But She Was Just a Dog

After being in Charlotte a little over one year, I decided I needed a companion. I read about different breeds, consdiered my lifestyle and decided upon a mini-dachshund...aka "wiener dog." It was the days pre-internet…can you imagine?…so I scoured the paper and found some puppies for sale not too far from my apartment.

A trip around the corner found me considering a litter of adorable playful doxies …well except for one. The supposed “runt” of the litter was sitting apart from the others as they tugged at my shoelaces. Her expression seemed to reveal her opinion that her brothers and sisters were acting foolishly and she would have no part of it.

Hmm…that’s the only one not chewing on something…she’s the one for me…maybe that means she won’t chew up furniture, shoes, and whatever else I presumed to have actual worth.

A small pet carrier, a bag of puppy chow and a few toys later she was home with me. I’d always thought I’d wanted to name my future-dog “Lucy” but now that she had shown up in the present, it didn’t seem to fit the little pupp wondering around and occasionally whimpering for her mom. So, at the suggestion of my boyfriend, she became “Baxter,” and I would spend the next seventeen and a half years explaining that she was a girl. In the end, it just seemed to fit. Baxter curled up in my lap when I ate and curled up on my feet when I ironed my clothes. At two and a half pounds and eight weeks old, she fit in the palms of my hands, but she was just a dog.

We took walks, worked on leash skills and tricks. She tumbled down the hill at the apartment complex with abandon. At one point, some kids saw us from afar and asked, “Is that a pig?” But she was just a dog.

Eventually, she could perch herself on the window and watch other residents retrieve their mail from the boxes below…barking at most of them. We took naps and visited local parks. She traveled home for family visits and holidays…donning the requisite reindeer ears and Santa outfit…and appearing in the photos like a grandchild – she became known as the “granddog.” I don’t think the rest of my family really cared much for animals per se, but somehow she won their hearts. Dad always had treats for her. I began to think that he actually liked her, but just didn’t like that she was a dog.

She would ride nearly the entire six hours on my lap, sleeping, until she sensed the car slowing down or upon hearing a semi truck pass us.

Usually she got a french fry or two, and occasionally a dog biscuit from an attentive drive-through window employee. One year while we were home for Christmas and she was on my lap, my boyfriend asked me to marry him. Completely taken by surprise and suffering from a terrible headache which had been with me the entire six hours from Charlotte, I looked down and asked Baxter what she thought. She looked at him and licked his nose. I figured that was a good sign, but still, she was just a dog.

I moved to a slightly larger apartment which boasted a balcony overlooking a pond. She spent many hours watching the ducks and people below and taking naps in the sun. Sometimes it seemed she was standing guard on that balcony. After she was spayed, I brought her home and we approached the bottom of the steps to the apartment. Clearly, I was new at this because she stopped, looked up at me and I instantly realized what she was communicating, “Are you kidding, mom? There’s no way I’m climbing those steps after that surgery.” But she was just a dog.

I’m not sure any other non-professionally traveling canine had as many miles on them as Baxter. Back and forth and back and forth from Charlotte to Newport News before and after the wedding…she even flew to California to visit my sister-in-law...whom I guess was her aunt. Baxter ran, barked, played, barked, ate, barked, drank, barked, cleaned up food dropped on the floor, barked, and napped. Did I mention she barked? She was all things dog, learned lots of tricks and words – even a bit of sign language. At times when I didn’t feel well, she seemed to sense it and was content to lie in bed with me. But she was just a dog.

She touched the Pacific and the Atlantic – though she never seemed to care much for water, unless it was a filthy creek or pond. One day at Freedom Park in Charlotte she stood on the edge of the pond, leaning, leaning, leaning in an attempt to get a drink. Being so small, her neck wasn’t long enough to reach the water. Suddenly, she jumped and sank what seemed at least two feet under the surface. I screamed for my husband to get her but not yank her head off in the process as she was still attached to the leash. I can not adequately explain how large her eyes were when she emerged – terrified and clearly trying to figure out what went wrong and why that water bowl was so deep! She was quite slimey after that little dip and thrilled to be back on solid ground.

