Preface
Like most people, I don’t understand God. Religion can be a straight jacket the older I get, and spirituality seems too easy and forgiving for any disciplined search for answers. I came to the conclusion many years ago that human beings had just climbed out of the goo, evident from reading headlines in any newspaper, and Homo Sapiens have a long way to go before they evolve enough to have a serious grown-up relationship with any “Higher Power” that’s the creative force behind this amazing universe. In the meantime we fuss with the meaning of life and maybe come to the realization that anyone who says they have all the answers – doesn’t. But I still feel the closeness of an intimate presence and continually seek a relationship with that creative, mysterious, loving entity that seems to be woven into every nook and cranny of this amazing creation.
When I pay attention to the whispers in my mind, and to the random occurrences that happen around me – every minute of every day – sometimes the two intersect in a moment of serendipity where the meaning of a random happening is suddenly transformed into a moment of wonder and awe. This story is about several of those moments that slowly came together over many years. Ordinary rainbows, some migrating Monarch butterflies, and an elusive Hummingbird all came into my life at times of pain and despair, were seen in their moment of serendipity by a mind that was willing to see, open to understand, and have provided the comforting thought for many years now – that everything will be just fine.
Mom
The cancer diagnosis came way too early in mom’s life. Still in her 40s, mom had a mastectomy and chemo. After almost 5 years in remission the cancer had come back again. Another mastectomy, radiation, and more chemo. They didn’t have all the anti-nausea drugs that we have today, so mom would go through terrible days of sickness after each chemo treatment. During her 14 year battle with cancer she found some strength and solace in her Bible Study Fellowship classes and we had more than a few talks about God, faith, life, and death. It was during one of those talks when I visited her in Minneapolis, shortly before she died, that mom told me I could always find her in a rainbow.
The call came a week later. I had just arrived at my office when my sister called and told me mom was not doing well. A short time later she called me back and told me mom was gone. I drove home and met my wife at the door, tears streaming down both of our faces, went inside and packed a bag for a trip back to Minneapolis. The next few days were a blur of activity as we helped dad adjust to a strange new reality after 42 years of marriage and plan mom’s memorial service. A few days later I returned home to Ohio.
I got my bag out of the back seat, walked up the steps to our front door, and went inside. My wife, Veloice, gave me a knowing hug and we went into the kitchen to talk about my trip. At some point in the conversation I was standing by the counter and telling her about my last visit with mom and how she told me I could always find her in a rainbow. A smile spread across her face and I asked what was wrong. She pointed at me and said “look at your sweater.” I looked down and saw a small rainbow dancing close to my heart. It was being cast by one of those little crystal balls that you hang in a window, but still! We both laughed and said “mom’s here, and everything is just fine.” I had Veloice grab the camera and take a picture.
It wasn’t the last time mom showed up in a rainbow.
In our bedroom is a print of Jesus hugging a person in the clouds – a simple image that conveys the comforting message that God has one more surprise when the time comes. One afternoon I walked into our bedroom and my eyes were drawn to the picture where a colorful rainbow was dancing across the glass. I had been thinking about mom and the serendipity of that moment put a smile on my face. I felt mom close by and knew everything would be just fine.
It was a Friday afternoon, the car was packed with our camping equipment, cooler, and sleeping bags, the kids piled into the backseat, and we were off to Litchfield for the weekend. We drove through the town and found a city park with campsites by a small lake and a playground close by – it was perfect for our weekend getaway. We picked a site for our tent and unloaded the car. The sun was getting low so I got the tent set up as fast as I could while Veloice started getting our cooler and cook-stove ready to make dinner. That’s when I felt the first drop of rain. The sky to the west had darkened and we scrambled to get things inside the tent and car before it poured. Thankfully, it was a quick evening shower and the sun came back out as it slipped closer to the horizon. The kids and I started getting ready to make dinner on the picnic table when Veloice said “look!” I turned around and saw a huge rainbow just over the trees behind our campsite. Without a second thought I yelled “hey mom!” just as Veloice took a snapshot of me pointing to the rainbow. It didn’t come out in the photo very well, but it was there and it was a great way to start the rest of the weekend.
On Sunday afternoon we took down the tent, packed the car, and headed back home. After putting things away I walked into the kitchen where Veloice was sorting through the mail and the Sunday paper. “You aren’t going to believe this.” she said, handing me the colorful comic section of the paper. Right on the top was “Ziggy” standing by his tent, looking at a rainbow over the trees, and saying “hey mom, I’m home!” I stared at the comic for a minute thinking about the rainbow over our tent on Friday and saying “hey mom!” too. It took a minute to realize that Ziggy was saying “hi” to Mother Nature in the comic, but the serendipity of that moment was beautiful.
If it hadn’t rained on us, or if the evening clouds had blocked the setting sun, there would have been no rainbow. Or if it had rained an hour earlier, we wouldn’t have been there to see it. A million reasons why it might not have happened, and one very good reason why it did. Of course, the Ziggy comic strip could have been about anything else that Sunday, but it was a rainbow over a tent and mom. Rainbows happen when conditions are right – there’s nothing special about sunlight refracting through water droplets into a spectrum of color. And there’s nothing astounding about a comic of Ziggy recognizing Mother Nature. But when the two random acts happen together, and your mind is open to being aware of the serendipity of that moment, a new memory is created with a meaning that is larger, and more heartfelt, than either of the events by themselves. The rain, sunlight, and comic all came together in a moment of wonder. The miraculous found in the mundane. Thanks, mom.
Dad
As a young boy I was very fortunate that our family had a summer place on Silver Lake, in Wisconsin. My great-grandfather had purchased it in 1898 and it was a place that all of our extended family enjoyed over the years. Dad was a home movie buff and usually had a camera in his hands. He would splice the film and add titles providing a wonderful home movie record of our exploits and summer antics at the lake. There is one scene that dad took of me when I was probably 10 years old, sitting on the end of the pier with my toes splashing in the water as the sun went down. The lake was calm and the sunset was beautiful. Dad used that shot as the final scene in that summer’s home movie. Dad always liked sunsets, and I saw some of the best during my summers at Silver Lake.
After mom passed away, and my family moved up to Minnesota to be closer to family, dad and I spent lots of time on my boat on Lake Minnetonka. I remember taking him tubing on his 70th birthday and watching a spectacular sunset that filled the sky as we cranked the boat onto the trailer for the short trip home. If mom had rainbows, dad had sunsets.
Dad’s final years were a slow decline as Alzheimer’s took its toll. Just before Christmas one year I told dad we should take some photographs and I’d help him write some cards to his friends. Veloice took a bunch of shots of dad and me standing in front of our fireplace. Once the roll was used up she handed me the camera and I started to wind up the film, but noticed on the counter there was one shot left. I said “hey, dad! I got one more picture to take.” and he threw his arms up and had this big smile on his face. I snapped the shot. When the photos were developed I picked the best ones to send to his friends in their Christmas card, but that last shot was priceless and I framed it to keep.
I got the call that dad had fallen and I rushed over to Pioneer Estates where dad had been living for the last few years as his Alzheimer’s progressed. Seeing he was in pain and had bumped his head, I drove him to the emergency room where he was evaluated. He had a bleed in his brain and the prognosis was not good. We moved dad to hospice and made sure he was comfortable. The days slipped away, and so did dad. I was there early that spring morning, reading the paper while his favorite Frank Sinatra tape played in the background. His pulse was thready and I knew the end was near. The dawn was breaking outside the hospital window and I looked at dad. His eyes opened – they were as clear as ever – and I wrapped my arms around him and told him it was ok to go. Mom was waiting for him. I told him we would be fine. Then he took his last breath. I looked up at the ceiling and said “You did it! You did it your way.” and knew that he was no longer in pain. I turned and looked out the hospital window – the sun had just come up on that crystal clear May morning and there were two “Sun Dogs”. Rainbows! Hi mom! Mom was here to take dad home. I smiled and looked down on the window ledge and saw the framed photo I had taken of dad with his arms up and that huge smile on his face. After going through years of Alzheimer’s there hadn’t been lots of smiles, but this photo told me he was ok now.
Dad was cremated and he had requested we take his ashes back to Silver Lake. I called Skip McCallum (a family friend who had purchased the property from our family many years before) and he said it would be fine to bring dad back to that special place. A couple of weeks later I made the trip back to Silver Lake. After catching up with Skip in the old, familiar house, he told me to go down to the pier with dad’s ashes. Sitting on the end of the pier, and remembering all of the wonderful summers we had spent together at Silver Lake, I sprinkled dad’s ashes on the surface of the water.
Dad must have known what I was doing because the sunset kept getting better and better until the sky and the reflection in the water exploded into the most spectacular sunset I had ever seen.
Moments later I felt the pier shake and turned around to see Skip coming down to join me with a tray of Gin & Tonics. We watched the sunset together as dad’s ashes floated away into the colors on the calm mirror-like surface. I knew everything was going to be just fine. Dad had choreographed his final scene at Silver Lake for me and it was an Academy Award winning performance. Fade to black. The End. Well done, Dad.
Grandpa
The call came early in the morning – before sunrise – and awakened me from a sound sleep. Veloice had gone back to her hometown in Belmond, Iowa to be with her dad while he had surgery to put another stent in his heart. I knew any call this early could not be one I wanted to answer, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I reached for the phone. I had shaken Bill’s hand just last weekend after the 4th of July festivities in Belmond – an annual ritual for our family. We knew he was going back into the hospital for the procedure, and I wished him a speedy recovery as I turned and walked out the door to join the rest of our family in the van for the trip back to the Twin Cities. Never once did I think that those would be our last words to each other. Things had deteriorated quickly during the night, but nobody had expected him to pass away due to complications from the procedure.
I answered the phone and heard my wife say “dad died” through her tearful sobs. Those two words hit me in the chest like a sledge-hammer. Everything we said to each other in the following moments seemed empty and meaningless, just a feeble attempt at comforting when you knew the other person’s world had just been turned upside down. Knowing Veloice would have her hands full, I told her I would call the kids and make arrangements for them to get back to Belmond. I woke Kayla up and told her that Grandpa had passed away during the night. She wept in my arms as we sat together on her bed and hugged each other tightly. Then I called our other two daughters, Megan and Emily, and broke the sad news to them as gently as possible. By mid-day Kayla and I were in the car heading south on I-35 back to Iowa. Megan and Mike would soon be heading down from the Twin Cities and Emily was catching a plane home from college. It was a silent ride as Kayla and I felt the sadness overwhelm our hearts with each passing mile.
When we arrived at Veloice’s childhood home, and I walked up the same steps that I climbed so many years ago when I came to meet her parents for the first time, we joined the rest of the family who were also dealing with their own shock and sadness. There were hugs and empty stares; there were tears and words of assurance. But most of all there was just emptiness as each of us began to comprehend the hole in our own lives now that “Grandpa” was gone.
The day quickly filled with dreaded but necessary activities. Grandma was already meeting with her former neighbor and funeral director to make arrangements for Grandpa’s service. Veloice and her brother, Todd, were making calls to friends and relatives while Todd’s wife, Ann, and I tried to keep the kids busy.
