A collection of scenes from motorcycle rides with thoughts that may be provocative, humorous, serious, or ridiculous; who knows?
12-1-2022, repurposed my blog to allow me space to share pieces that otherwise don't have a landing zone. Thank you.
My purpose is pretty simple; to find a writing rhythm and style that I am comfortable with and will help me with a more complete writing project.
Ride on, read on, and by all means, participate.
Harbingers of Spring are everywhere. Our front yard is a riot of
clover sporting bright yellow flowers, everything is green, buds are at the tip
of every living branch, and the pines are losing a deluge of pollen –
everything standing still outdoors has a fine yellow coating and I dared not
take a Sunday afternoon nap out on the porch. The occurrence that truly sets up
Spring is Daylight Savings Time and the setting of our clocks ahead one hour
which took place the night before.
Cindy had just left for a night shift at the hospital and I sat at
this keyboard with a view of our riotous front yard and the birdfeeder visited
by increasingly colorful birds. I had, and still have, things I needed to write, things I should have been doing and so I wrote
the following Facebook post thinking that would do the trick and I’d dive right
in:
“Such a
conundrum; the house emptied out, there's an extra hour of sunlight, and a
motorcycle in the garage...and my "God Said, 'Let's Ride'" tee shirt
in the drawer.”
I may have been
all right had I not added the tee shirt quote but I did and I listened to it
call me. Less than ten minutes and I was coursing down Freeman Avenue
and off for an opportunistic ride with staying off the freeways as my only
requirement. I rode up Foothill Boulevard to Big Tujunga Canyon and took it
through the neighborhood of Sunland/Tujunga into the foothills and on to the
Angeles Forest Highway where I opted to head on up to the Angeles Crest Highway
and down into La Canada. Just under an hour later and in a little less than
forty miles I had sprung into action and was returned home. Some itches need to be scratched.
As I entered Big
Tujunga Canyon with the stream-bed on my left and mountainside to my right I had
the evening sun still streaming into the canyon at my back setting it up so
that I was riding sweep to my shadow. My shadow kept a better line through the
twisties than I did and I wasn’t bothered by that in the least. Once I rounded a particular long bend in the road I lost him anyway and I was on my own
again.
At one point I rode directly under a drone and thought how nice it would have been to be
carrying Mississippi’s sidearm of choice from El Dorado, a holstered sawed off shotgun. I could have taken that
thing out without gearing down and rode on completely at ease. Wistfully I remembered
Magnum’s satisfaction when he blew Higgins’ gas powered remote control plane
from the Hawaiian skies.
The roads were
clear enough that I never had to slow down for a soul with a few riders and
cars passing me the other way. I did pull over for a string of cars - a mix of
sports and muscle cars - and then had fun staying on their six until we reached
Angeles Crest Highway where we went our separate ways.
I was able to
catch the sun setting through the canyons as couples embraced while sitting on
the hoods of their cars parked in the viewpoints to watch it set, and
photographers snapped photos as the glorious orb went to rest for the night. My
helmet cam didn’t do it justice but that’s the way of the photograph, they
rarely catch what the mind tells us our eyes see.
Coming down the
last stretch of twisties I was able to look out over the LA Basin in early
evening light to see the marine layer coming in to consume the buildings
leaving islands of skyline far below me.
All in all it was a pleasant resolution to my conundrum. Spring
into action my friends and when you do, keep the iron side up.
Peace
jerry
My
video heading into Big Tujunga Canyon: note here that not one sport biker returned my biker's solute.
During our recently completed Laughlin Ride weekend I had plenty
of opportunities to contemplate the phenomenon of the group ride. We had the
rides out and back to Laughlin that grew in numbers at various meet points along
the way out and that dwindled at freeway junctions on the way home and then we
had a fun-ride filled with potholes, canyon runs with twisties, mountain passes
with twisties, and a town full of burros – vigilance required at every stage.
For the record, I consider anything from three bikes on up to be a
group ride. Two bikes is pairs-riding even though many of the things I’ll talk
about below apply, it feels like a different animal to me to the point that I
have a different bikers’ solute for three or more riders in a line where I go
from the easygoing down-low salute to a fist pump, my Howitzer solute for the
last rider in the line.