Over my 18 years in Charlotte, I’ve lived in two apartments and four houses. Baxter has been with me in each one. She journeyed with me through most of my 20’s, all of my 30’s and as I crossed the 40 year line. Baxter was my companion before I married and after I separated. I consider her to have been part of my cancer recovery and motorcycle accident rehab. She was the only roommate I ever had – before or after the marriage. But she was just a dog.

Years take their toll on us all – one way or another. Her hearing seemed to become more “selective” and it became apparent she had lost most of it except certain frequencies…and anything to do with food. Eventually she no longer stood at the top or bottom of steps in the house barking to be moved to another level. Instead, an alarming thud was heard and we realized her sight must be failing and she had tumbled down the steps. Over the years she survived ant bites, a snake bite, leaping from my arms and landing on her head, more than one tumble down the stairs and numerous escapes from the yard or leash. Somehow she kept going. Eventually around age 15, I finally asked the vet if she was surprised each year when we showed up for another check-up. “Yes. She’s like the miracle dog that just keeps going.” But she was just a dog.

The walks became slower – taking longer to go a fraction of the distance. Her days were filled with napping. We moved from a three level house to a single level bungalow after the separation. No more tumbling down the stairs, no more chasing squirrels, no more picking fights with dogs 500% her size. She had finally slowed down and I was finally beginning to heal from the horrific events of 2010. Baxter spent her days sleeping while I spent mine in physical therapy and wondering what to do about a job. We spent our nights on the sofa and I began to whisper in her ear, “I love you, Let me know when it’s time.” Was I thinking such thoughts because it had become “inconvenient” to care for her in this failing state? I didn’t want her to suffer, but I didn’t want to prolong her life for selfish reasons. She began having trouble standing when I took her outside. I would assist her however I could, but I wanted her to be happy. It began to feel as if her life was more burdensome to her than joyful. But she was just a dog.

Finally, lymphoma appeared. For two weeks, I focused on making her comfortable, but the medications didn’t seem to do very much. Briefly, softening her food with chicken stock and adding canned chicken seemed to keep her interest, but eventually that wasn’t enough. Her breathing seemed more labored. I could feel the vibration of a clock ticking. She had Five Guys fries that night.

In the morning, I called the vet, “I think I need to bring her in for another look, but this might be it.” They would see us at one o’clock. I called my ex-husband and completely broke down as I knew I would. Then I made pancakes and Baxter ate hers while sitting on my lap.

Thankfully, I was able to hold her through the entire process – snuggled in her blanket, petting her side. Then she was gone. Quietly, peacefully – the way any of us would hope for our family or ourselves. It simply looked like the deep, deep sleep I had seen so many times, and as she got older, the sleep that made my heart stop because I thought she had passed.

That weekend, I went to my sister’s house and was revived by the hugs of my nieces and nephew. As my sister and I were chatting in the kitchen, she expressed the thought that Baxter had held on until she felt like I was going to be okay – that Baxter felt she could finally rest because I was finally healing. But she was just a dog.

About one week later, I returned to the vet’s office to retrieve Baxter’s ashes. While waiting, a large dog who clearly had some years on him from the gray on his face, approached me and allowed me to pet him. His owner kept trying to sit down, but he turned around for a rump scratch, head scratch, and licked my hand as I knelt beside him relishing the contact. “He really likes you,” his owner said. I told her that I had lost my dog of over 17 years last week and she said maybe her dog was sensing that. I asked her dog’s name. “Baxter,” she replied.

But she was just a dog.

Fleas, Flatlands and Mountains

A couple of months ago, I had the good fortune to spend some time chatting with Tamela Rich about vocation, motorcycles, and the journey we call life. I first learned of Tamela through a couple of local news articles reporting on her cross country motorcycle adventure to raise awareness and funding for breast cancer research. As I read the articles prior to my own journey, I made a mental note that I should get in touch with her upon my return. How different our experiences would be!

