From: Dave Lawrence <tale@dd.org>
Subject: Auld Lang Syne
To: nedod@nedod.org, rcr@lists.elektro.com
Date: Wed, 27 Jun 2007 20:35:52 -0400

Last year Andy Ettinger took a half-assedly phrased comment I made out
of its explanatory context and ran with it.  It is what seems to be an
awfully backhanded compliment:

"I've known you people longer than I've known most of my friends."

If you'll forgive me a brief diversion into flowery prose, I'd like to
explain what that means to me.

RCR XVI has come and gone and I had plenty of time, alone in my
helmet, to muse on that remark again.  Year after year the Right Coast
Ride and other Denizens of Doom events have provided us with the sort
of special experiences that confirm our deeply lasting friendships
despite often only seeing each other in person a few times or less per
year.  It isn't a perfectly connected web where everyone is everyone
else's best buddy, but the bonds and the overlapping connections are
strong.  Any one of us could just decide take a trip into the twisty
roads of the mountains at any time -- I've done many trips like that
alone -- but mostly we really look forward to those times when we can
do it together.  An outsider would surely be inclined to see these as
casual relationships, but I see something more.  We may flame about
our disagreements often, but at heart I see a group of people of such
common spirit that it surpasses whatever our differences are.

This is the what frames what has been one of the more stressful weeks
of my life in recent memory.  Mary's already let you know quite a bit,
but I wanted to fill in some holes.  You all know I'm inclined to a
bit of verbosity in my story telling, but I'll try to find a happy
medium and keep it shorter.

As Mary mentioned, Dane, she and I planned to depart Massachusetts
last Wednesday evening to meet Dave Dunton in Catskill NY and get a
head start on two 500 mile days of back roads riding down to North
Carolina.  On Tuesday I was settling down to finish up the specifics
of the route sheets when I noticed one of my two cats, Snoop Catty
Cat, had a severe tilt to his head to the right that was clearly
abnormal though he wasn't crying in distress.  After a little waiting
just to see if it was some sort of temporary thing I scooped him up
and took him to the Mass Vet Referral Hospital in Woburn, which runs a
24 hour emergency room.  After triage determined he wasn't in
life-threatening danger, I waited for hours while they helped other
people's pets who were in more critical need.  Finally they saw him
and made an initial diagnosis of vestibular disease, which is a
neurological disorder of the inner ear that can have several possible
causes.  They wanted to hold him til morning to do an MRI, so I left
him in their hands and returned home, exhausted and stressed, around 3
AM -- with no packing done, the route sheets not finished and a strong
expectation that in the interest of Snoops I'd have to miss the RCR
for the first time in its history.

I didn't want to screw up the plans of Mary, Dane and Dave though so I
stayed up a bit to put the routes in a more usable form to give to
them.  Finally exhaustion overcame me and I sent them what was done
and tucked in for a few hours of sleep.

Expecting to be called with the MRI results by 1pm, by 4pm I'd still
not heard anything, leaving Dane and Mary kind of hanging about what
was going on with regard to our 5:30 departure.  Finally I got a call
around 4:45 and discussed the options with the doctor.  The problem
was caused by a very bad deep inner ear infection, and the best course
of treatment was surgery to clear it out.  They weren't sure they
could do it on Thursday, and they wanted to keep him for two days
after the surgery anyway for pain management.  I said I wanted to do
whatever I could for his well-being, and she said there really wasn't
anything I could do, so I should go on my trip.

The trip out to Catskill wasn't terribly interesting, other than a
genuinely friendly chat with a Westfield police officer who let me out
of a ticket for an illegal U-turn which I'd done to avoid making an
illegal left turn (um, yeah) because I missed the jug-handle approach
to the Mass Pike entrance.  We hit a couple of nice back roads across
Columbia and Greene counties in New York, checked in, headed to town
for a late meal, then had a couple of beers back at the motel before bed.

Thursday dawned beautifully and we had a great ride across the
Catskills to the Poconos and down into the Ridge & Valley Appalachians
of central Pennsylvania.  Sorry, Chrispy, we didn't quite jizz over
PA 154 like you did, but we still had a pretty damn fine time.  We
were doing great right up until about Pine Grove Furnace, when the
temperature started dropping, losing about 15 degrees in around half
an hour.  Then the rain started.  At the gas stop in Blue Ridge Summit
we made the fateful decision to head for Hagerstown and I-81 to finish
the trip to Front Royal on the Interstate.

Mary's written about what happened next.  It's hard not to feel some
measure of responsibility when someone goes down on a ride you were
leading.  Should I have not gone down the entrance ramp as fast as I
did?  What if I'd not misinterpreted the signal to "go on" as "please
I need to stop"?  Though Mary has absolved me, those thoughts still
linger a little.