When we ride we need to use all our senses to maintain a
heightened degree of situational awareness. I confess though that as I write
this I’m struggling with where the sense of taste comes into play, feel free to
weigh in on this. Your sense of smell can tell you about skunkage on the road
ahead or a particularly nasty diesel truck laboring around the next bend. Our
sense of touch helps integrate us with our own machine and how it’s running as
well as tell us about the condition of the tarmac under our wheels.
Our sense of hearing in a group ride is our rider’s sonar as we
take in information from other riders, the road, and drivers. Let me set the
stage at bit; the two most well-known types of sonar for those of not working
with the technology are active and passive sonar.
Active sonar is where the device sends out a ping and listens for
the echo off a given target to measure size, distance and speed of the object.
I can draw a little parallel here for riders’ sonar such as when our eyes lock
onto an item of interest and our ears tune in for confirmation as when we see
flashing lights we listen for the siren to tell us if it’s moving or
stationary. This tells us what the signature is of the obstacle we are about to
encounter. It’s not a perfect corollary but it works for me.
Passive sonar is strictly listening. Naval vessels, particularly
submarines, use sonar to locate targets or obstacles. Submarines live and die
by sonar, both active and passive. Regarding the sub’s passive sonar; it is a
system of listening devices at various points on the sub or even trailed in the
water behind. These are all fed into computers these days that run algorithms
to tell range, speed, and location. One of the best examples of passive sonar
use that comes to mind can be found in The
Hunt for Red October where Jonesy detects the Russian sub and its
revolutionary propulsion system. The link to the relevant scene is found at the
end of this post.
Our riders’ passive sonar is hardly passive; it requires us to
tune into all the relevant noises around us while filtering those extraneous
sounds from cluttering up our attention. While riding in a group, particularly
from the number three spot back to the sweep, we need to listen to the sounds
of those ahead of us. Decelerations in RPMs, even backfires, warn us of a pending
need to slow down. Accelerations tell us where we can expect to speed up
through an apex on the turn. Break lights are fine but if like me, you happen
to riding behind folks who are particularly adept at throttle control and the
use of gearing to maintain proper speeds, their engine sounds are a vital clue.
Of course, our vision is number one. There is no substitute for
seeing and being seen. Our eyes must tune to the road ahead to pick out lines
through the twisties, road hazards, the action of other drivers and riders, and
seeing the riders in front point out road hazards and giving warning hand
signals. Lifehack has a nice article
called ’12 Motorcycle Hand Signals You Should Know’:
Regarding the thought that loud pipes saves lives; if that is
where you put your trust then you ride in a weak position. Relying on someone
in a cage with the sound system blaring and kids screaming or passengers
yammering in a car that advertised itself as quiet is trust ill placed.
Personally, I prefer relying on being seen and knowing that I’ve been seen and
even when I know I’ve been seen I don’t trust that the driver isn’t a nutcase.
I spend precious little time in anyone’s blind spot.
The bottom line is to keep our senses finely tuned to the ride and
everything about our riding environment. So tune in first, put your kickstand
up second, and enjoy the ride.
Keep it real and keep the iron side up.
Peace
jerry
UTube
link to Jonesy’s Report in The Hunt for Red October:
There were bikers and pirates, babes and hedgehogs,
and then there were visions in the clouds
Jed planned a fun-ride for our Saturday of the Laughlin 2017
weekend over roads that could be ridden for the sheer joy of riding and
included interesting stops for sights and sounds and experiences that, in and
of themselves, were worth the stop. We twisted and turned, glided up and down, and
all the while passed through scenery that was stunning. Oh, and the bouncing - we can’t forget the bouncing; it was rumored at the time that someone left a spleen
on relatively short section of old Highway 40. Or was that Route 66? ...my brain
got scrambled.