I had been riding for three years when I threw up the kickstand, cranked up my Boulevard and pulled out of the driveway for my 4500 mile adventure. Tamela had ridden for three months. On August 8, 2010 Tamela concluded her cross country jaunt by wheeling into the parking lot of the Caribou Coffee at the edge of my neighborhood for a celebration party. That same day I returned home on Amtrak in a cervical collar with thoracic extension and my left arm in cast, brace and sling. My mother was at my side and would stay with me for the next four to six weeks as there were very few things, basic things, I could do for myself. Very different indeed.

Am I jealous of her journey as compared to mine? It would not be honest if I said no. Do I feel like my journey was a failure - on a certain level, yes I do, but the events are part of the larger picture...even if I am still so close to it that I can't quite make out what the image is. Maybe it's like those digital images that were the rage back in the '90s. In order to see the "hidden" image you actually had to sort of "un-focus" your eyes. If you tried too hard, you would never see it. You had to just let it come.

During our conversation, Tamela shared her approach to the inevitable comments that we motorcyclists hear when someone learns that we ride. Typically it's a story of a friend or loved one being seriously injured or killed. Tamela's reaction is to stop the person before they continue and ask what in the story will be of help to her - what is the take away that will make her a better, safer, more aware rider. I like that. As riders, we know the risks and for our own reasons, we choose to live with them and continue to ride. Couldn't we look at this approach and apply it to life more broadly? As we each have our own journey, aren't we constantly evaluating situations we and others encounter and using them to inform our own world-views and approaches to life? Don't we all want a little insight that will make our "ride" a little safer and more rewarding?

As we continued talking, I shared with her my experience of my first trip to Florida several years ago. Mainly, I remember that I didn't like it - at least the topography of the place. It was so flat! I actually found myself feeling a bit agitated and didn't really know why. Fast forward a year or so later and I was driving back home from the mountains in my car. Even though I was on the interstate, the route took me through beautiful vistas where trees and vegetation rose up on either side of me. The feeling was one of being completely nestled into the earth. That was it! That's what I didn't like about Flordia! Driving through the mountains made me feel connected with the earth - a part of it. Dare I even say I felt I was a part of earth that mattered. Conversely, Florida's utter flatness made me feel exposed, unprotected and totally extraneous - almost to the point of being a nuisance - as if I were a flea on a hairless dog that was going to be flicked off into oblivion at any moment. Riding a motorcycle on the backroads gave me a similar experience. When you're on a bike, you are part of the scenery. You experience temperature and weather changes, the smells of the road. You are part of time and space. When in a car, at least for me, burning down the interstate, the sensation is completely different. Instead of feeling part of time and space, I feel like I am hurdling through it - completely disconnected.

I don't want to hurdle through time and space; I don't want to be a flea. So, let's continue to share our stories with one another as long as they bring us that connection and make us all better "riders."

Peace on the Journey!

Twirl Me About...Say it was only a Dream

Listen here

I can recall the sound of the wind
As it blew through the trees and the trees would bend
I can recall the smell of the rain
On a hot summer night
Coming through the screen

I'd crawl in your bed when the lightning flashed
And I'd still be there when the storm had passed
Dead to the world, to the morning cast
Its light all around your room

We lived on a street where the tall elm shade
Was as green as the grass and as cool as a blade
That you held in your teeth as we lay on our backs St Liborius Catholic Church
Staring up at the blue and the blue stared back St Libory, IL

I used to believe we were just like those trees
We'd grow just as tall and as proud as we pleased
With our feet on the ground and our arms in the breeze
Under a sheltering sky

Twirl me about, and twirl me around
Let me grow dizzy and fall to the ground
And when I look up at you looking down,
Say it was only a dream

A big truck was parked in the drive one day
They wrapped us in paper and moved us away
Your room was no longer next door to mine
And this kid sister thing was old by that time

