile my previous blog about checking off my bucket list….being in a parade…. didn’t require two postings, this event certainly does.  It could require three. I am undecided, so we’ll see what we get. Of course, like a good mother duck, I want everyone to stay together and know where we’re going…so please read the first chapter.

Thank you.

The night before my undoubtably titillating Harley ride.. .I had to pack for an overnight.  I suck at packing.  I mean really, what does one wear for a Harley ride?

– Assless chaps was completely out of the question, so don’t even think it.

– Bikini? Ah no.

– Leather dominatrix outfit? Where the hell am I going to get that? (Well, trust me, I know where to find it just didn’t have the time to get it. Shocking. I know.)

– Shorts? The weather forecast literally said, “hot as Hell.” I have no desire to burn my delicate skin on a leather seat.

– Pink sparkly tutu with confetti gun? Probably not.

– Jeans. I’ll wear jeans.

Then comes the next difficulty. Shoes. Not wearing stilettos, nor hiking boots, not wearing sandals or sneakers.

I’m also short.
How big is this Harley?
Where do you put your feet on a bike?
What if I’m like a cat who climbs a tree but can’t figure out how to get down? I can get on the bike, but can’t get off….because my feet don’t reach?
Seriously, I can’t even be a penguin sanctuary volunteer at the local aquarium because I’m literally not tall enough. Fuck, what size are those penguins?

You can see, this is an issue.

I decide on boots.

Boots. With heels? Without heels?

Knee high boots?

Calf boots?

Ankle boots?

Well hell. When in doubt, take two pairs. With heels and without heels.

Shirt? Easy enough. Since I didn’t have time to find a leather corset, I settled for a black button up tank top. Shows pushed up cleavage….perfect.

Check. Got them in the suitcase.

But wait, cue the monkeys.

Wait for it.

There are always monkeys.

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My Biker tells me …. (Note: everyone remains nameless in my blog to protect the innocent or they’re provided with a fake name….safer that way.) advises we will be doing one of two things upon my arrival:

1. Going for a boat ride
2. Taking the bikes down to the biker bar for dinner & dancing.

Well now, either option is exciting.  Whoo Hoo!

Here’s the monkey shit:
I only planned for one Harley riding, biker chic, outfit. Great, there’s always a monkey involved. Damn that monkey.

What if it’s cold?
What if it’s hot?
Is the bar inside or out?
What if we don’t?
What if it’s buggy.
What if it’s the boat?
What if it’s too sunny?
Too windy?

Well hell.

I throw in enough clothes that I could’ve outfitted a family of 6. Mind you, they’d have to be a family of little people

I had a selection of jeans, shirts, boots, jackets, tank tops, panties and bras. You needed it, I had it.

Oh what’s that you say? Where’s my bathing suit? I didn’t pack it.
I know!
Trust me.
I know!
I know, like I know, like I know.
I KNOW.

bass-fishing-lake-livingston-022210-01
I had no plan to get into the lake. There’s fish. Much different than ocean fish. These are confined fish. They may nip me. They may bump into me. The every so slight adjustment of water current due to their tail swish may get me.

Nope. Not happening.

Ever see anyone actually walk on water? Yeah, well the first time a bass or something bumps me, I’m levitating up and out of that lake and walking across that water like Jesus reclaimed the Earth….immediately.

screaming.banshee

All along screaming like a banshee on a blind date….to a peanut factory.

I pack up the car and have my little roller suitcase, which was surprisingly light …considering…and another tote with beauty products. Hey. I’m a girlie girl. This is how I roll. Love me, love all my crap.

Luckily the work day was an early release for me.
Thank sweet Jesus,  the day flew by faster than a raven looking for a half eaten McDonald’s burger.  I had no patience, I wanted to go….go….go….go!

I punch into Waze my destination address, The Terminator starts to direct me. (Usually I go with Elvis, but the way Arnold says “roundabout” makes me laugh, so I’m sticking with him for a bit.) I turn up the volume on my cruisin’ play list and hit the road.  Two hours until I reach my destination.

Traffic was a beast.  There was even a 5K run with a bunch of colorful runners on the road I had the pleasure of navigating through.  Which reminds me, people who run never look happy.  Why?  If it’s miserable, don’t do it. That’s my theory.

However, I digress.  Let’s return to the story at hand.

Leave it to me, I got lost.

Twice.

Even with The Terminator.

The Terminator, who is my Waze Guide, sent me to the “east” road when I needed the “west.”

Then my Biker called to help me find my way. First question he asks, “where are you?”

Seriously?  My bread crumbs ran out a long time ago.

At this point I was in Maine, somewhere between a pine tree and a fuck if I know bush.

I say I just passed the fire department. Of course, who the hell knows what fire department – it was some town’s. My friend advises me to continue down the road and turn right and go to the end – go all the way down to the dirt road, keep going and they’ll be on the right.

I hang up and realize, well…of course, I’m at an intersection.

It’s a dead end T-type intersection — of course. Which way?

It’s a 50 / 50 shot and you know me.  Let’s all say it together now, “I went the wrong way.”