KSU was 8:30 in the morning with a planned late breakfast at
Topock 66 on the banks of a quiet estuary of the Colorado River, just off
Historic Highway 66. Another group of Victory riders were scheduled for a later
KSU and joined us in time for some give and take, adding and switching of
groups and post-meal rides. Topock 66 seems to have an affinity for butts; even
their bar stools for butts are… well butts. Photos of patrons adorn the walls.
No, you won’t find me there; they’ll only stoop so far.
Regarding the meal at Topock 66, I had a great omelet. The waitress
heard that it was Shawn’s birthday and presented him with an excellent desert
that triggered a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday. There were some rumors
that Shawn may have milked the birthday thing but I believe it was a
spontaneous outpouring of love for the man and, even if it was true that he worked
it bit, it was well deserved. Again, happy birthday friend. Back to the food
and service, both were great. I didn’t hear any complaints on either but I may
have had my crap-filter turned up high.
Parking at Topock 66
Dockside at Topock 66
We continued on Route 66 until we came to Oatman, Arizona. To get there we traveled through desert-scapes that held a patina of greens covering the
color pallet. The rains have inspired a rush of growth in the mesquite, Joshua
Trees, shrubs, and grasses. The red and yellow cliffs jutting up along our
canyon runs are spectacular. The roads and riding were awesome, definitely on
my list of favorite rides.
Admiral, there be burros here! Almost as soon as we had our bikes
parked we saw the town burros making their way along the main street looking
for likely softhearted souls to feed them. Warning, take caution if you are
carrying a brown paper bag, with or without burro treats in it, they are a
magnet for the burros and some are more aggressive than others. The tale is
that it was a miner’s burro that discovered gold which gave rise to the town,
listed as a “Census-designated place” in Mohave County, Arizona. The actors who
performed the mock gun fight referred to the town as a mining camp. Now the
street is lined with curio and gift shops, make-shift museums, and such. Worth
the visit in any case and the burros are generally kind and docile. Several of
our Victory friends were already there having come in from other directions and
destinations. Off highway vehicles of various shapes and sizes rolled into town
and the mix of burros, dirt bikes, highway bikes, and family vehicles made for a busy
street.
Donna Doval and friends
in Oatman
Donna and Sue and the Oatman Mutual Admiration
Society
We left Oatman and continued along a winding Route 66 to make a
stop at Cool Springs for some history and a panoramic view of the desert. Cool
Springs was the inspiration for Radiator Springs in the Disney Cars movies. Additionally, the older structure was used in an explosive scene in Universal Soldier and later restored. The docent at the museum housed
there gave us a great reading and viewing of the history of the place and then
took the photo of our group that is as of this writing, my Facebook cover
photo and shown below.
While at Cool Springs we heard burros calling out to each other
but were unable to spot them they are so camouflaged to their desert
surroundings. We saw plenty of evidence along the road but only laid eyes on
them in Oatman.
Outback at Cool Springs
Cool Springs and the Gang
We rolled back into Laughlin having put in around 130 miles of
good tight riding through red-rock canyons and dazzling high-desert scenery that gives one an understanding of why folks choose to live in deserts though I
confess I’m more of a beach and/or mountain person.
We arrived early enough to freshen up before gathering here or
there. I ended up in the Jed and Sue Suite on the ninth floor overlooking the
river walk. (more on this as a postscript) After a wine tasting experience
about thirty or so ended up at the Colorado Belle Loading Dock for dinner.
Offhand I’d say those who partook of the buffet came out ahead with the
exception of the rib rack Jeb worked on. It was, as most rider’s gatherings
are, a time for catching up, reliving the ride, talking out news of the day,
and looking out to the future.
Keep it real and keep the iron side up.
Peace
jerry
Postscript
– regarding the suite, I dare say someone would be unhappy if I didn’t cover a
significant event that normally I’d let slide into the fog of myth and memory.
We were instructed to pay no attention to the women behind the curtain. If Toto
were in the room there would have been a startling reveal to rival that which occurred
at Oz. It was over in a flash, shrieks filled the room, glasses continued to
clink. They pointed down at the river walk where a Peeping Tom was seen, camera
in hand though a professional camera w/ sporting lens would have been more up
to the task of capturing the sight and the only evidence that anything occurred
at all were four telling smudges on the window.