By late afternoon I wandered into the screened in porch out back. I sat down in one of the cushioned patio chairs and felt the emotions well up inside of me. Then I cried. It was through teary eyes that I first saw the Monarch butterfly. I watched it flit around the bushes, just on the other side of the screen. Maybe I was thinking about God’s miraculous universe, or maybe just about the simple beauty of a lone butterfly in the middle of an emotional hurricane – but it captured my attention and a sense of peace came over me. From bush to bush, it fluttered, stopping occasionally to sit on a leaf with its wings slowly folding up and down. Never staying in one place for very long, it was off again, fluttering around the bushes in a delightful dance. Then it was gone. I smiled and was about to get up when it came back and started its dance all over again. This time I felt something else stir deep inside of me and my heart started to sing!
I heard the familiar “slam” of the screen door and looked up and saw Todd – his slouch and long face so uncharacteristic. “Your dad’s here” I said pointing at the butterfly that continued to linger outside the porch. Todd looked at me and I realized how silly that must have sounded to him. Bill, the consummate outdoorsman, would have picked an elk or an eagle, maybe a deer or a pheasant – surely not a butterfly. What was I thinking? But I looked at Todd and said “I really think he’s here right now.”
In an instant, my mind flashed back many years, to a conversation with my mom shortly before she passed away: she told me I could always find her in a rainbow. Since that day I have marveled at beautiful rainbows, smiled, and said “hi mom!” I also remembered when my dad passed away in my arms and how I looked up at the ceiling after he took his last breath. I knew in my heart that his spirit was still in that room. When I turned around and looked out the window at the early morning sunrise, I saw two colorful “Sun Dogs” and knew mom had come for dad. Those rainbows were a reminder from mom telling me that everything would be okay. Now, as I watched the Monarch, I had that same feeling again, and started to laugh as I watched the butterfly continue its carefree dance outside the patio screen. I was sure Bill’s spirit was here, telling us he was okay. But why a butterfly?
Later that afternoon I had to drive back to the Twin Cities, but would return the next day for Grandpa’s service. I headed out of town taking the familiar back roads over to the Interstate. In the distance I could see “The Tree” – a tall evergreen that stands alone in a small family cemetery, at the intersection where you make the turn to drive into Belmond on the two lane blacktop. Over the years it had become a standing joke with our family. Every time we would drive to Belmond, Veloice would always say, “Have I ever told you about that tree?” and we would all laugh. Her dad had always used the tree as a “landmark” in knowing where to turn on his way back to town. For over 30 years, we had too.
As I pulled up to the stop sign my tears fell again. I looked over at the tree and said “You should be bowed over right now!” That’s when a bunch of Monarch butterflies swirled around my car. No, there were hundreds of them! They were everywhere! I’d never seen anything like it and my tears turned to laughter once again as I thought about the butterfly outside the porch. Bill was here letting me know that everything was fine. Still laughing and crying at the same time, I started to turn left and was careful not to hurt any of the messengers in that cloud of orange and black fluttering wings that swirled around my car. As I drove away, watching the intersection and lone evergreen tree fade into the distance in my rear-view mirror, I kept thinking: why a butterfly?
Once I got home I went right to the basement and found what I was looking for – the wooden Monarch butterfly that Grandpa had made for us years ago to hang outside by our front door. As I held it, and gently brushed off the accumulated dust, I finally understood the significance of the butterfly. It was his hands that had made so many things over the years. It was his tools and the small, cramped workshop where so many family treasures were created that fill our homes today. It was his carving and painting. It was his love of nature and his craftsmanship in making gifts for all of his kids and grandchildren. It was his humor. And it was his love for each of us.
I was hanging it up in a special place on our 3-season porch when Veloice called to see if I had made it home alright. My voice was shaking as I told her about the butterfly outside the screened porch, and the swarm that had surrounded my car by “The Tree” when I left Belmond. It had taken a while to understand, but once the Monarch was hung I smiled and thought about the serendipity that is such a wonderful mystery in our daily lives. It’s all around us, but we have to be open to it. Sometimes it’s easily found in quiet moments, and in other times it has to push through the veil that separates our earthly lives from the place that we have known only in our hearts – a place where our spirits dance with butterflies, where butterflies can find us even when we forget them, and where they can still remind us that everything is just fine. Thanks, Grandpa. I remember.
Grandma
Enough time had passed since Grandpa died and Grandma was ready to get on with her life, activities, and her friends in Belmond. Veloice and Todd had helped her move into the retirement center and tackled the endless list of tasks to empty the house and get it ready for sale. Grandma was settling into the next chapter of her life when she came up to visit our family in Minnesota.
She had just seen her doctor in Belmond but he shrugged off her concern. It was just a cough – probably a cold or something. Veloice, an oncology nurse, insisted she come up to Minneapolis to get it checked out. While not unexpected, our prayers had failed to change the diagnosis and the doctor’s words stunned us once again. It was stage 4 lung cancer and the following months were filled with radiation and chemo treatments while we took care of Grandma in our home. Unlike the suddenness of Grandpa’s passing, we watched as Grandma’s health declined with each new day. There were good days and bad, there was laughter and hidden tears. There was the hum of the oxygen machine and the hours spent sharing stories from the past. Each day became ever more important as time kept slipping away.
When the doctor told us that there was nothing else they could do, the family and kids all came home to be by Grandma’s side. On that last morning I knew Veloice and Todd needed to be with their mom and offered to take the younger kids with me for the morning. We went to Round Lake Park in Eden Prairie so they could play and get some fresh air. As we got out of the car I lined them up and said “Now listen to me – if I whistle I want you all to come running. I don’t want to hear about only ‘2 more times down the slide’, or ‘can we stay just another 10 minutes?’” They agreed and ran off to the playground. I walked slowly over to the play area and sat down on a bench to watch the kids. I started looking for a Monarch butterfly, but there were none around.
A little while later I saw one of my neighbors pushing a stroller and said “Hi Julie!” She saw me and came over to chat. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Watching for a Monarch” I replied and then told her about Veloice’s mom. As we sat together on the bench, I told her about the Monarchs that I had seen after Veloice’s dad died, and the rainbows that I had seen on so many occasions since my mom passed away. I just knew that Bill would come to take Jean home – just like mom had come to take dad.
Our conversation turned to the kids while they giggled and laughed on the playground and we all soaked up the warmth of the sunny morning. A moment later I looked at Julie and said “my phone is about to ring.” She looked at me quizzically. I pointed to a lone Monarch flitting around in front of us. She looked back at me, her eyes saying everything, and then my phone rang. It was Ann, “Grandma just passed away.” “I know. Grandpa was just here to take her home. We’ll be right there.” I whistled for the kids and they came running.
The ride to the hospital was quiet – all of us deep in our own thoughts – each of us having been here before – young and old alike. We walked into the hospital room and joined the rest of our family around Grandma who had slipped away peacefully. I know in my heart that Grandpa came to tell her it was ok to let go. So did I, as I sat on the bench and watched the Monarch dance and remind me once again that life is full of so many wonderful miracles and mysteries that most of us miss, or disavow, because it’s easier to doubt than it is to let in the possible. We make up excuses to explain things we don’t understand, because believing is harder than denying. But in this amazing creation, anything is possible – and everything is possible. In the case of Rainbows and Butterflies, well those were meant for me. They both have roots in the relationships of people who were important to me, and both came back to me in ways that brought comfort in the middle of pain. And yet both are simple things of beauty that fill our world every day.
As I get up in years I spend more time looking back and hoping I’ve made the right choices – it’s pretty obvious to me that I’ve come farther than I have yet to go. I have my own experiences, made my own choices, and I’m comfortable living with their results. But as I grow old, I want to think more with my heart and less with my brain. I don’t need to figure it all out or have all the answers. It seems to me that the important answers in life have always been there in plain view.
I already know that Monarchs do more than migrate from Mexico to Canada – they carry the wishes and promises of others on their wings. They bring hope and assurance in their dance among the bushes. They are as beautiful as the magnificent colors of a rainbow, embossed across a dark, angry sky. Sunlight, chasing away the passing storm, letting you know that everything is okay, and creating a wonder of nature before your very eyes.
Rainbows and Butterflies – messengers sent from the Creator – there when I needed them most, and reaffirming that my life, and the lives of those around me, have always been in good hands, and that everything will be just fine.
THEN CAME AN ELUSIVE HUMMINGBIRD
The house seems so empty. I still yell out “Hershey, we’re home!” when I come in from the garage. I still do a double-take when I walk through the kitchen and see her empty dish, thinking I’d let Hershey run out of water. My morning routine of yoga on the living room floor still has me watching down the hall for her to come out and sit by me. The last piece of toast always belonged to Hershey – I still look for her at my feet before reluctantly putting it in my mouth.
After Hershey was cremated I knew I would spread her ashes in places that meant something to me – under the “Bucky Tree” in our yard (planted and named after our first dog), at Lake Minnetonka along the shore where she ran with such glee, and on the path around Staring Lake where we walked together almost everyday.
Years ago I put a Hummingbird feeder in our yard. It became a family joke because as hard as I tried the Hummingbirds never came. Even the red plastic had faded with the passage of time. One year I didn’t even put it out. I had pretty much given up. This year we cleaned up the garden in front of our house, spread mulch, added new plants, and hung flower baskets. The bird bath was in place and I decided to try the Hummingbird feeder again. I cleaned it, filled it with properly mixed nectar, and hung it on the Shepherd’s Hook in a sunny spot in the garden. Then I watched. Nothing.
In those first lonely days after Hershey was gone I’d sit on the front porch and remember her playing in the yard. At one point I looked at the forlorn feeder and said “Hershey, bring me a Hummingbird. If I see a Hummingbird I’ll know you’re okay.” Later that afternoon I told Veloice and the kids what I had asked Hershey to do.
For a couple of weeks I watched the feeder expectantly, cleaned and refilled it regularly, but no feathered friends paid a visit to my obviously jinxed feeder. I knew it was a long shot – and Hershey never seemed to listen to me. She usually turned her back whenever I talked to her – acting more like a Siamese Cat at times. However, I thought if a dog crossed the Rainbow Bridge, maybe they could send some serendipity into the world for those who were left behind.
After spreading Hershey’s ashes under the “Bucky Tree”, and at Lake Minnetonka with Kayla last week, I had a small amount left to spread during my walk at Staring Lake. I parked the car and walked the short distance to the pier where I sat on the bench and thanked Hershey while I sprinkled some of her ashes into the water. I walked the 2-1/4 miles around Staring in silence and sprinkled the remaining ashes at different places along the path where I remembered walking with her. Then I drove home.
And I’ve been watching it all afternoon while I write this.
There is nothing miraculous about a Hummingbird finding a feeder, but today? After years of hanging the feeder, trying and giving up, only to try again, unsuccessfully? Really? After I told Veloice that Hershey would send me a Hummingbird? It shows up an hour after I get home from spreading the last of her ashes at Staring Lake? Seriously? I asked Hershey to bring me a Hummingbird so I’d know she was okay. It happened. You can call it a coincidence, but I know better.
For weeks my tears fell at the very thought of Hershey being gone. I clung to her ashes. Today I let her go and my heart is full of joy. I know Hershey is free and I know she will always be close to my heart. Upon seeing the Hummingbird today, I felt reassured that one day I will cross that Rainbow Bridge and see Hershey racing toward me, yelping with glee.
Rainbows, Butterflies, and now an elusive Hummingbird have come into my life when I needed them most, reassuring me that everything will be just fine.