Duh. Of course.

HEY!

News Flash: I lived in a town with only 40 miles of road! LAND LOCKED! …for 18 years. I couldn’t get lost. It’s no wonder I’m having issues with this now.

I make a u-turn and head the other direction. Find the road. Find the dirt road. Find the house.

My Biker is standing in the driveway waiting for me.

First thing: Do I want a drink?

Really, you’re asking me? I was almost eaten by the cannibalistic witch from the Hanzel & Gretel story on my way here as I tried to figure out which way was up! Hell yes, I want a drink. Two…one for each hand.

Second thing: Did you bring your suit? We’re going on the boat.

Well of course not.

woman-in-1910-bathing-suit-underwood-archives

Yes,  I should have brought my bikini….we’re hanging out on the boat.  No really, I honestly didn’t bring a bikini.  

I didn’t even bring a tankini.  
Nor did I pack a one piece.  
No thong.
No g-string.
No tanga.
No full bottom betty.
No skirted bottom.
Not even swim shorts!
Nope, no diving suit for that matter.
Not even a 1910’s full body suit.  
And my birthday suit is out of the question – it’s being dry cleaned and I’m not drunk.

I’m okay with that.  It’s early evening and it’s going to get cooler as time marches on. It’ll be fine.

SAVED!
We jump into the pontoon and I make some fast friends.
Beer in hand.
No complaints.
Wow, this is so relaxing.

Arrive to the far end of the lake and everyone piles out. Heading to a friend’s house for sandwiches.
Okay, where are we going?
Up to the campground.
In a pick up truck.
12 of us.
Okay maybe 6 of us.
Before I know it, the small person (ME) was voted to sit in a lap in the front seat.

Who?
Me?
What?
You want me where?

Thank you sweet Jesus …. it was my Biker’s lap.

Here’s an anomaly about me.

I’m not a touchy, feely kind of person.

Hugs? Oy. I’d rather go to the dentist.

Now I’m having to hoist myself into the cab of a pick up and climb into a lap.
Okay, it’s part of the adventure.
I’m small.
Sign me up. I’ll do it.

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Excuse me.
Pardon me.
Seriously?
Hold that.
Grab this.
Watch the head.
NO! MY HEAD….thank you.

A short jaunt later, we pile out and enjoy some adult beverages.
Pet the pets….two adorable dogs.
Order sandwiches.
Then…it’s time to pick up said sandwiches.

And guess what?
They’re going in a golf cart!
Not any type of golf cart, this is a 4WD, off road, golf cart.
WHAT?
Oh, I have to go do this.
YAHOO!

Of course, I pick the back seat.
Facing backwards.

And we’re off like a greyhound chasing a rabbit.

Over hills.
Through the dale.
Around the corner.
Passing through the field.
To the sandwich shop we go.

As we drive through the field….they advise me it’s a topless area.
Yes.
Ok.
Well, why didn’t you tell me?
Let me fix that.
One moment….as I prepare to take my top off.
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Fear not my furry friends – my shirt stayed on.

I mean really.
In that wind, my boobs are so small you would miss them in the breeze. They’d be introverted in a heart beat and nobody wants to see that chaos. Going from oranges to tic tacs — never ideal.

Should we have been pulled over by the cops, however, I’d have whipped the shirt off.

Just saying. Don’t want us to get a ticket.

After dinner, we jumped back into the truck and headed back to the lake.
The sun is starting to set.
Stars are coming out.
We kick back.
Listen to music.
Drink beer.
Watch for shooting stars.
Watch for satellites – my new favorite search and seek.
Looked at the Milky Way —- in the S K Y. Thank you.
Picked up more friends.
Sang karaoke.
Danced.
And enjoyed the night.

Back to the shore about midnight and time to sleep…..it’s a big, big, big day ahead!

Stay tuned for The Final Chapter.

Pardon Me, Where Was That?

It dawned on me today, I have no idea where I live.

No clue.

Heaven help me if someone were to ask me for directions. Wait, they already did. The conversation went as follows:

“So where are you guys living in Smalltown?”

Oh, we are near the Landing.

“What road is that?”

Blink. Blink. Blink.
Well, shit. I have no fucking idea what road.

I can’t blame it entirely on modern technology. You see, every day Elvis tells me what route to take to and from work. He doesn’t say street names. He just says things like, “In a quarter mile, turn left.” I have to read the GPS map to see the street names.

Even though I’m looking at the GPS, I’m not reading the street name. I’m looking at the line ahead and thinking, okay, I near to make a 90 degree left turn in 1/2 mile….or I need to curve to the right, but not really turn right in the next 30 seconds.

Sad, but true.

Even before I discovered Elvis, I can still quite honestly say, “I have no idea what road.”

Yes, I live in a development, well people want to know what street that’s off of.

It’s a two land road, just like all the others, right off the main highway, you know that one that goes North and South? Yes, but what is that? Is that Route 35? Route 21? Route 4?

I don’t know. We are at the fork in the road. Quite literally.