Approaching Laughlin and yes, I did fix the my crooked horizon for later ride segments
Outbound destination ride completed February 10, 2017 to Laughlin,
Nevada. A destination ride is one which is taken for the purpose of arriving at
a particular end-point for a particular purpose; Laughlin was the particular end-point,
the particular purpose was – is actually since I’m in my room at the Aquarius
Casino Resort as I type up this report – to gather with friends, renew old
acquaintances, make new ones, enjoy the amenities of the hotel/casino, take a ride
for enjoyment… I’m sure you’re getting the picture here.
Don’t misunderstand me; riding for the purpose of arriving at a
spot on the map is, nevertheless, riding. I’ve taken my bike to plenty of
places I needed to be or otherwise would have gone via some other conveyance.
I’ve ridden to Merlin, Oregon to visit my parents, ditto to Klamath Falls, OR.
I ride to church from time to time to worship and add a certain a coolness
factor to the parking lot. When I worked in an office, I used to commute to it.
The overall sense of riding is rarely lost altogether. Sometimes it’s dimmed
due to the event or shaded with emotions because of the event. For instance,
memorial rides. And, I once rode to Fresno for an Aunt’s memorial service.
While we like to call them celebrations of life they are infused with a sense
of melancholy while we remember the lost and thus the ride is shaded somewhat,
neither good nor bad.
For the ride out to Laughlin, it got progressively better as the
ride went along. I left my home fully dressed for rain to arrive a bit early at
the meet spot in Santa Clarita where I was joined by six others – Tim & Bev,
Jed & Sue, Shawn, and Todd. We rolled out in a nice tight grouping and
headed up the pass toward Palmdale to skirt the desert community along the
Highway 138 out to Victorville. I love riding with these people (and the others
I rode with later in the day) who ride with an easy discipline that is
comfortable even when I end up stretching my comfort zone.
At Victorville we doubled our numbers as we added five bikes
including two two-up couples – Dale & Jeanie, Andy & Jane, along with Karen,
Steve, and Keith. The final bike tally for our ride out was 1 Can-Am Spider, 1
Harley Electra-glide, 1 Victory Vegas, 5 Victory Cross Countries, and 5 Victory
Visions. We made a short hop up Highway 15 to Barstow for my best meal of the
day at Oggi’s Sports Brewhouse.
When our twelve bikes rolled out of the service station we
encountered our only problem for the group as we merged on to a busy section of
Highway 15. As a testament to the group’s skill and demeanor, it took a short five
miles to regroup without any heroics or dangerous and inconsiderate riding.
These people are awesome!
Our ride up the 15 was without incident and we eventually left the
freeway for two-lane highways which included a gas stop at Ludlow, CA. where I
took an unplanned trip down memory lane as we reformed to continue on to
Laughlin when I hopped down to take a look at an AT&T radio site that I
used to do the planning for. It’s still there and in good shape.
Regarding my choice to ride fully outfitted for rain: I did that
in order to forestall the need to actually ride in the rain and it worked
pretty well. I peeled it off for lunch at Oggi’s but judiciously donned it once
again before heading out. The weather reminded me that our truce was a tenuous
one at best and I maybe should have left the suit on during lunch. I caught
about twelve drops while moving up the onramp. However, I felt sufficiently
respected by the weather for my efforts and stripped the suit off for good at
Ludlow and did not have rain the rest of the weekend while riding.
As we approached Laughlin riders peeled off to their various
accommodations for the weekend to gather later for dinner, music, and some
little high-jinks. All in all it was a good day on the road and in the
destination with a bunch of quality people.
That evening we indulged in pursuits commensurate with our stated
purpose at our intended destination. Larger groups gathered for dinner and camaraderie
at various sites in the town. The most interesting gathering for me was in the
Jed and Sue suite where each person to come through the door was greeted with a
rousing cheer.
Consider the amoeba – a single cell organism containing all the
functions of life within a single membrane; nucleus (control), ingestion of nutrients,
and elimination of waste. That’s right, all amoeba, like people, have one.