But oh how our dreams went bump in the night
And the voices downstairs getting into a fight
And the next day a silence you could cut with a knife
And feel like a blade at your throat

Twirl me about and twirl me around
Let me grow dizzy and fall to the ground
When I look up at you looking down
Say it as only a dream

The day you left home you got an early start
I watched your car back out in the dark
I opened the door to your room down the hall
I turned on the light
And all that I saw
Was a bed and a desk and couple of tacks
No sign of someone who expects to be back
It must have been one hell of a suitcase you packed

Twirl me about, twirl me around
Let me grow dizzy and fall to the ground
When I look up at you looking down
Say it was only a dream

-Mary Chapin Carpenter, Only A Dream

This song has been in my head for weeks now, and nearly 20 years after first discovering it, I'm still taken away each time - nearly moved to tears. We all have memories we cling to for comfort, times we wish we could retain and experiences so laced with pain that it feels they will never drift from our thoughts - fearing that we're destined to relieve them in our mind with no apparent end in sight. Over the summer and past year, I've tasted all of these as I'm sure you have as well at some point. They are the stuff of life and part of our process of "becoming" - a journey never truly complete; a pilgrimage...which was to be the theme of my sabbatical.

Who among us has not wished to twirl around and discover that is was all just a dream...a horrible, heart wrenching dream? I can't make excuses or pretend I haven't been wondering why all this happening at once...not necessarily "why" on its own, but my God, three life altering event in three months? Not really even, "why me" but just why all at the same time.

Then my thoughts turn to the possibility of not only seeing this as my "dark night of the soul," but also as some profound opportunity or pending experience of joy that has not made itself apparent yet...and that would be the hardest part, right? The not knowing, not understanding...the waiting and not being in control with no particular clue of resolution on the horizon. The sting of being the one not chosen versus the one making the choice.

So in the end, it is all part of the journey - I doubt that's any great revelation to you, and it certainly doesn't make these things any easier. In fact, I want to scream and punch something when I hear some of the platitudes told to me over the past month...particularly the religious based ones. Not because I've lost faith or don't appreciate people's intentions, but because...well, maybe because I wanted to be pissed off for a while and on some level couldn't believe that people were not thinking through what they were saying. But I digress...

In these times the questions present themselves:

What will we do?

Who will we be?

Peace on the Journey!

Why I Ride

This is me on Mt. Evans Road in Colorado...the highest paved auto road in North America, August 2009

Some may say I deserved it because of the risks involved; I told you so; or that I have no right to complain because I chose to ride. True, I made the choice, but I also took the safety class, bought some of the best protective gear available in hi-viz colors, and added extra lights to the bike for increased visibility. You can't control someone else's negligence, bravado, or disrespect for life.

I was never dismissive of the risks, but I also had not felt as much like myself as when I started riding - especially when I attended the AMA International Women & Motorcycling Conference in 2009 held in Keystone, Colorado. After I began riding, I stumbled upon an article about the 2006 conference that was held in Athens, Georgia and promised myself that if I was still riding in 2009, I would find a way to make it to Keystone - I actually entered it into my Outlook calendar. Even when my then-spouse showed no interest in joining me before or after the conference, I forged on undeterred. My registration was secured, flight booked, and rental motorcycle arranged, I even made a connection on the conference board of Women Riders Now and met a sister rider (Hi Kelly!) from San Francisco. We split a cab to the dealership and hit the road from Denver to Keystone on our rented machines. Those few days comprised some of the most spiritually centered times I have ever experienced...perhaps more about that in another post.

All this to introduce the article I wrote in advance of the 2009 Conference that was published online. Read it here.

Journey On!

I Can't Believe I Get to do This...Cue the Semi

The same sun that melts the wax can harden clay

and the same rain that drowns the rat can grow the hay

and the mighty wind that knocks us down,

if we lean into it, will drive our fears away.