You know the spot. There’s a Walgreen’s, then a Costco, that Paws Wet Nose day care is across the street, which is next to Dave’s Supreme Body Building. The post office isn’t far from us. If you go down the road about a half mile and turn left there is a cute yellow house and a big Catholic church.

They ask, “Well it’s near the lake right?”

There’s a lake? Where? No, I don’t think we’re near the lake. We’re near the Landing, but not a lake.

Isn’t Donnelly Funeral Home near you?

What? I have no idea. There is a funeral home, across from the Post Office. It has a small parking lot and is next door to my chiropractor. Is that the one you’re talking about?

“No, I don’t think you’re near the lake.”

Well no shit, Sherlock.

Then they want to know the name of the development we’re in. Unfortunately, by this time in the conversation, my brain has exhausted itself trying to remember a street name. Now you want to know what the name of the development is? Dear Lord, I know it is a red sign with red flags. There are huge power lines that run along the side and there’s a bunch of trees. We get coyotes, turkeys and lots of frogs….at night mostly. Is there an area signed up for those three creatures?

You see, had you not been quizzing me about the streets, I could have very easily told you the name of the development.

This is when it dawned on me….I have no clue where we live.

The problem is, I grew lazy with street names. When I lived in Alaska, this is exactly how I gave directions for getting to our house:

At the McDonald’s intersection turn right.
Go down till you see Amerigas on the right and turn left at that light.
Take the first left past the Duck Pond.
Our house is the one that looks like Hanzel and Gretel live there.
We’re on the right.

People found our house every time.

Well, duh. Who can’t find a house if you identify what landmark is on the corner, versus those little tiny green street signs? If I’m not watching the GPS map that Elvis provides, it’s very likely I drive right past my turn….I can’t see those damn signs until they’re in my review mirror and even then it’s a nano-second visual.

And why are there NO street signs identifying the street you’re traveling on? Yeah, it’s all fine and dandy that I just passed Pilgrim Drive, Rock Avenue, Main Street, Columbus Drive….Broadway. But WHAT IS THIS STREET? No signage.

Heaven forbid you’d need to know. I’m at the corner of Repent Row and cute purple Cape Cod style house, you know the one with the lavender bushes along the white picket fence? Butts right up to a house with yellow, almost gold trim and dark blue siding. On Thursdays and alternate Saturdays they offer a miniature petting zoo for little kids… Oh YEAH! Nope. Not a clue.

To combat this, I’ve tried to call out my street names when Elvis advises me I’m going to be turning. Usually my drive home takes me the same way for the first half. I did pretty good today. The problem though….too many alphabet streets. Christ.

Left on A.
Right on G.
Right on K.
Left on C.

L M N O P….

Really, when did C get behind K?

I won’t even go into how many Commercial Roads, School Lanes, State Streets, Main Avenues and Quarry Drives there are around here. You would think they’re all connected. NOT.

To compound matters, there’s all the routes. Route 3, 7, 12, 21, 34, 73, 666, 102, 54. Seriously. Okay, there’s no Route 666, but somedays there may as well be and I’m on the People Mover Express.

This is also the reason I need Elvis to guide me, cause I have no clue where I’m actually going. And listening to the traffic report in the morning is utterly useless.

“We have a slow down on the 22 all the way back to 48 with the A Street artery cut off. Traffic is picking up on the 78 as you approach the curve but forget about the 127-South and 11-North, those are stand stills all the way back to Downtown Abby. Watch out for the accident on Commercial Drive as you come out of the 509 Exit ramp, the pigs are flying with chocolate covered bacon candy bars throughout the expressway heading west and the due north lanes are just clogged for the 2 right hand 33 westward lanes.”

Yeah, whatever. I think learning Japanese might be easier.

Today, strangely enough, I did pretty darn well on the first half of the drive. However, before I get to the roundabout, I start to pray to the roundabout fairy to get me safely over to “the second exit.” Those things are death traps. Want to give someone a punishment? Send them through these Boston roundabouts. Total and utter chaos. It’s like all of the sudden 4 year olds are behind the wheel. Forget they can’t reach the gas pedal….they have no idea where they’re going.

Once safely pass the guillotine that is the roundabout, I continue on my putt-putt of a drive and eventually have a EUREKA moment.

I know where I’m at! Well, I don’t actually know where I’m at…but I recognize enough to turn off Elvis and continue forth without guidance. It literally goes like this:

Stay to the right, go to the bottom of the hill where the weird boarded up house on stilts is at and go straight.
Continue straight past the fire house and house with unique brick pattern.
Veer to the left at the lovely purple house.
Ignore Elvis when he tells you to turn left after the old gas station, go straight.
Turn right past the big white church….you are homeward bound!

Yes, it’s true. this is how I know where to go. Visuals. Not words on a tiny sign.

The best part of my trip, is at the end when Elvis comes on and says, “You have reached your destination. Ahhh thank you, thank you very much.”

Whew, victory yet again! This production could not be possible without the contribution of Elvis and the Waze app on my iPhone. “Let’s rock and roll baby!”