Amoeba move via protoplasmic flow, or extending pseudopods in any given
direction and the rest of the cell following along. Ingestion of nutrients is
via phagocytosis, extending pseudopods to encircle prey or scavenged materials.
Reproduction is most famously achieved via asexual binary fission.
The amoeba pulls in all pseudopods to form a more circular cell, the nucleus
then splits and the pieces separate to opposite ends of the cell and the cells
splits in two. Our lady riders will be pleased to know that these two cells are
known as daughter cells. Thus the
amoeba is cloned and the two cells move along to their purpose.
Typical Amoeba
Atypical bikes for today's Amoeba Run
Tim Robertson suggested the analogy a few days before our 2017 New
Year’s Day ride to Duke’s in Malibu for their Sunday Breakfast Buffet. It was
with this analogy in mind that I met up with the other riders at the Mobile
Station in Newberry Park for New Year’s hugs all around - Tim and his excellent
wife Bev, Jed and his amazing Sue, Shawn, the incomparable Vicki, and myself. This
group of riders fits the Amoeba analogy to a tee. We formed up and rode through
Potrero Canyon to Oxnard where we made a stop at the Point Mugu Missile Park
for a photo op.
I rode sweep for this first section, a position in the ride group
I rather like. I suppose it is the mother-hen part of my personality, or better
yet, the sheepdog part. Or maybe I just like having everyone in front so they
don’t see my goofs on the road. This all changed when we reformed the group after
the amoeba stretched out a bit coming off PCH onto the Mulholland Highway. At
that point Vicki took the sweep and was treated to a couple of deviations on my
part; nothing serious as I could see that I had a clear enough road to come
back into the lane. I guess even in the bits of the amoeba cell can get too close
to each other and cause a spasm of sorts. I’d let the gap between me and Shawn
close a bit too much and didn’t have room to gracefully slow down into a curve
and went wide with my late reduction in speed. Ah well.
The day was ideal; chilly, but nothing reasonable cold-weather
gear couldn’t handle. And, even though we’d had some good rain the two days
prior, there was very little in the way of storm debris along the canyon roads
and everyone did the group ride thing of pointing out the occasional rock or
gravel for those following. We practiced a little phagocytosis at the Rock
Store when Todd, who had just finished his breakfast, saw us coming and jumped
on his Vision to take the sweep from there to Duke’s in Malibu. He helped round
out our table for eight for the very good buffet, stimulating conversation, and
a stunning view of the Pacific.
Arrival at Duke's Malibu
As with any group ride, goodbyes are said before everyone mounts
up for the last leg of the ride and this we did in the parking lot of Duke’s. The
amoeba reformed and headed north from Duke’s on PCH to catch Kanan Dume Road
heading to the interior. The process of binary fission started at Highway 101
and continued on until every rider and bike was at their home base, safe and
sound.
For all that; the ride, the riders, food, comradery, and most
importantly, the safe arrival home, I am well and truly thankful.
Vicki Peterson created a splendid video of our day, the link can
be found below.
Whenever you find yourself in a ride-group, remember the amoeba
and know that you perform a critical function to the organism, whatever it
might be, and keep the iron side up.
Peace
jerry
Vicki's well done video with great musical selections:
This coming
September 11, 2016 I will be riding in the Ride to the Flags from Naval Base
Ventura County (NBVC) to the 'Waves of Flags' at Pepperdine University. I’ll be
riding along with a few friends of mine from the Southern California Victory
Riders’ group and in the midst of 500 or so bikers.
I have been
reading your story and the bits and pieces of it that I can find on the
internet because I’ve wanted to write something for my friends, my family, and
the greater riding community so that they will know why we ride the RTTF and to
help myself to have a deeper understanding of the event and the man we are riding for, you. We ride,
we give, because you count
and because your sacrifice has incurred a debt that cannot be fully repaid. I
give to help you establish yourself as a new man with new capabilities. I'll
ride to show I care, I’m giving to help even just a little.