ROAD TRIP WITH A HUMMINGBIRD
In high school I watched a show called “Then Came Bronson”, about a newspaperman who becomes disillusioned with his life after the suicide of his best friend. In order to renew his soul, he quits his job, buys a Harley Sportster, and becomes a vagabond searching for the meaning of life. In the opening scene, Jim Bronson is sitting on his motorcycle wearing his signature jeans, jacket, and a dark blue “beanie” on his head, with a small pack on the back of his bike – stopped at a traffic signal waiting for the light to change. The weary businessman in the car next to him looks over at Bronson sitting on his motorcycle and gives him an approving nod. Bronson smiles back, revs his throaty engine, and rumbles off into various adventures for 30 minutes every Thursday evening as he travels the lonely back roads of the west. I was hooked.
I’m on my 6th motorcycle now and had always wanted to take a road trip and be like Bronson for a few weeks – map in hand, traveling the back-roads with no itinerary, and seeing who I’d meet along the way. Finally, in my 60s, semi-retired, and with more flexibility in my schedule, the time had come to check a motorcycle/camping road-trip off my Bucket List.
When spring finally came I uncovered my Honda VTX1300 in the garage and carefully prepared my bike for a 3 week ride out west: checked the lights and horn, replaced the spark plugs, put on a new air filter, topped off the coolant, changed the oil and filter, and wired a plug-in charger to the battery so I could use the GPS app and charge my iPhone while riding and camping. I had put new tires and brakes on the bike last fall so I checked the tire pressure after winter storage just to be sure. One final check for any items needing attention and I was confident it was ready to ride.
With the choke pulled out, and the key switched to “on”, I said a little prayer and crossed my fingers as I pushed the starter button. It cranked and popped, shaking loose some of the winter cobwebs, but didn’t catch. I let off the starter to ration the fading battery charge. Twisting the throttle grip a couple of times to throw a little more fuel into the twin jugs, I pushed the starter again and got a sputter and cough. One more time and the engine caught – the throaty Cobra pipes roaring to life and filling the garage with the thrilling sound of a powerful V-Twin.
My camping equipment was hauled down from the shelf in the garage and laid out on the floor next to my idling bike. I picked out the items I would need, keeping the selection to the basics, knowing space on a motorcycle would be far less than the back of our SUV when Veloice and I go camping. That afternoon I rode to the MotorSports store in Lakeville to purchase a new helmet, a nice Klim All-Season riding jacket (that would offer additional protection on my trip), and some rain gear so I could ride in any weather. On the way back home I stopped by our local Barnes & Noble to pick up a new atlas for my trip. GPS is helpful when you need it, but there’s something more adventurous when you study a map and see all the roads less traveled that are beckoning with new possibilities. When getting somewhere fast is no longer your primary concern, pull out a map and find a new way. My journey would take me west, but it was staying off interstates (after I got through Iowa and Nebraska as quickly as possible), and mooching off some friends and family along the way, that would determine my route. I opened my new Atlas and started looking for places I wanted to visit.
A Professor Remembered
Veloice and I had spent several wonderful years in Colorado when we first got married, and it’s one of the places I knew I wanted to visit on my trip.
My degree was in Management and Organization from the University of Colorado. During my junior and senior years I had a professor named Don Warrick. Simply put, he changed my life. Throughout my 40 year business career in management I’ve worked with some great companies and have used what I learned in Don’s classes in every position I’ve ever held. One day I was looking at the UCCS website and saw that Don, now in his 80s, was still involved as an emeritus professor on campus. His contact information was listed under his name so I opened my laptop and typed out an email to thank him for the instruction and insight that had served me well throughout my management career. I hit send. The next day my phone rang while I was standing in the kitchen – it was Don Warrick and I started to laugh when I heard his still familiar voice. It was our first conversation in over 40 years. At the end of our chat he asked me if I ever got back to Colorado and I told him I would be riding out that way in a few weeks. He offered to take me to lunch and for a tour of the campus when I got into town.
I circled Colorado Springs on my road trip map.
Hoping to spend some time riding around the Rocky Mountains I thought of other people I might be able to visit. I called our longtime college friends, Bob and Rhonda, to see if I could come visit. “Of course!” My cousin Stu lives in Aspen and would be around – “Call when you get in the area.” My next call was to Mike Meeks, a former business partner who loves to ride. We were able to coordinate a few days riding together in the mountains during my trip. Gregg and Lisa, good friends from Minnesota, had recently retired in Steamboat and would be delighted to have me swing by to see their new place.
More circles on the Colorado map.
A Band of Brothers
In 1970 I joined the Army, did my advanced training at Fort Rucker in aviation, and served as a Crew Chief on RU-6A (de Havilland DHC-2 Beaver) aircraft with the Army Security Agency at the 156th AVN CO (RR) in Can Tho, Vietnam. During my year in Vietnam I served with some great guys – fellow Crew Chiefs and Pilots. Our missions were all classified Top Secret and our experiences could not be shared outside of our small group. At the end of our tours we returned home to a country that looked down on veterans and we simply returned to civilian life and chose to forget. There was no social media at that time and many of us lost touch with each other as we got on with our lives.
The email arrived in my “In Box” at work and I recognized the name right away. After a flurry of emails back and forth, Jim Denning and I were reconnected after more than 30 years. Having stayed in aviation throughout his career he invited me to join him and some friends at the Oshkosh AirVenture in Wisconsin for the largest airshow in the world. I rode over on my motorcycle that summer for a week of planes, food, laughter, and stories. I’ve been going back almost every July for the last 14 years and watched our group get larger – joined by other members of the 156th who served with us as we found them, rekindled our relationships, and invited them to join us in Oshkosh each summer.
Unfortunately, now that Jim has retired and travels around the country in his large 5th Wheel (which was our base of operations at Oshkosh), we are finding it harder to get together for our Oshkosh air show reunions on an annual basis.
Which gave me an idea for my trip…
I text Jim to see where he had been boondocking for the winter, and where he would be heading as spring turned into summer. He responded right away that he was in Arizona, down by Mexico, but would be heading to his cousin’s ranch in Kingman, AZ for a few weeks, then continue up to Idaho on his summer migration. Looking at my Utah map I traced the route he would probably take north. Typing excitedly on my iPhone, I told him I was planning a motorcycle trip out west and wondered if we might be able to hook up in Salt Lake City. It looked like it was possible on his end.
One of our pilots, Dave Barber, who had joined us occasionally at Oshkosh when his schedule permitted, lives in Salt Lake City. I text Dave to let him know our plans and he told me about an airshow that he was involved with at the local Air Force Base – and the Thunderbirds would be performing. It happened to be on the same weekend we were shooting for and he gladly offered to host our visit at his home. He also reminded me that Mike McBride (another one of our buddies from the 156th) also lived in Salt Lake City and he would let him know that we were planning a mini reunion for that weekend.
An airshow with the Thunderbirds in the town where two of our buddies lived, on the very weekend Jim’s and my paths would converge in Salt Lake City? What are the odds?
My finger traced different routes on the map from western Colorado over to Salt Lake City. I would be traveling close to Moab and decided to make a stop there to camp and ride through Arches National Park on my motorcycle. It’s a beautiful place – I had been there before with Veloice in our car – but always thought how spectacular it would be to ride through Arches on a motorcycle, in the evening as the sun got low in the sky, the waning light illuminating the rock formations and casting shadows across the rust colored landscape.
I circled Moab and Salt Lake City on my map.
From Salt Lake City it’s an easy ride north into Idaho where my daughter, Emily, and her family live. It would be fun to ride into Driggs and spend a few days with the grandkids in the Teton Valley before I started out on my return trip through Wyoming and South Dakota. Now that the dates were starting to get anchored by several commitments, my window for a visit was limited. Unfortunately, Emily told me they were going to be out east vacationing on the Jersey Shore with Karlin’s family at the same time I would be riding through, so a visit wouldn’t be possible and I would have to find a different route home.
Sitting on the couch with the atlas on my lap and cell phone in my hand, watching the pieces fall into place, I began to feel a little serendipity in the air as this childhood dream of a “Bronson” ride started to take shape.
Saturday June 9th
First, I stopped by to see my friends at “Cheers” for coffee. This group of guys has been gathering every Saturday morning for over 30 years – a fitting way to start my journey. After catching up with each other and solving the world’s problems, I said goodbye to the guys, told them I’d see them in a month, and drove home to load up the rest of my gear for the journey.
Then the rain started.
I had been packed for days, eager to set off on my ride, and wasn’t going to let the rain slow me down. I pulled on my rain gear, kissed Veloice, hopped on my bike, and said “I don’t wait for blue skies, I go find them!” One more check of the radar app on my phone and I rode down our street on the first leg of my Big Adventure. I finally felt like Bronson as I turned the corner and a smile crept across my rain splattered face.
An hour and a half later I finally crossed into Iowa and the rain let up a bit. A little further down I-35 I flicked on my turn signal and took the Clear Lake exit. Pulling into the Quik Trip for fuel I noticed how still the air was after being buffeted by the winds all the way to the state line. The sky was an eerie green color and it seemed so quiet. As I finished fueling, and put the fuel nozzle back into the pump, I watched a young couple come out of the store and followed their gaze as they quickly looked over the building toward the west – angry black clouds were moving in our direction. Flashes of lightning illuminated the towering thunderheads and a sharp clap of thunder quickly followed. A tornado siren in town started its foreboding wail. I glanced at the lighter sky to the south, fired up my bike and speed shifted through the gears, keeping the tach just short of redlining as I raced up the ramp onto I-35. Without warning, strong crosswinds came out of the west and buffeted me as I tried to keep the bike in one lane. At this speed, if hail started to fall, I’d be in serious trouble. With nothing but open Iowa cornfields around me I looked for a bridge to give me cover. Keeping an eye on the tumult in my rearview mirror as I raced down the interstate I put as much distance between me and the raging storm as I could. Yes, I had visions of Dorothy’s nosy neighbor on her bike with Toto in the basket as they were swept up in the Kansas tornado! A few miles down the road I finally pulled off under a bridge for protection and watched as the storm crossed the interstate just to the north.
Stripping off my rain gear, confident that I was through the worst of it, I stowed the sopping wet bundle in my saddlebag and got back on the road. Thankfully, the sky continued to clear ahead of me. My damp clothes air-dried in minutes as I rode south toward Des Moines. After a dinner stop in West Des Moines it was a beautiful sunset ride on I-80 west toward Avoca where I checked into a Motel 6 for a well deserved rest.
Sunday (Avoca to Brush)
I could hear the rain hitting the hotel window as I laid in bed. Not the way I wanted to start the second day of my ride – I had a long day ahead of me crossing Nebraska and grabbed my phone to see if rain was going to make the ride even worse. It looked like I could punch through the squall quickly, so I suited up and rode out of it just before Omaha. The sky cleared as I crossed the Missouri River and the day warmed up as the sun got higher. It is a long, boring ride through Nebraska on I-80 – the monotony broken only by brief fuel stops every couple of hours. As the sun slipped toward the horizon, and the afternoon heat began to subside, I crossed into Colorado and pulled off an hour later in the town of Brush. After checking into the Microtel hotel I unpacked my bike, took a long hot shower, and flopped onto the soft bed for the night.