-Amy Grant, How Can We See that Far

So after leaving the hills of Kentucky behind and rolling across the flat farmscapes of Indiana and Illinois, I was surprised to find myself nestled once again between carved rock as I began my journey across Missouri. I made a mental note to brush up on my geography and check out a topo map of Missouri when I arrived in Gardner, Kansas that night at the home of a sister Motor Maid.It was a pleasant surprise as I remembered what had occurred to me years ago...After a trip to Florida I realized I am more

of a mountain person than a beach person. Florida was so flat, I felt like a spec that could be plucked off the earth's surface by a cosmic pointer finger and thumb at any moment without warning...which of course is certainly true. Ah, but riding through the mountains is different. I find it makes me feel more a part of the earth - hunkered down inside it, underscoring the feeling of our interdependence upon one another.

I spent some more time at The Arch that Monday morning, July 19, before rolling out of the Hilton parking garage (thanks brother!) in pursuit of my westward journey. It's a lovely place to stroll and it truly is an engineering marvel. Standing below and looking up, I saw others experience its

dizzying effects. There are so many things to see in our country, and I was trying to remember each small slice that I was privileged to encounter.

Apparently I had stumbled onto part of Route 66 as I rolled along, so of course I had to get a shot! It turned out to be the last photo taken on my long anticipated sabbatical adventure.

A couple hours later i was sensing the beginning of hunger pains and growing weary of the too-close -for-comfort company of what appeared to be a semi tractor trailer truck in my mirrors. Nonetheless I was having a blast - I couldn't believe I had actually embarked on this trip as part of my sabbatical exploration of pilgrimage. I was nearly half way to Borderlands Ranch located in the Black Hills of South Dakota where I would reflect on the Lakota Way, spirituality of the land, and continue to discern what might be next for me.

US 50 West was a fun road with a few hills, gentle curves and sporadic straightaways. Nothing crazy, just a nice blend of varied terrain across the "Show Me State." Its two lanes through farms didn't provide many places to pull over and allow the truck to pass, so when a sign appeared announcing a Road Side Park in five miles, I figured that was my chance. I would pull off, allowing the truck to move on down the road while I had a Kashi bar and stretch break. Another sign appeared as a half mile warning for the park and a peeled my eyes for it. Signaling and slowing in preparation for the left turn to enter the park on the gravel drive, I was carefully calculating my speed and projected turning radius as I again glanced in the left mirror - only to see it completely filled with the cab of the truck...no sky, no pavement...only metal and glass of what had now grown to feel like a predator with me in sight as its prey.

Apparently 15-20 minutes later, I awoke on my back feeling really rested and thinking I'd just had an awesome nap, but couldn't figure out why I would take a nap in my helmet. Then I glanced to the right to see my bike on its side and realized two men were crouched over me, "Oh, no, my Dad is going to be so mad. This is what they feared...I'm down."

The gentleman over me held a walkie talkie and told me paramedics were on the way. I knew instinctively without yet truly feeling the pain that moving my left arm was not an option. As the significance of what had just happened began to dawn on me, I think I intentionally looked down at my feet and tried to move them...Thank God! They moved!

A highway patrolman crouched down to take my

statement and was quickly gone. Another man crouched about 6-10 feet away at my feet peering through the men over me but never spoke directly to me. I believe he may have been the tailgating truck driver who just slammed into me - obliterating not only this month of the sabbatical i'd spent one year planning and raising funds for but most likely my other parts of the three month sabbatical, including a class at St George's College in Jerusalem which would have taken me to the deserts and monasteries of Jordan and Egypt, including Mt Sinai. Beyond that, I had no idea how severely this would impact the job search I needed to initiate.

Sirens drew new and it was surreal to realize they were coming for me. The following minutes, and for that matter days, were a blur of activity, people and tests. I was driven to St Mary's in Jefferson City and subsequently helicoptered to University Hospital in Columbia where the medical frenzy continued.