I confess that I have not served our country in
the military and though from time to time I’ve regretted that, or at least considered
what it would have been like, I am just as glad that Uncle Sam did not invite
me to Southeast Asia. This is probably a part of why I am having such a hard
time understanding the depth of your sacrifice, both on the field of battle,
and now at home as you continue to work through your loss. You are an
incredible man. Thank you for your service – I am sorry that it requires such a
drastic sacrifice.
Though my
reading about how you were injured and what you’ve gone through in your
recovery has been sobering to me, I have come across some things that give me hope.
Hope for you, hope for our future. I believe that beyond the persons counted as
casualties it is the mothers and spouses of those men and women that feel it
most keenly and I’ve seen that your mother and wife are exceptional women who, while they’ve suffered that loss alongside of you, they have also had your back
all the way. I thank your mother and your wife for all they’ve suffered and for
all they do with you and for you.
The Getschers at home
There is one
picture that has stood out for me that gives me hope for you, rather several
pictures. They all have two things in common, you and your daughter on your
lap. Invariably, she can be seen with the most genuine of smiles and completely
at ease with you. You, the man you are right now, is the dad she knows and loves
and it is obvious to me that she thinks the world of you. I loved reading how
the two of you sprawl out on the floor and play together – it speaks volumes
about who you are to each other. Knowing that you have the space to do that and
that your home is set up in a way so that you can move about is a comfort to
me. It seems that it’s the least we could have done for you. I am thankful for
your daughter and what she means to you and your family.
I hope that
you find a way to define your new normal and that it gives you a sense of worth
and fulfillment. I pray that your new normal gives plenty of room for the
extraordinary and that the extraordinary becomes the baseline for your new
normal.
Thank you for
being a man of honor and sacrifice, a man of dedication and determination and a
man who cares for his friends, family, and country. I appreciate you for being
a person who takes a stand for the oppressed.
God bless you.
jerry white
This is the link to the Southern
California Victory Riders’ donation page for those who want to participate with
us in spirit as we ride or who want to join the team for the day of the event:
Your people are gracious,
welcoming and wholehearted. In our time there, in all our driving and walking
and riding buses, we did not meet one untoward person. For instance the four of
us; Cindy, Daniel, Ani, and I, traveled by bus on our last night in Dublin,
three buses to be exact for Cindy and I. Each of the drivers was kind and
understanding and this in an occupation that tends to breed curmudgeons
injecting coarseness into every soul. Thank you for nurturing the collective
kindness of your people.
My dear Ireland, you got me
over myself in many ways. One result was that I had no problem asking even the
simplest thing when we had a question – Where to go? How to tip? Do you have
gluten free and vegetarian menu items? When does the music start? (Really
though, it never stopped) In every case there was first a smile, then the
answer, then the reassurance of ‘no worries’, with a parting wish for a great
trip. You made me feel at home and amongst friends. When we looked lost or
confused your people stopped and sought us out, going out of their way to make
sure we could find our way, always with a smile and so pleased that we were
visiting Ireland.
Galway Street Club See postscript for YouTube links
Speaking of music, on our
way back to St. Anthony’s B&B from the Spanish Arch in Galway we chanced
upon a joyous scene where a couple of hundred people had gathered as the Galway
Street Club performed their music. Performed is not quite the word I want. They
reveled in it and the crowd enjoyed a good rollick as well. We took up the
whole of the wide cobbled walkway, some dancing where they stood, many tapping
out the rhythm, and still more singing along in the well-known choruses. Folks
who wanted simply to pass through wormed their way through the crowd and walked
between the performers and watchers while skipping and dancing their way by as
often as not. I lost track of time we spent there and was lost in the music.
After a time we said that we’d leave after the next song and said the same
thing song after song until a slight break in the enchanting scene allowed us
to break free of the spell and head back to our rooms.
We stayed at an array of
Bed and Breakfast establishments and each was overseen by excellent people.
Three of them stood out to me and I’ll name them here so that you can remember
them with kindness as they represent your people.