Monday (Brush to Colorado Springs)
Peeking through the slit in the curtains I was greeted by a gorgeous sunrise. After a wet and boring first two days I knew that the trip was really just getting started from this point on. Digging into my backpack I pulled out the Zip Lock bag that contained my individual state maps, torn out of my atlas to save space and weight, and removed the Colorado map for today’s ride. No more interstates – now I’ll take the state highways and county roads that I had traced with a yellow highlighter on my map. I pulled on my jeans and T-shirt, lathered up with sunscreen, packed up my gear, and secured the load to my bike with bungee cords. Before leaving town I fueled up and searched for a coffee shop to get my day off to a good start. Brush is a dusty Eastern Colorado town with a lot of boarded up storefronts on Main Street, but I found Willow Coffee & Tea for my morning stop and it was perfect. After an Americano and a scone I turned onto Highway 71 and started to meander my way south toward Limon.
Signs for Limon and Highway 24 appeared and told me I would be turning right soon – heading back to the west as I made my way toward Colorado Springs. It’s always fun to watch the horizon and try to discern whether the white smudges in the distance are clouds or the snow capped peaks on the distant Rocky Mountains. I watch for Pikes Peak to make its appearance and my heartbeat picks up a few beats when I think I see it in the distance. I feel like I’m going home.
Veloice and I moved to Colorado Springs in April of 1974. We met Bob and Rhonda shortly after we arrived and became acquaintances in our new town. I landed some odd jobs and eventually returned to college while Veloice worked as a RN at Penrose Hospital. We enjoyed our trips up to Helen Hunt Falls, Cripple Creek, and Garden of the Gods. After a year we decided to move into a larger apartment near the Air Force Academy and were unpacking boxes in our new place when I heard the familiar sound of a VW Bug sputtering up our cul-de-sac. I looked out the front window and saw Bob’s familiar blue VW, with a large plant sticking out of the sunroof, pull into the parking lot of the building two doors down. We had ended up moving onto the same street without either of us knowing in advance. Seriously? What are the odds? We were married that summer and so were Bob and Rhonda. More than neighbors, we became best friends, and have been for over 45 years. In a few minutes we would be hugging, laughing, and completing each other’s sentences as if no time had passed since our last visit. I cracked the throttle to pick up the pace.
They heard me coming up the street and met me in the driveway. Bob helped me carry my gear up to my room while Rhonda worked on dinner. I stripped off my riding clothes and put on some shorts and a T-shirt. The dry mountain air, and no bugs, make lounging on their beautiful patio a delightful place for old friends to catch up.
I also emailed my professor, Don Warrick, to let him know I was in town and was looking forward to seeing him. Unfortunately, I got an email back saying he wasn’t on campus this summer after all. I was heartbroken that our plans had fallen through, but a few minutes later my phone chirped again and I got another email from Don asking if I could come up to his house near Monument after breakfast instead.
The next morning I rode down to the local car wash, dropped a fistful of quarters into the slot, and hosed off layers of mud, road grime, and accumulated Nebraska bugs off my windshield. I entered Don’s address into my GPS and made my way up to Rangley Road, found his mailbox, and followed the long winding driveway back to his home hidden in the trees on many acres of beautiful mountain property.
Don was standing at the top of the stairway leading up to the front door when I pulled in front of his house and lowered the kickstand. For a man now in his 80s he is still fit and trim, and dresses as sharp as he always did in our classes. His rustic home sits high up in the foothills and looks out toward the Air Force Academy and the Front Range to the west. It is a beautiful setting that takes your breath away. I walked up the steps and shook hands with the man who changed my life in his classroom so many years ago. He led me inside, introduced me to his wife, Anna, and we settled into a couple of worn leather chairs that looked out his large living room windows, framing the valley below and the Rocky Mountains beyond like an Ansel Adams print (but in color).
The last time I saw Don I was graduating from college and just starting my business career with a job back in Illinois. Now here we sit with my 40 year career behind me, thanking my professor for the lessons he taught me that had served me so well over the years. It was a rare moment for both of us and one we will both remember. How often do you get to say “thank you” to someone so important in your life?
As I walked down the steps back to my bike I thought of the chance email I sent to him weeks ago, and his invitation to meet on campus. A change in plans led me up to his home where we could share this sacred moment together – a student thanking his teacher for lessons taken to heart. I turned around and waved goodbye to my mentor and forever friend.
My timing was just right as I pulled into Wild Wings to meet my old high school buddy, Rick. We hugged and picked up right where we left off on our last visit – remembering childhood antics, old girlfriends, family stories and war stories, and like all guys in their 60s, what aches, pains, and maladies keep us occupied with doctor appointments in our golden years. After listening to all his complaints, I felt pretty good about riding and camping for several weeks on my Big Adventure.
Leaving the restaurant after lunch I took the long way around Colorado Springs so I could ride through the Garden of the Gods, Manitou Springs, visit my campus at UCCS, and a swing by both of our old apartments (which certainly show their age and wear today). Then again, I guess we do, too.
Later that evening Bob and Rhonda took me to Modern Market for dinner – a farm to table restaurant that was wonderful. Once we got back to their house we sat and talked until our eyes got heavy and a soft bed was a fitting end to a very special day.
Wednesday (6/13)
No rush today. I just have to pack the bike and hit the road around 9 to meet Mike Meeks in Canon City. I’ll have time for some coffee and toast with Bob and Rhonda before I go.
It’s off to Cañon City on the next leg of my trip where I’ll meet my friend and former business partner, Mike Meeks, for a couple days of riding. Once I get through the Colorado Springs rush hour traffic (it has grown so much since my college days) I go up the pass into the Rockies. Already at 6200 feet in the Springs, I start climbing and the ride gets spectacular. There’s nothing more fun on a motorcycle than riding through the mountains and being IN the majesty of it all. Twisting and turning, downshifting, leaning into the curves and sensing the power of the V-Twin as you accelerate out of them, the sound of the pipes changing and reverberating off the rocky cuts – you become one with your bike and the road. The sun warms you and the breeze cools you. The smell of the pine, the grassy valleys with wild flowers, peaks rising all around you with snow still fighting the sun by hiding in the shadows. Runoff, cascading down rocky crevices and mountain streams, on its long journey to the mighty rivers, and eventually into the Gulf of Mexico. There’s no air conditioning, no radio, nobody to talk to, no maps to look at – and we don’t care which roads we take or where we’ll end up tonight – it’s just the ride. Only the ride. In one of the most breathtaking places on Earth.
Driving into town on the main drag, I saw the sign for Mugs in Cañon City. Mike’s silver Goldwing was parked out front. I stowed my jacket and helmet in my saddle bag, put on my ball cap and walked inside. Mike was pouring me coffee as I pulled up a chair. We ordered breakfast, got caught up with each other, pulled out the Colorado map from my pocket, and started looking for places to ride.
Thursday (6/14) – Fresco/Breckenridge
Mike’s snoring woke me up at 5:30, so I quickly dressed and went out for a walk. There was a place along the sidewalk where a dirt path meandered off into a meadow with some benches. A few other people were there with their coffee watching the sun creep slowly up over the mountains. I found an empty bench and sat down to watch the colorful celestial show in complete silence. It was another beautiful Colorado sunrise for those of us who got up early enough to witness it.
Serendipity again? Maybe my elusive Hummingbird was close by, watching over me on this trip. I whispered my thanks for Mike’s snoring and the beautiful sunrise – just in case it was listening.
On the way back to the room I found a Starbucks near the hotel and got my Americano and scone. Perfect.
Mike’s eyes got wide as he looked at me over the top of his menu, grinning incredulously at our luck. He tilted his head and asked “Have you noticed how things seem to keep falling into place on this trip?” Mike and I have had many deep conversations about faith, spirituality, and religion over the years, so I smiled and responded “Mike, I have a story to tell you.” I told him about losing Hershey a few weeks ago, the Hummingbird showing up at the jinxed feeder, the coincidences that happened as I prepared for this trip, and all the serendipity I’ve been seeing along the way. “It feels like my elusive Hummingbird is with me on this trip. I know it sounds crazy, but it seems like things are happening for a reason.” Mike’s eyes got wide again and he nodded his head slowly in agreement – “I think you just might be right about that.”
After a wonderful dinner, with our fun waitress taking good care of us, we paid our bill (leaving a tip fit for an angel to show our gratitude), got back to the hotel and fell asleep within minutes.
Friday (6/15)
After checking out of the hotel and packing up our bikes, Mike and I had breakfast together in town. Afterwards, we promised to plan another trip next summer, then rode off in different directions. I rode south to Breckenridge to do a little exploring and found a coffee place on Main Street. I have all day for some mountain riding in the area before heading up to Steamboat for my visit with Gregg & Lisa.
I text my cousin Stu to see if we could hook up tomorrow and decided to meet at the Hotel Denver in Glenwood Springs for lunch.
Saturday (6/16)
Gregg was making egg & sausage tacos for breakfast. Lisa made Americanos for us. At 7 o’clock (8 AM back in Minneapolis where the guys would be gathering for coffee) we had a FaceTime call with guys at Cheers back home. After breakfast I packed up my bike and thanked Gregg and Lisa for a fun visit. Leaving Steamboat I took a different road (Route 131) back down to I-70 and then headed west to Glenwood Springs for lunch with my cousin Stu.
Sunday (6/17 – Father’s Day)
Got up around 6 AM after a good night’s sleep. Cloudy out, but got dressed and went across the street to Octopus Coffee for an Americano and some delicious homemade banana bread. Walking back to the hotel, I stopped by the office and extended my stay for another night (at a much better rate) since the forecast is for scattered showers all day.
Today I’d just stay in the area and do a little exploring. I put a light pack on my bike so I had essentials with me, then rode to the Colorado National Monument. It truly is amazing, like a mini Grand Canyon, and I have no idea why we haven’t taken the time to drive through on previous trips. Unfortunately, my luck ran thin, the rain caught up to me, and it was a very wet ride back into town.
CRASH! I heard the gentleman next door leave, followed a moment later by the sickening sound of my bike tipping over hard. I ran to the door and saw my bike on its side in the hotel drive. It had slid down the slight incline in the parking lot and fallen over. Another gentleman came around the corner in his pickup and helped me get it back upright. My throttle grip was damaged, but still worked. The rest of the bike was fine. I had talked to the man next door earlier in the day – nice guy, Vietnam Vet – I’m sure he didn’t know what happened. I looked on the web for a Motorsport repair shop and figured I’d get there first thing in the morning to see if they could fix it.
Monday (6/18)
After my stop at Octopus Coffee I rode over to the Honda store. Closed on Monday. Good grief. Do I go on? I checked on Google for other repair shops – nothing in Moab, and I don’t want to drive in Salt Lake City traffic with a sticky throttle grip. Time for Plan B. Knowing it might take some time, I decided to change my plans and see if I could get a 2 day reservation at the Grand Junction KOA. Veloice and I stayed there before and it is a nice campground. I booked it online from the Honda store and rode down Highway 50 to see if I could check in early.