Over the next several hours I remained on the backboard in the neck collar while multiple teams of physicians and nurses determined treatments and we awaited word on when I could go into surgery. Consequently, my repeated requests for something to quench my extreme thirst were denied until it was decided my elbow operation would not be until Wednesday. That procedure alone would last at least four hours. The hand surgery would occur the following Monday and take over two hours. I am now the proud owner of assorted plates and screws in addition to a prognosis of extreme arthritis and eventually another surgery to remove the bone in my hand/thumb due to the anticipated severity of the arthritis.

Those first days included fading in and out of sleep, headaches from the concussion - which included some bleeding on the brain - and nausea every time they moved my bed. I've never been a back sleeper, but being in the cervical collar with thoracic extensions for my three fractured vertebrae didn't offer me an option or the ability to adjust my position. Leaning to the side to relieve the hot spots or needing to use the bathroom required me to ring for assistance in getting out of bed. Thank God I was able to walk. I wonder what the truck driver was doing?

I am so grateful to all who helped with my medical care: first responders, paramedics, air transport, doctors, nurses, radiologists, food service, IV specialist, physical and occupational therapists. It's impossible to remember them all, but I tried to retain as many as I could: Beth, Teresa, Kathy, Connie, Dan, Bill, Megan, Amanda, Julie, Dana, Francisco, Mohammed, James, Brett, Brandon, TJ (who provided me with some golf conversation...you're still crazy for playing everyday!).

After one week in the hospital, my parents and I spent another week in a hotel dealing with details - including a visit to the crash site. My sister arranged a flight for them so they were at the hospital the evening after the accident, That must have been the longest 24 hours they have experienced, I can't thank them enough for what they have done and continue to do for me. Eventually we arrived in Raleigh at my sister's for a week of rest before returning to Charlotte for the first round of follow up doctor visits...thank you Paul, Steve and Bruce!

I did everything I could to prepare for the safety of this trip: classes, practice hours on the bike, mechanical tune ups, extra lights on the bike, full safety gear - including hi-viz clothing, but none of that matters if someone tailgates you, is inattentive, thinks they have more right to the road than you, and that you are in their way if you are NOT speeding.

I must say I feel like I've been thrust into my own 'Truman Show." All i wanted to do was explore the country and stretch my wings a bit - to get away from the routine and discern the evolving changes in recent life events. But somewhere someone cued the semi and sucked me back into the set. I went from enjoying the privilege of solitude - time and space to simply be and reflect, to the chaos and confinement of 24/7 care. Mind you, I am grateful for the support and network...I'm just still trying to adjust to it.

Look twice, save a life, pay attention, and BACK OFF...motorcycles are everywhere.

Journey On!

Into Every Life...

Some rain must fall...

Yes, this was actually a thought for a post prior to the events of July 19. So, endulge me and let's live in the past a bit...

On Sunday, July 18 I awoke in Mount Vernon, Illionois and checked the weather to find a vicious line of thunderstorms moving quickly towards St. Louis from the west. Being not more than 100 miles east of St Louis, I began the waiting and calculation game: If I hit the road as

planned before 9am, would I be in a safe place before meeting the storm? Would it come through Mt. Vernon? Could I dodge it by traveling further north or south than originally planned? It was packing 60-70 mph winds (near Category 1 hurricaine levels), wicked lightening and isolated reports of hail and possible twisters. None of this was anything I wanted to encounter on the bike.

And so it went for the next 4-5 hours. I decided staying put was the best option while watching numerous other bikers seek brief shelter from the rain at the gas station across from the hotel...they were heading east and would likely out run the storm.

Finally I checked out and rode west about 20 miles before pulling over in Ashley, IL (population 650) to grab some lunch at The Lantern Pub. I decided it was very likely the only restaurant in town. The moveable table and chairs enveloped by the brown paneling and black and white tile floor lead me to believe this was a line-dancing nightlife spot. They still called me "honey" and I thoroughly enjoyed the special: tomato stuffed with chicken salad.