Lissyclearig Thatch Cottage Artwork by Quirky Paintings - Kenmare
Carmel Breen and her
husband Davey opened their heart and home to us. Lissyclearig Thatch Cottage
has as much country character you could hope for. Davey built it from the
ground up as well as most of the furnishings including dining tables, frames,
hearths, and lamps. The craftsmanship is superb and is a testament to the Irish
tradesman pride. I suspect he implemented Carmel’s vision to a tee. The cottage
is decorated throughout with family memorabilia and surrounded by fanciful
gardens to the front, vegetables and flowers to the rear. Carmel is gregarious
and her convivial approach to the breakfast started our days off on the right
foot. While Davey prefers the quiet pursuits of craftsmanship and fishing he
took humble delight in our praise of the wonderful cottage. Cindy and I spent
our layover day there at the cottage as well as a walkabout in the town of
Kenmare. It was a sanctuary for us.
San Augustine’s B&B in
Swords, Dublin was our final stop before heading home. Anna Walsh, the
proprietress, greeted us with alacrity and a sense of humour that is sure to
bring a smile to the weariest of travelers. She got right down to the business
of arranging breakfast and a cab for us as we dropped our cars off that night
and had a need for an early ride to the airport the next morning. When we
jokingly asked about breakfast before our 4 a.m. cab arrived she laughed and
said something to the effect that God doesn’t get breakfast at that hour. She
related the story of how Ann Eagers dropped off a package for us and how
amazing that was to her. I suspect she goes the extra mile when the occasion
warrants it just as she did for us with the cab and sharing a laugh with us.
Banner House in Rathcoole,
Dublin was our first B&B stop. However, I saved the Banner House story for
last because the proprietress, Ann Eagers, was most amazing, even to our friend
Anna at San Augustine B&B. Ann got us off on the right foot for our B&B
experience welcoming us into her house and showing us the way of things. I
loved the sun room between the main house and the extension, great for a read
and write session. The Irish breakfast was excellent and she was efficient. As
we prepared to leave for our next stop at St. Anthony’s in Galway Ann asked for
our voucher. “Voucher”, I replied? I was not aware of the need for vouchers and
had failed to print them. Ani and Daniel had already pulled out as we were
taking separate routes to Galway that day and I was the lost soul of a rookie
B&B’er.
Ann brought me into her
kitchen and we sat at her new computer where I was able to find the vouchers.
The new computer wasn’t able to send anything to the printer so Ann called her
daughter who arrived from next door with her computer and her son in tow. We
found and saved he vouchers to her computer and she ran home to print them out.
During the interlude I learned that peek-a-boo is an international phenomenon,
the boy is delightful. Ann handled a stressful situation for me with grace and
I was relieved that I hadn’t ruined the whole trip for us. And this was just
the beginning of Ann going the extra mile for us.
Sometime after our arrival
at St. Anthony’s B&B we discovered that we’d left something in the wardrobe
back at Banner House. We despaired that we would never see the piece again and
reduce the once thrifty purchase of the coat to a marginally wise purchase
since we had traversed the island from the east coast to west coast on our
210km drive. Prior to our departure after our two night stay at St. Anthony’s I
took my newfound shamelessness and emailed Ann about the garment. She answered
promptly and ended a couple of logistical questions with “Let me know where you will be staying and we will take it
from there.” As it
turned out, or so she said, Ann and her husband were visiting family in Swords
and dropped the coat liner off at our final B&B at San Augustine.
My final email response to Ann was, “A favorable trip advisor report
would have been a joy to write in any case, this puts you in a category beyond any
reasonable definition. You have become my Irish champion.” And, she is.
Cindy was pleasantly surprised that her coat had been made whole.
A final lesson I learned while being introduced to you, Ireland is
this: There is not enough of a life span to know even the smallest of
countries. For one, its people are too diverse to allow for a complete
understanding of the land. There is only enough time in one’s life to walk with
an open heart and receive life’s bounty as it is presented wherever and
whenever it comes along.
The greatest vista we enjoyed was overlooking the Lakes of
Killarney. Cindy had me stand on the low rock wall at the edge of the car park
and lift my hands for a photograph. While posing thus I was drawn to bless
Ireland and worship God. I’ll not call it a benediction, I don’t want to put
final punctuation to my experience with you.
I love Ireland, her people, her land, and her poetry.