The people behind the desk in the familiar KOA A-frame office building were cordial, signed me in early, and pointed out on the glossy map where my tent site was located, where the bathrooms and showers were, and jotted down the WIFI password. Once I found my site it didn’t take long to unpack my gear and set up my tent. I unfolded my sleeping bag and draped it over my handlebars to air it out before putting it in my tent. Hearing a golf cart pull up behind me, I turned around to wave. A tanned and weathered old lady, clad in jeans and a bright yellow KOA t-shirt, smiled and waved back as she pulled the cart up to the fire ring to deliver the firewood I ordered while checking in. She had a wiry frame and short gray hair, but handled the two bundles of wood with ease. I thanked her and handed her a few bucks for her effort for which she was grateful. She asked about my bike and where I was headed. Turns out she is a biker, too. Her walkie talkie squawked with some garbled instructions and she waved goodbye as she hopped in her cart and sped off to answer the call.
Once my campsite was settled I rode over to the Country Market to pick up a few things for dinner, then put on my suit and walked over to the pool where I spent some time reading, swimming, and writing.
Tuesday (6/19)
The morning sun hit the orange flap on my tent and it was blazing! And the tent was warming up fast. I got dressed, brushed my teeth, and made my AeroPress coffee. As I walked down to throw out trash, I stopped by to say hi to a gal that rode in last night. Tammy is an OR nurse on a 2 week ride from Virginia on a beautiful Harley. Another guy walked by my campsite with 2 dogs. I said hi and told him I missed my dog. He is a Vietnam vet and we chatted for a few minutes. I love traveling and camping – you meet fun people.
It’s really starting to sink in – this whole trip has been about amazing coincidences, flukes, and maybe a little serendipity. I’ve seen people I didn’t expect to see, been places I didn’t think I’d get to, and had things happen that I just think were meant to be. The nice thing is, I’m aware of each moment when something like that happens, and I remember to say “thanks”. Just in case my elusive Hummingbird is listening.
Back at camp, since I now have most of the day free, I got my map out and started thinking about a ride up to the Grand Mesa – I haven’t been there before.
And then this happened…
I have been trying to book the Moab KOA for several days but could only get a tent site with no hookups. Since my onboard charger has been acting up, having a place to charge my phone is really necessary. Every time I checked online the only sites available were without hookups – which made my decision to stay in Grand Junction (cheaper and WITH hookups) easy to make. This morning, since everything on this trip has been falling amazingly into place, I called the KOA directly. Elizabeth answered and I told her my story. “Let me see what we can do… One tent site, with electric and water hookups, for one person on a motorcycle. We just had a cancellation and we can hold it for you for tomorrow night.” I think I’ll go buy a lottery ticket.
Decision made, map folded up and put in my back pocket, now it’s up to Grand Mesa (the tallest flat top mountain in the world at 10,000 feet). The two lane road from the exit off I-70 that twisted and turned it’s way up the mountain was beautiful. I stopped at Powderhorn Resort for a look around, then continued on until I came across the picturesque Mesa Lakes Lodge nestled in the pines down a short rutted gravel drive. I parked my bike and took off my riding gear while I watched an angler casting out of his fishing boat on a small mountain lake. I put on my ball cap as I walked up the wooden steps and into the rustic old lodge. The plank wooden floor creaked and echoed in the large room with high vaulted log beamed ceilings. “This is exactly the kind of place I was looking for!” I told the young woman behind the bar as I sat down on a stool and reached for a menu stuck between the chrome napkin holder and a half filled bottle of Heinz Ketchup.
Noticing a lit up cooler at the far end of the bar, I slipped off my stool to take a closer look. Ice cream – Huckleberry – done deal! Alexandria scooped a small dish for me and I was off to a wooden Shaker rocking chair on the porch overlooking the picturesque mountain lake. The place was quiet, so Alexandria came out a few minutes later with her own dish, sat down, and gave me the lowdown on which roads to take on my ride over Grand Mesa. Another car pulled into the lot and Alexandria greeted the older couple as they walked up the steps with the same smiles I had only a few minutes ago when I realized I had discovered a treasure among the pines. She stood and followed them into the lodge to take their lunch orders.
Tossing my empty dish and plastic spoon into the receptacle by the front door, I walked down the steps and followed the dirt path to the lakeshore to skip a few stones across the mirror-calm water. The dry mountain air was cool at this altitude, but the sun was warm and welcome. Reaching into the cold shallow water I picked out a few round flat stones from the rocky shore. With a practiced throw, honed during my summers at Silver Lake, I hurled the first stone low across the water and watched as it skipped across the surface before slowing and sinking below the surface. I watched the ripples expand silently in concentric circles from each skip of the rock.
Returning to the lodge I settled up with Alexandria, thanked her for a great visit, then followed her local expert advice for taking some roads tourists seldom see as they travel across the Mesa.
Wednesday (6/20)
The old wiry lady with a twinkle in her eyes, wearing her bright yellow KOA shirt, was riding her cart around the campground checking to see who had left. She saw me packing up and pulled up next to my bike. “Where ya headed now?” she asked. I told her Moab. “Taking the back way, through Gateway and Naturita?” I remembered talking to her when I first arrived – she rides, too. I listened as she gave me her recommendation. “You’ll regret it if you don’t. It winds through the heart of the Colorado canyon country.” I smiled and answered, “You know, I think I’ll do that.” Her walkie talkie crackled and she was off in a cloud of dust, waving without turning around as she sped off.
I was on my bike, ready to run up to I-70 for the boring interstate ride over to Moab. Instead, I’m winding through twists and turns on the back roads of western Colorado. There is no cell service, no billboards, no power lines, hardly any traffic, and no gas for miles on end. There are only cattle guards in the road, signs warning of “Game Crossing”, amazing canyons, vistas, and terrific scenery. The blue sky is crystal clear – not a cloud to be seen. When the road hugs the canyon wall and I’m in the shade it’s chilly, then the road bends and I feel the warmth of the sun. I pulled off on the side of the road to write about this ride and there’s not a sound. Complete silence. Instead of following semis down the interstate, I’m winding through this untouched creation – and I’m aware of why I’m on this trip.
An angel (disguised as a wiry old KOA lady) crossed my path this morning and whispered “Take a different road. Enjoy the ride.” I listened. Thank you, my fine feathered friend – wherever you are.
Just arrived in Moab and got my tent set up. Now it’s off to Arches for my evening run through the park and dinner in town before returning to camp.
Riding through Arches at sunset on a motorcycle has always been on my Bucket List. The air had cooled down as the evening sun sank toward the horizon. The afternoon crowds were gone and I had the winding road almost to myself. Cruising through the towering, sometimes eerie, rock formations was delightful – even after the long ride through canyon country on the way over from Grand Junction. The setting sun illuminated the western faces of the familiar formations with a rusty orange glow, while the backsides were dark and cast long shadows across the sandy scrub.
Thursday (6/21)
I awoke at 6:30 and put on my riding jeans and t-shirt – got a lot of miles on them and I’m in need of a washing machine pretty soon. I walked down to the restroom to clean up and enjoyed the cool dry morning air. I made my AeroPress coffee and started packing up my camping gear.
Floyd Jacob McAllister and his son were camping next to me. He came out of his camper and we exchanged greetings. Floyd is 90 and sharp as a tack. He was admiring my bike and wondered how I could pack everything up. He had a Harley when he was a young man so I invited him over to see how I packed it for 3 weeks on the road. We talked about grandkids (he has greats, too), the loss of his wife 2 years ago, he drove semis for Amoco Oil, lives in Denver – all the chit chat that campers do – it’s part of the fun. Floyd wanted to hear me start it up. He loves the sound of Harley pipes. I told him mine were quieter than a Harley, but had a nice throaty rumble. He smiled. I told him I’d goose the throttle a little when I left – just for him. I told him I was journaling about my trip and asked if I could get a pic. Floyd and I shook hands and I got back to packing up. I needed to head into town to get gas and have some breakfast at the Peace Tree restaurant before I start the ride to Salt Lake City where I’ll hook up with my Vietnam buddies, Dave, Mike, and Jim, for the airshow this weekend.
I goosed the throttle as I left my campsite. In my rear view mirror I saw Floyd grin and wave standing in his camper door.
Now it’s off to Salt Lake City for the next chapter of my ride.
It was a long, hot ride from Moab through the parched moonscape of northern Utah. Once past Price, I climbed into the mountains and it became cooler and greener as I ascended into the mountains to the southeast of Salt Lake City. I came down into the valley just in time for rush hour traffic but pulled into Dave Barber’s driveway at 6 PM. Dave’s wife, Lora, and Barb (Jim’s wife) welcomed me in the driveway. A few minutes later Mike and Beth pulled up in front of the house – Mike was our Supply person at the 156th (and I had met him at Oshkosh several years ago when he came with Dave).
Jim was busy cooking ribs and steaming corn while Lora and I set the table. Dave gave me a tour of his home then we all sat down to dinner and watched the sunset cast it’s shadows across the mountains to the east.
Dave had recently purchased an observation tower from the airport where he flew and erected it in his backyard for watching sunsets and fireworks displays. It’s what every pilot would like in his backyard (but apparently, not every pilot’s wife). After dinner Dave took us into a room where he had laid out all his military memorabilia for us to look at. Jim and I were both crew chiefs at the 156th and Dave was our favorite pilot – that’s a bond that time simply can’t break. Mike was our company Supply NCO and a good guy to know when you needed things. Stories and laughter filled the room for the rest of the evening as we relived our time together as a Band of Brothers in Vietnam so very long ago.
Friday (6/22)
Up at 7 (slept like a log) and had coffee with Dave and Lora – talked about family. At 9 we went over to Mike and Beth’s house to see an old truck Mike is restoring, and Beth’s collections of lighthouses, Coke memorabilia, and spoons. After seeing Mike’s truck he took us into his Man Cave which was filled with drums, model plans, and a lifetime of memories. There wasn’t a place to look without seeing things that amazed me.
Saturday (6/23)
It turned out that Dave’s friend was actually the 224th AVN Battalion Headquarters Company Commander during our time at the 156th in Vietnam. He was a big shot in the Army Security Agency over all of us. Here we are, chatting in his driveway, with him watching my motorcycle while we go to the airshow. You just can’t make this stuff up.
It was a perfect day, and the Thunderbirds were already screaming across the sky before the big show in order to warm up those who were parking their cars and walking toward the gate. A giant C-17 made a low level pass, rocking its wings back and forth, and then disappeared over the mountains to the west. Dave, Jim, and I were walking the flight line, checking out some of the static displays, when a F-22 Raptor hit its afterburner with a thunderous roar and stood on its tail going straight up into the sky. We heard the announcer welcome everyone and begin narrating the events overhead as the show got underway.
For a group of guys who spent a year together crewing and flying planes in Vietnam, never in our wildest dreams would we ever have thought we would be walking a flightline together, 50 years later, still friends, and enjoying every moment we could spend near aircraft.
After the Thunderbirds landed there was a break in the action (and the noise). We left our shady spot under the wing and I shook hands and said goodbye to Jim as he got ready for his 2 hour shift in the CAF booth, then walked with Dave for a ride back to my bike.
A dark blue sedan sped by me, buffeting me slightly as it passed. Windows up, probably running the a/c on high. No doubt the music was turned up loud. Heads bobbed and hands waved between the driver and passenger – an animated conversation. I looked down and checked my speed – just under the posted limit. They were in a hurry and I watched their vehicle get smaller and smaller as it sped north. That’s the thing about riding a cruiser on a road trip, there’s time for my mind to wander, thoughts rolling through my brain like tumbleweed across western highways.