The rest of the day was a relaxed ride across Illinois into Missouri and ultimately the city where I was eventually greeted by The Arch. That night as I walked to dinner where I met a delightful couple from New Jersey, I saw a man in a business suit topped off with a cowboy hat, and I knew I was officially in The West!

There was plenty of turning around for photos, at dead ends, and missed streets - all part of the experience. Mostly the day struck me as a reflection upon waiting...most noatably as it began with those threatening storms. I was so anxious to make up the distance I had fallen short on the previous day - as my previous plan was to arrive in St Louis on Day 3 so Day 4 could be spent off the bike in rest. Eventually you must give way to the mind and events of the road as they unfold in their own time...a difficult task for those of us with control issues.

Journey On!

Looking thru the Turn, Teenage Goats, and Construction Barrels

Riding is simply a unique experience. At least one of my friends and my sister tried to persuade me to rent a converitble for the trip instead...it's just not the same. Everthing is more personal on a motorcycle. It requires you to be more present in what you are doing and experiencing. I've described it to others as the difference between hurdling through time and space versus being part of time and space (i.e. taking the interstates for the purpose of getting from point A to point B or taking the backroads and stopping when something catches your attention).

Of particular importance is looking through any curve or corner before you get there. This is so important because the bike will go in the direction you are looking. The same principle applies to moutain biking. If you stare at a tree, ditch, hole in the road or another car...guess where you're going? Several times during the ride I've caught myself looking to the middle of the turn and not all the way through it. Now, it's a fine balance to watch for road obstructions (potentially more hazardous on two wheels than four), off road threats, and the ultimate direction of where you want to go. During one of these moments it occured to me that maybe we sometimes do the same thing in life...We think we're looking towards the horizon, but really we're too afraid or mired down in what's happening or about to happen to truly look forward to what could be. Or is it that the possibilites themselves are so unknown or worrisome to us (maybe because they're unknown) that we simply don't want to risk looking that far?

Now the trick here is to not miss the moment; don't get so concerned with what's next that we miss the beauty or experience of the present. A very fine balance, my friend. An example...

I crossed into Kentucky on Route 99 which curved quickly and sharply to the right as another road approached from the left. It happened so fast I missed it and traveled another mile or two before finding a place to turn around...gotta get a picture of every stateline, right? So after missing the sign I am approaching what I initially thought was a pack of dogs on the side of the road and began to slow down to evaluate (dogs tend to chase motorcycles). I realized they were goats. Apparently they snuck out of their barbed wire fence to eat the grass beside the road instead of the grass that was inside their "approved space" - I'll leave you to ponder the obvious for yourself on that one.

When one of them saw me, it looked at the others and they all scampered back inside the barbed wire which was only about six feet from the road. It was almost as if he said, "Someone's coming...back, back, back!" Now after that I eventually found a place to turn around and get my stateline shot. This meant that I pased those goats three times and each time they did the same thing. For some reason this was absolutley hilarious to me and I began to wonder if they were teenage goats. Afterall, during those formative years it's basically our primary job description to test the boundaries and push the limits. So I missed the intial stateline, but had the delightful experience of chuckling at those goats three times!

At another point, I veered off 52 when I saw a sign for Clymos Motorcycle Museum in Red Boiling Springs. A small little venue but really cute town, and they had a mannequin wearing one rendition of a Motor Maid uniform! Go Motor Maids - the longest running women's motorcycling organization in the country...we're also in Canada!

And finally, a word to anyone planning to travel this summer, looking for an investment opportunity or grumbnling about taxes. Apparently it's contruction season on the roads and the stimulous money is being used. I only wish I had stock in the company that makes those ornage and white construction barrels.

This post kindly brought to you by the Edmondson Couthy Library in Brownsville KY - they were kind enough to post a blue directional sign off 70 West which I saw as I looked up from having pulled over at a gas station to jot some notes that I want to include in the blog...perferct timing!

Journey On!