Riding on the Interstate, with the deep melodic rumble of the V-Twin providing a monotonous backdrop to my wandering thoughts, my mind drifted back to the ditch.
My Ditch Moment
Social drinking had crept up on me over the years. In counseling, after my DUI, I learned that grief was a trigger for me. On the way to see my uncle for the last time before he died, I lost it and ended up in a ditch. Vowing not to let something like that happen to me again, I reached out for help. Shortly after getting my DUI I drove out to Idaho to tell Emily what had happened. During our conversation that night on her couch she told me that their friend, Karee, the music leader at Church in the Tetons (CiT), where Karlin was the pastor, had just been through the same thing.
The next day, Sunday, we all had a hectic breakfast together. Karlin left early to set up the church. Emily and I got the kids ready and then drove into town. There is something special about CiT and I feel so comfortable walking into that sacred space. Veloice and I have met many of the regulars, friends of Emily and Karlin, and it’s always nice to walk in the door and have people come up to say hi to Emily’s mom and dad. After shaking hands and catching up with some of the gathered, having coffee before the service, I saw Karee in the corner tuning her guitar. I walked over and said “I got a DUI, too.” Her eyes watered and she gave me a warm hug. “I just wanted you to know. We’ve got this, Karee. I’ve got your back.”
I don’t know why I felt compelled to walk up to her, or share my own failings, but the wounds were still fresh and we both had a long road ahead of us. It seemed that the journey might be easier if we could share the load.
That was 2-½ years ago now, and we both had come a long way. It was time for a cup of coffee to share our stories under better circumstances. I hoped she would be at church in the morning.
I had crossed into Idaho at some point – oblivious during my day dream – but a few raindrops got my attention. The sky had clouded up and it was pretty dark to the north. I pulled off at the next exit to top off my tank and check the weather. It didn’t look good. I texted Emily to see how it was up in her area and her immediate reply confirmed what I saw on my app – it was pouring in Driggs. I dug into my pack and pulled out the Zip Lock bag with my maps. Opening up the Idaho map, and holding it against my seat with both hands to keep it from being blown away by the rising wind, I looked at my route and saw that Pocatello was not too far up the road. I folded the map and stuck it in my pocket. An hour later I was checked into a Motel 6 and called Emily to let her know that I’d be up in the morning. I would go straight to the church and planned to be there in time for the service. Emily said that would be great, the kids were anxious to see me, and told me that there was a church BBQ at Gary and Jan’s home after the service.
Sunday (6/24)
My phone vibrated on the bedside table when the alarm went off at 6 AM. Peeking out between the heavy curtain panels, the sky was clear and the morning was off to a beautiful start. It was a nice ride up through Idaho Falls and east into Driggs. I signaled my turn off Main Street into the CiT parking lot and saw Finley and Zion playing in front of the church entrance – waiting for my arrival. They watched me pull up, put down the kickstand, climb off my bike and take out the key. They ran over and gave me hugs as soon as I took my helmet off and hung it on my mirror. We walked into the church together and found Emily and Karlin. The service was about to begin so I sat down with Emily, her hand patting my knee.
Karlin’s message was on “REST” and really resonated with me after spending a couple of weeks on the road and finding peace in so many places along the way.
We sang the last song together, then broke up to get coffee and cookies, fold chairs, and catch up with friends. “Hello, my friend. Want to get some ice cream at the Emporium?” Karee turned around and saw me standing there. “Yes! Of course! But we have a BBQ at Gary and Jan’s.” I told her I was going, too, and we could go afterwards.
Everybody gathered at the Schroeder’s beautiful home for conversation, lawn games, and a BBQ lunch. The Teton Mountains were the backdrop for the beautiful setting. Emily came over to me and told me she and Karlin were taking the kids on a float around 3 PM and wanted me to join them for some fly fishing on the Snake River. I told her I was going to have ice cream with Karee after the BBQ, but would check in with her later.
It was a short ride into the neighboring town of Victor and we parked next to each other on the gravel lot by the Emporium. We walked past the familiar bright red Adirondack chairs in front as we stepped into the crowded store. Some of my favorite photos were taken sitting in those colorful chairs, eating ice cream with Finley and Zion. They were occupied by kids today. Other children sat on the window sills – busy working their straws and red plastic spoons – while parents milled about talking. All were holding their favorite shakes, cones, and dishes of ice cream. Families had descended on town after church to get their tasty treats, but I saw a picnic table further up the street where Karee and I could talk while we enjoyed our Huckleberry shakes. I went inside to get in line for the soda fountain while Karee waited outside.
It took awhile to get the shakes, but I finally walked outside and saw Karee sitting in one of the colorful red Adirondack chairs, with another empty one sitting next to her for me. Just where I had hoped to sit with Karee, but didn’t think that would happen when we arrived and saw the crowd. The rush of people had slowly moved on with other afternoon plans as Karee and I started our conversation. Oblivious to anyone around us, we talked of falling down, and getting up. We talked of our pain and we talked of our joy. We talked of our families, our faith, and our hopes for the future. We shared, we laughed, and maybe we cried just a little.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. Emily texted me and asked where I was. It was 3 PM and they were ready to take their boat over to the river. I texted her back and told her to go on the float without me. I was still talking with Karee. I was where I needed to be.
Still holding our long empty shake cups, I wanted some coffee. They had none inside the Emporium, so Karee and I walked up the street to the little drive-up coffee kiosk at the end of the block, but it was closed. We crossed the street to the Victor Valley Market – the local grocery store had some on a cabinet by the register. Karee and I each got a cup. She doctored hers, I took mine black. Reached for my wallet to pay, but the woman at the register waved me off with a friendly smile. We walked back across the street to the closed coffee kiosk and sat at their table just off Main Street. Then we picked up where we left off.
By now the sun was getting low and our conversation turned to spirituality, how we both had struggled with religion, and yet we both still felt the pull from something bigger than us. “Karee, can I tell you a story?”
I told her about the Rainbows and Butterflies that had touched my life when I needed them most, and how my elusive Hummingbird had come to the feeder after Hershey’s ashes were finally spread. Her eyes filled with tears as she listened to me tell my story. We had talked for over 8 hours when we finally walked back to the Emporium to get her car and my bike.
It was 8 PM when I walked back into the house. Emily and Karlin had just arrived home from their float and were busy putting fly rods and tackle away. The kids got ready for bed and came down to say goodnight. Karlin was exhausted and went to bed, too. Emily and I sat down on the couch, put our feet up, and I shared with her some of my conversations, and why it was so easy for Karee and me to relate in a way that few people can understand. Recovery is hard to discuss with people who haven’t gone through that experience.
Since I had missed the afternoon with Emily and the family, I asked if I could stick around for a couple more days in Driggs. I had more flexibility going home now that all my planned get-togethers were in the past. Emily was pleased and said “of course!”
Monday (6/25)
The Bilcher’s guest room downstairs has one of my favorite beds – high, medium firm, with large quilts and fluffy feather pillows. I slept in past my normal wake up time, rested and ready for the new day. Emily greeted me in the kitchen with a cup of AeroPress coffee. Karlin had been planning to go fishing all day (after a busy Sunday), but told Em he was still too tired and changed his plans to go for a short hike up by Targhee, spend some time reading, and stop by the pool for a swim on his way back. The kids were off to Hiking Camp at 8:45, so I put on my riding jeans for a trip over the pass. Karlin suggested I ride up into the Teton National Park. I offered to pick up the kids from camp at 4:15 so Karlin didn’t have to cut short his time at Targhee. We all set off in different directions for our day’s activities.
Breakfast got lost in the shuffle at the house with all the morning routines crisscrossing in the kitchen, so I rode over to Rise (my favorite Driggs coffee place). The parking lot was full so I decided to try Victor. The new place, Butter, was open so I parked my bike and walked inside. I ordered an Americano and a small chocolate chip muffin. There was a table outside so I sat down in the sun and pulled the Wyoming map out of the Zip Lock bag to plan my day’s ride in the Tetons.
I’ve been over the Teton Pass many times in the summer (and twice in the winter), but riding over the pass on a motorcycle is spectacular! The sweatshirt I put on almost kept me warm as I rode over the summit. I could feel the morning sun chase away the chill as I came down through the switchbacks of the eastern slope, crossing the bridge over Fish Creek where fly fishermen waded and cast their line in pursuit of Cutthroat trout, and into the dusty little town of Wilson.
I pulled off to fuel and thought about a quick visit to nearby Jackson Hole for another cup of coffee to warm up before the town got busy with throngs of tourists. I text Karee, who lives in Jackson, to see if she knows a place to try. A moment later she texted back that she and her 3 daughters were downtown and would meet me on Cache Street at Cowboy Coffee. Twenty minutes later the 5 of us hooked up and ordered drinks and pastries.
Karee wanted to show me where she and her sister, Candice, played their regular gig as “The Miller Sisters”, so we walked over to the famous Cowboy Bar.
Karee said “Come on, I’ll take you to the famous old Wort Hotel where we first started playing when Candice and I moved back from Alaska.” Kids in tow, we walked out of the Cowboy Bar and went around the block to the front door of the classy Wort Hotel. Karee is somewhat of a celebrity in Jackson, and she is constantly being stopped by people who recognize her. She guided me through the lobby, saying hi to everyone who waved at her, and down the hall to a lifeless, dark, old time bar with a small empty stage. At night it would be packed with people and loud music. Karee had told me yesterday how she would drink and play, play and drink – and now looked back on her downward spiral. In that famous old hot spot in Jackson, now quiet and dark at this early hour, we looked at each other knowing we had both beaten the odds when we chose to stop the madness. I guess we were both thinking the same thing – where would we be if we hadn’t decided – enough. Back outside we turned to walk back to where my bike was parked. She had brought the kids to town to pick up Bibles for VBS so she ducked into a book store. No Bibles (too many versions and too little retail space we were told), so we walked on. Karee showed me where the thrift store was, so we checked out the book section. No luck, but the kids did find some bicycle helmets and Karee scored some bargains. Standing by my bike, she thanked me for the time we shared these past few days, and we both felt the “serendipity” of being able to reconnect during my visit.
There are a million excuses we could have used for not getting together, but there was one reason we both made the time…
We just didn’t know it yet.
It has slowly started to sink in that this trip has been about noticing coincidences and finding the miraculous in the mundane. I’ve slowed down. I’m paying attention. I’m watching, I’m stopping, I’m listening, I’m taking, I’m giving, I’m writing, I’m breathing, I’m RESTING (Karlin’s sermon was the thread that pulled this all together), I’m grieving, I’m crying, I’m laughing, I’m joyful, I’m thankful, and I’m celebrating my new life.
I reached out to Karee right after we both ended up in the ditch – to let her know that she was not alone. Here we are, 2-½ years later, celebrating with coffee, conversation, and ice cream. The ride to Driggs, which wasn’t even in my original plans (because Emily was out of town), has been filled with encounters that prepared me for the change in plans when Em told me that the kids would love a visit from Grandpa Pete. Leaving the airshow I rode north, but got stopped by rain in Pocatello, arriving in Driggs the next morning just in time to catch Karlin’s sermon on REST at CiT. There happened to be a church family BBQ at Gary and Jan’s home after church where Karee said “yes” to ice cream at The Emporium. The whole ride seemed to prepare me for the conversations that followed with Karee.
After saying goodbye at my bike, I rode back toward Wilson, turned right, and headed up into Teton National Park. I stopped frequently to snap pics on my phone. I’m pretty good with words, but I’m at a loss when it comes to describing the incredible vista when you come around “Oh My God Corner” and see the familiar snow capped mountains with Grand standing tall in the center of the three postcard perfect peaks. I made it two thirds of the way into the park, but had to head east to pick up 191 back into Jackson, over the pass, and was only a few minutes late picking up the kids at 4:25.
After dropping off the kids’ backpacks at the house, we walked toward town, with a quick stop at Emily’s office at the Family Safety Network (FSN) to say hi, then over to Corner Drug for some ice cream with Finley and Zion. By the time we got back to the house, Karlin had come home and Emily was just walking in the door. We were all hungry and ready for dinner. Rather than cook, we drove into Victor to eat at the Knotty Pine – one of my favorites – and got an outside table on a perfect Teton Valley evening. After we got home, the kids showered and got their jammies on, and came out to say goodnight. Karlin was still exhausted, and emotionally drained from some of the recent tragic happenings in the CiT family – which placed enormous demands on a pastor – so he turned in early. Emily and I sat on the couch and talked about family, friends, and jobs. Small talk really – nothing heavy. It was nice to have an easy father/daughter conversation just to catch up with each other. Something simple, but something I miss with Emily being so far away. As the living room grew dark, with the sun long set, we both stifled yawns and hugged goodnight.
Tuesday (6/26)
Karlin and Em both work today. I’ve extended my trip so I could have a day with the kids. I took Finley and Zion to Broulim’s for groceries. We have planned a surprise dinner for Emily and Karlin – complete with flowers, wine, marinated flank steak on the grill, with golden mashed potatoes, a salad made by Zion, and a special dessert made by Finley. After putting away and hiding our groceries, we walked down to the playground for some outdoor activities. Well, it’s only a few blocks to the Corner Drug soda fountain, so we snuck by FSN so Emily couldn’t see us heading to town. We’d be busted. On the way we discussed why it’s a good idea to have ice cream before lunch – it’s the wisdom of a grandparent, learned through years of experience. We enjoyed our favorite selections and walked home to make lunch. A little quiet time now. Em will swing by to take the kids for their checkups at 12:45. Karlin will be home later to work downstairs on next week’s sermon while the kids and I start working on our dinner. No motorcycle today. Just glad to be playing “grandpa” with the kids. Tomorrow I’ll pack up my bike and start my journey home.
Wednesday (6/27)
I jumped into the Bilcher’s morning routine – everyone going in different directions as usual. Emily made me coffee. Zion made me toast. He was looking for a beach ball that he got while on vacation at the Jersey Shore last week, and went into a complete breakdown when it couldn’t be found. After watching Em deal with his tantrum, I pulled out my phone and called Zion over. The ball in the picture wasn’t the right color, but his crying stopped. I swiped through different options and saw the right one – “That’s it!” Zion exclaimed. I selected Em’s shipping address from the saved addresses on the drop down box. Two minutes later the order for a new ball was placed with Amazon and it will arrive in 48 hours. Problem solved (with true “Grandpa Pete” expedience). I’m sure Emily and Karlin wrinkled their brows as parents when I gave in to Zion’s tantrum, but I thought it was pretty creative myself.
Karlin asked me to walk the kids down to the Hiking Camp while they finished getting ready for work. When I got back to the house we said our goodbyes and headed in different directions. It has been a wonderful visit but the time has come to start my journey back home. There are still places to see on the way back and I’m anxious to get back on the road.
I rode my bike down to “Butter” in Victor for some coffee. I was sitting at a table out front when my phone vibrated in my pocket. Karee called to see if I had left yet. She was on her way to town to take her daughter (Enza) for a horseback ride at a friend’s place and wondered if I could come along. On this trip, so full of amazing serendipity, I decided to just go with the flow. I told Karee “Sure!”
A few minutes later, Karee and Enza pulled up in her bright yellow VW Bug and told me to follow them back toward Driggs. We arrived at this beautiful homestead in the Valley and pulled up by the barn. A woman waved at Karee and walked over to greet us. Karee introduced me as “Emily’s dad” to Tracy Baumann. After chatting by the barn for a few minutes, Tracy gave us a quick tour of her beautiful home. We walked back outside where Tracy loaded her horse “Barbie” (of course, my mom’s name, more serendipity) into the trailer. We followed her truck back toward Victor and turned off on a road heading up into the foothills. The road went from paved to gravel. Tracy pulled into a wooded area where she parked her truck and horse trailer. Karee and I parked off to the side. We watched Tracy unload and saddle Barbie while explaining that she would give Enza a ride, with Karee and me walking ahead on the trail with her dog, Indy.
The narrow path was muddy, rocky, hilly, and had fallen trees across the path in places. We danced across logs and stones to cross small streams. It was an amazing trail with the Teton Mountains towering above us. Karee and I continued our conversation from yesterday while we hiked in front of Tracy and Enza riding Barbie. Five miles later (I counted the steps on MyFitnessPal) we got back to the trailer and thanked Tracy for a great morning.
It was a short ride today, so I arrived at the KOA and got my tent set up. After calling Veloice, I walked into town for dinner and pie at the famous Cowboy Cafe. There was a long wait to get a table in the small but popular restaurant – but it was worth every minute of standing in line. I returned to camp as the sun slipped behind the mountains to the west and settled into my tent for the night.
Thursday (6/28)
The night got pretty cold – low 40s – and I found myself zipping up my mummy bag against the chill. I awoke a few hours later to the morning sun turning my orange and gray tent into a blaze of colors. I slipped my jeans and boots on and walked to the restroom to clean up. I had the bike packed in no time and drove over to the Coyote Blue Coffee store across from the KOA for an Americano and toast. I was back on the road at 8 AM for today’s ride through the Wind River Canyon, over to Ten Sleep for lunch, into the Big Horn Mountains, and over the Powder River Pass. From my phone I booked a room in Buffalo where I’ll spend the night at the Quality Inn. After a long, hot ride today a shower and a bed sounded really good.
I told Karee that it wasn’t just my “Rainbows and Butterflies” story, but that I had also picked the Eva Cassidy version of that song to play at dad’s memorial service. After we hung up, my phone buzzed once again. She sent me a pic of her and Candice standing by the old jukebox.
Friday (6/29)
The wind howled outside my hotel room. I grabbed my phone, tapped the radar widget on the lock screen, and saw there was some weather in the area – it still looked pretty good for my ride, so I went back to bed. I woke up again at 5 AM and checked the radar again – there was rain just to the west and heading my way. The problem going home is that I ride with the weather – not through it. I skipped a shower and my morning coffee. Within 20 minutes my bike was packed and I was cruising up the entrance ramp onto I-90 East. The morning sun was just above the horizon in front of me, and the dark clouds mingled with the gray mountains behind me. The early yellow sunlight illuminated both in a way that made the mountains and foreboding sky worthy of an artist’s canvas.
In Gillette I stopped at City Brew for an Americano and a cinnamon scone. The coffee warmed me up after a chilly ride from Buffalo and I took some time to write an entry in my journal.
By the time I had finished my coffee it had warmed up enough that I didn’t need my bike jacket for the ride up to Devil’s Tower. Because I got an early start, the traffic was light. I turned off 14 and rode the short distance to the entrance (with a couple stops to snap pics of the incredible and familiar monolith). I pulled right up to the Park Ranger’s booth and handed him my pass. We both remarked what a perfect morning it was. I started the drive back to the visitor’s center and pulled off to watch the Prairie Dogs. They were not afraid of anything and posed for some good closeups. I parked my bike at the visitor center and walked through the exhibits. Outside, I followed the path around the base of the tower and got some more pics with the sun high enough to be peeking over the top. I saw no evidence of any recent “Close Encounters” as I recalled the Richard Dreyfuss classic movie. I rode back out of the park and stopped at the Trading Post, just past the Ranger Station, for some coffee and to check my map for the best route to Sturgis. I called the Welsh Hotel in Wall and booked a room with Kelly so I had a place lined up for tonight. When I pulled out of the lot, the line of cars coming into the park was about a quarter mile long. The early bird got the worm (or my Hummingbird was looking out for me). I smiled, yelled a “YeeHa!” and headed east on 14 toward Sturgis.
At a fuel stop I text Karee: “Do you have a connection to the song ‘Bobby McGee’?” A few minutes later she texted back that Candice belts out a killer rendition of that song during their gigs. Then she sent me a photo of Candice’s guitar. She and Karee had visited the Gibson factory in Nashville and taken a tour. Afterwards, Candice purchased one of their “Hummingbird” guitars with a beautifully inlaid Hummingbird design on the front.
Then another text arrived from Karee – during one of their songs last night at the Cushman Ranch, people started pointing out the window behind their stage. Karee turned around to see what people were pointing at – a perfect rainbow spanned the sky from horizon to horizon with the Tetons as the backdrop. She grabbed her phone to try and get a video during the song. I smiled and gave Karee an “A” for her effort.
I got back on my bike and rode toward Sturgis.
After picking up a t-shirt in one of the stores on Main Street in Sturgis, I parked my bike next to a gaggle of others outside the Knuckle Saloon. It was a huge bar filled with biker related memorabilia everywhere you looked. It was already busy at 11 in the morning. In another couple of weeks it will be a madhouse as bikers descend on this small town for the largest bike rally in the world. I ordered beef tips and a salad. A cold O’Douls helped my hydration.
Saturday (6/30)
Awake at 5 AM, I looked out the motel window. The ground was dry – that’s encouraging. My weather app showed rain coming up from the southwest and across my path home. There was no rush, I just needed to get to Mitchell or Sioux Falls – tomorrow I can make the final push home. I cleaned up and watched the news as I started gathering my gear. I stepped outside to check my bike and wipe off the water from last night’s rain.
“How many miles do you have on it?” I turned and said good morning to the man inquiring. We shot the breeze for 5 or 10 minutes about bikes and rides. He had an older model Goldwing in front of his door a few rooms down. I told him I needed to finish packing and said goodbye. A few minutes later I walked back out to finish loading my gear and he strolled back over and started chatting away. This time, sensing a Hummingbird might be close by, I started asking him questions and rolling with the conversation in the parking lot outside my room. I wasn’t in a hurry. I listened.
Roy is turning 70 this year (but is in great shape). He lives in Pine City (north of the Twin Cities), and was a machinist with a company in Bloomington for 20 years. He was married and had a daughter, but went through a nasty divorce about 8 or 10 years ago after 18 years of marriage. He had come to the Black Hills for a couple days of riding the area, but had to be back on Tuesday for a dentist appointment. Being old guys, with creaky bones, we talked about doctors, and then the VA came up. I asked when and where he served, and he responded “Marine. Vietnam. 1969.” I snapped to attention and gave him a mock salute. I told him my dad always took his hat off for the Marines – they are always the first ones in, and I’ve always had the same respect. He asked me what I did and I told him I was a Crew Chief with the Army Security Agency in ‘71 – ‘72. We thanked each other for our service. I finished securing my pack with bungee cords and saddled up – still not knowing what my plan would be for the day, but breakfast at the Cactus Cafe sounded like a good start.
I parked my bike on Main Street, across from Wall Drug, and walked into the familiar cafe. I picked a booth, ordered some coffee from the hostess, and pulled out my phone to check the radar. “Mind if I join you?” It was Roy. Seriously? “Of course, have a seat.” I smiled, knowing for sure that this was going to be another Hummingbird encounter.
After ordering our food, we picked up right where we left off in the parking lot. About 20 minutes into our chit chat he mentioned Trump. I looked at him and said, “I’m no fan.” We were off to the races after that! We talked about the election, Fox News, Limbaugh and Hannity, global warming, the Middle East and fossil fuels, alternative energy, battery technology and upgrading the grid, and the Supreme Court. He told me he listens to NPR and reads. We talked about the “Red Hat” Trump supporters, and agreed that when you talk to one, facts are irrelevant. We discussed critical thinking skills. We talked about the hard work of finding, and implementing, solutions to problems, versus the constant blaming and denying of the Trump Party. We both agreed that the dumbing down of a major portion of our electorate will continue to be a problem. We also talked about the Koch brothers and the Mercer family funding Trump’s theft of the White House.
All of these conversations happened between two complete strangers, over plates of fried eggs, over medium, with bacon and toast. And a pot or two of coffee.
I picked up the breakfast tab and Roy left a good tip for a fun server who played right along with two animated old biker dudes who were solving all the world’s problems right there in the Cactus Cafe – right across the street from Wall Drug.
It’s possible my Hummingbird made a visit this morning. There’s nothing miraculous about two old bikers talking, but the way I’ve found myself saying “yes” to some very different opportunities on this trip has led me to making new connections, and sharing experiences and stories with people I never would have known if I hadn’t taken the time.
Having said goodbye to Roy, and seeing some weather still to my east, I set my course for the Badlands to kill some time before I started for home.
The ride east went smoothly. At every fuel stop I’d check the radar. It was still out there, but I had passed Chamberlin and was bearing down on Mitchell. It looked like it would be close, but I could see the sky ahead was getting dark. I finally pulled off at a rest stop and put my rain gear on, figuring my luck was about to run out. Then I saw lightning, and the rumble of thunder followed soon after. I was less than 20 miles from Mitchell. Pulling out my phone, I checked for a hotel, figuring I’d be pushing my luck to try and go any further. I booked the Ramada and asked my elusive Hummingbird for a little help getting safely to Mitchell before the storm hit.
You can call it a coincidence, or you can call me lucky, but the rain started to fall just before I exited the freeway. The lit up Ramada sign was easily visible just to the north of the Interstate. It started to pour and the wind kicked up just as I pulled up to the front of the hotel, under the canopy, and went inside to check in.
I handed my license and credit card to “Jessica” while she looked up my reservation. I asked if she had a ground floor room since I have a lot to carry from my bike. My reservation was for a queen, and it was on the second floor. “Do you have an elevator?” I asked. “No.” Then Jessica said, “Let me see what I can do.” Her fingers clicked away on the keyboard. A minute later she handed me key cards to room 169. “It’s a ground floor room. Go in entrance 5 and go into your room from the hallway, then you can unlock the other door to the parking lot.” Perfect! I thanked her and drove around the building to park in front of my door. The room was amazing! Then I noticed the door to the adjoining room was open. I peeked in and saw it was unoccupied. It had a bathroom, desk, refrigerator and microwave, and a full living room suite (but no bed). I checked the room numbers on the hallway doors – they both said 169. It was a huge suite. Jessica gave it to me even though I had snagged an $80 bargain through Priceline. I’ve never had a room like this in a hotel. I took a video on my phone and texted Veloice with a “Wish you were here” message. After a hot shower and a change of clothes, I decided to check out the hotel bar/restaurant. It was still pouring out. The Ramada is huge – it’s the town’s convention center. I walked past the large indoor pool and hot tub, a miniature golf course, exercise room, game room, laundry, and business center before I found the bar. I picked a stool – had my choice since the place was dead. Kayla was the bartender and I ordered an O’Douls. She handed me a menu and said they had a Prime Rib special tonight. Eight ounces for $15.99, or 14 oz… “I’ll take the 8 oz cut, with a salad (blue cheese) and the mashed potatoes. I figured at that price it would end up being typical hotel food. Wrong! It was very good. So was the salad. I asked Kayla for a cup of coffee and she came back a little while later and said she had just put on a fresh pot. This Ramada has far exceeded my expectations. I tipped Kayla a little extra.
After going back to my room I remembered I needed a few things for my dopp kit. The rain had stopped, so I walked out my front door and saw a 24 hour grocery store across the street. It had everything I needed. I even picked up half and half for my morning AeroPress coffee – because my suite has a refrigerator. Thanks, Hummingbird.
Sunday (7/1)
It rained all night. I know, I woke up several times and peeked through the drawn curtains to see my wet bike illuminated under the parking lot security lights. Rain fell into puddles that were dancing with drops splashing. I climbed back into a comfortable bed – one of two – in one of the nicest hotel suites I’ve ever had in all my years of traveling.
Even though the early Sunday morning sunshine is making this a “sparkling” morning in Mitchell, South Dakota, my radar shows the green and yellow blob swirling around the entire area that fills the map between me and home. There’s no way around it, so I need to get ready for a wet ride home. I started my journey three weeks ago in a soaking rain, but I left anyway. I decided to not wait for the rain to pass, but to go find the blue sky. Now I’m starting the final leg of my trip and a little rain can’t dampen my excitement of going home!
After a hot shower I got my AeroPress out and made some coffee. I flipped through the channels, skipping the Sunday morning news shows, and watched a sweet movie on the Hallmark channel while lingering in bed a little longer. What’s wrong with me?
I finally pulled on my jeans and started packing up. Check out is at 11, so there’s really no rush. Maybe some of the rain will move further east, and I’ll stay dry a little longer, once I start out.
My bike packed, I left my key cards in the room and rode around to the front of the hotel, walked up to the front desk and asked to speak to the manager. She introduced herself and I told her about Jessica getting me a great room, Kayla taking good care of me in the restaurant, and my overall delight with my night at the Ramada. She wrote down their names and promised to pass on my compliments.
I got back on my bike and started my trip back home. It was an hour ride to Sioux Falls and another 40 minutes to Worthington where I got off the interstate and started the diagonal run up to the Twin Cities on 60 and then 169. The rain had cleared out, and the air was cooler after the front passed through, but the sun was a welcome sight all the way home. I called Veloice from Shakopee to tell her I was 15 minutes out. When I came up the street, our neighbor, Chuck, was taking a video of me arriving home. Veloice was waiting in the garage and greeted me with a big hug and a kiss.
The story didn’t end there…
KAREE AND THE DOUBLE RAINBOW
On July 24th I was looking at Facebook when I saw a post from the Teton Valley News. Karee Miller, one of the well known Miller Sisters, confirmed the death of her sister, Candice Miller, in a kayaking accident on Jackson Lake last night. A flotation device had been found, along with a few personal items. The coroner had determined it to be a suicide.
I was stunned.
I picked up my phone and sent a text to Karee.
My text…
What the heck? I just saw the post about Candice. Karee, my heart is broken. Shattered. For your whole family.
Karee’s text back to me…
No butterflies or rainbows do I see, but there are some beautiful mountain sunrises out this way, with paths leading the way to heaven. That is our final home and resting place, where my sister now feels only peace.
My text…
Keep watching. Candice is there and might show you something special to let you know she’s ok. Also, I know these are traumatic times for you. Remember, I’ve got your back in sobriety. You are in my prayers, Karee.
I sent another text…
I downloaded Bobby McGee today. I haven’t figured out why yet, but something kept telling me to do it. I trust that inner voice more everyday. Karee, if you fly back to Minnesota to be with your family, I hope you let me pick you up at the airport and take you home. It would mean a lot to be able to help out. Thinking of you.
Karee’s text…
It was there in the Teton National Park when I was driving home – a double rainbow in the mountains! Yes, you were right! Candice showed it to me!
My text…
Hi Karee, A double rainbow. Incredible. I knew Candice would find a way to send you a gift that you would see and know it was from her.
Now I understand why I came to Driggs. For you to “see” the Double Rainbow for what it was, a million things had to happen. Mom gave me rainbows before she died 30 years ago. After seeing several, in unique situations, I started to write a story about the beauty found in the serendipity of those moments. Then it happened again with Monarchs after Veloice’s dad died and I added those amazing moments to my story. I started to realize that people who had left me in bone chilling grief found ways to let me know that they were fine. I started sharing my story with people who needed something to hang onto in times of loss.
And then, a few weeks ago, I lost Hershey, and I fell into my own grief once again. I asked Hershey to send a Hummingbird for my long jinxed feeder and it came weeks later – an hour after I spread the last of her ashes at Staring Lake.
During my motorcycle trip there were many coincidences that happened that I simply can’t explain, but I think they happened in order to prepare me for something very special. When I was in Salt Lake City at the air show, Veloice called and mentioned that my Hummingbird hadn’t come back to the feeder after I left home. I told her it was okay, because the Hummingbird was with me. We laughed.
Emily also texted me that the kids could use a visit from Grandpa Pete. I changed my plans to come to Driggs.
Karee, I had to go into a ditch 2-1/2 years ago in order to meet you where you were after your own DUI at the same time. We both had to make it through 2-1/2 years of recovery in order for me to have a reason to ask you to get coffee when I arrived in Driggs on Sunday morning. You had to have a reason to say yes. Amazing things started to happen and you became the Hummingbird for me. I got to share my Rainbows & Butterflies story with you, and then Hershey’s Hummingbird story. During our 3 days of conversations you saw other Hummingbirds cross my path while we were together (Ruth’s business card and water bottle, and Candice’s guitar).
After I left to go home, Candice was with you when the jukebox played “Over the Rainbow”. She saw your reaction and how excited you were when you called me in complete amazement to tell me what had happened. She was there when you both turned around during your performance and saw the rainbow over the Tetons at the Cushman Ranch. We live in a mysterious and wonderful creation, where God can hug us when we need it most.
I thought you were put in my path to help me on this trip. I felt like you became the Hummingbird for me. Now I understand what really happened. For years I’ve put out a Hummingbird feeder but never had one show up. When Hershey died and I was overwhelmed with unbearable grief, a Hummingbird was sent to me. It is still at my feeder today, but I’m the one that cleans the feeder, makes the nectar, and feeds the Hummingbird. When you became the Hummingbird for me I think God used my gift of writing to tell you a story – for a reason that was yet to unfold. I was put in YOUR path to share my story about serendipity – to help bring you grace on the wings of a Hummingbird. I knew Candice would do something special for you to let you know she’s ok, but you needed to be able to see beyond the earthly bounds of a rainbow, and see it for what it really was meant to be.
A million things had to happen for you to be AWARE of what you just witnessed. Some people just chalk it up to coincidences, but we know better.
A few days later…
Friends of Candice and Karee began flooding Facebook with posts in the days after it was learned that Candice had died tragically while kayaking at Jackson Lake. One post caught my eye. It was a full length video (not just a short snippet), that was taken at “Music on Main” in Victor about the time I was riding back from Idaho at the end of my motorcycle trip. It was their last performance together.
Candice and Karee were belting out “Bobby McGee” and Candice was playing her Gibson Hummingbird guitar.
VtxPete's Blog 