As I gingerly rode Mary to the hospital, because at that point I think
we didn't really quite realize how bad her knee was, Dane got to ride
pillion for a bit as well.  Dave ferried him a few times between
dropping off Mary's bike at a rest area, picking it up again to bring
it to the hospital, and finally taking it up to the motel in Falling
Waters where we managed to finally find some rooms.  (The Hampton Inn
in Front Royal graciously canceled our reservation with no penalties.
Nice company.)  We called James Revell and told him about what had
happened and that meeting up in Front Royal as planned was just not
going to happen.

Friday dawned and we needed to come up with a plan.  Return Mary to
the Cape or head to North Carolina despite it all?  Truck the bikes?
Trailer?  Stowe them somewhere?  Planes, trains and automobiles -- a
couple of dozen different options were considered, some rejected
because of cost, others because of lack of availability, and others
because we just couldn't figure out how to make it happen.

This is where the character of Denizens shone through.  Mr. Bill was
contacted and, though he has been recovering from radiation treatment,
he readily offered to come on over and help.  James was called again
so we could given an update, and he too quickly started musing about
driving a car on up to help out.  Dane contacted a friend from work
who is from the region to see if there was any way perhaps we could
put the bikes with someone he knew.  As the morning passed to noon
with various options being shot down, people still kept in pretty good
spirits too.

Finally we came up with the plan:  the West Virginia State Police
would let the bikes be left at the barracks.  We'd rent a car from
Hertz so I could drive Mary to the RCR and she could still make
something positive out of the time she'd finagled to have off.  On
Sunday we'd head back to Martinsburg to get my bike, which I'd ride
while Mary took over the car and we'd go as far as possible.  On
Monday she'd turn in the car on the Cape as I rode to Cambridge, then
on Tuesday I'd take a flight from Boston to Dulles, get a ride from
James, and get her bike to ride back to the Cape.  Finally, she or a
friend would find a way to get me back to Cambridge.

Once more Dane got to ride bitch as we headed out to Shepherdstown to
pick up the rental car (Mazda 5, turned out to be a pretty good
vehicle for all that we ended up using it for).  He took my bike back 
to the hotel, and then Dane and Dave rode mine and Mary's bikes back
to the police station.  Finally we drove them back to the hotel and
their bikes.

Dave said it reminded him of those logical puzzles "you have to get a
wolf and two sheep across a river but only have one boat and the wolf
can't ever be alone with a sheep..."

Dane and Dave finally get a very late start (2pm?) to Ferguson.  I
recall the idea was to mostly take US 220 down West Virginia to
Roanoke to pick up the Blue Ridge Parkway the rest of the way to
Ferguson.  It was an ambitiously optimistic plan but I hear they had a
good time for a few hours at least, before they decided to bail on the
"just get there ASAP" route.

For Mary and me, we had to get her prescriptions filled (Wal*Mart
expedited her order but couldn't make the pick-up line move any
faster) and a quick bite to eat (Sheetz to the rescue).  Then we were
one the road, I-81 to I-77 to US 421 and finally NC 268 to camp.  As a
ride, it pretty much sucked as much as 81 through Virginia normally
sucks.  Tons of trucks and tons of cops.  But honestly, when you have
such a personable traveling companion -- well, I sure never would have
wished any of this on Mary, but it was a good drive.

I checked in on Snoops.  Surgery had gone very well, though afterward
the swelling in his throat was causing very laboured breathing so they
put in a temporary tracheotomy tube to help with that.

We met Cliff in the Wilkesboro supermarket and all got to Rider's
Roost just as darkness fell.  Dane and Dave managed to come on in a
couple of hours later.

Saturday was about relaxing and getting Mary's knee iced.  Eventually
we loaded up the car with me, Mary, Cliff, Dane, Dave and Chrispy and
headed out to lunch.  "Oh," I say, "we can go to Famous Louise's, its
just a little bit up the Parkway."  Ignoring the unpleasant noises
coming from the Mazda's suspension, we headed out.

Two hours later (yeah, ok, I suck.  I felt bad for this) we finally
got there, after some very gravely roads, a missed turn, a bullshit
police stop and tedious weekend Parkway traffic.  Lunch was nothing
fancy but was decent (damn, I'd like some hush puppies right now).

The other purpose of this excursion was to get to a bigger town than
Wilkeboro so we could pick up some decent beer; the Denizens had not
been shy in voicing their opinion of Icehouse and Miller Light the
night before.  We headed back to Blowing Rock, Yuppie Foothold of the
Appalachians, where we were sure we'd find some beer-snob brews.

When my cell phone got service again in Lenoir, it alerted me to a
message.  Three of them actually, all the vet asking that I call
immediately.  That alone was enough to cause me to expect the worst
but hope to hell my expectation was to be wrong.

It wasn't.  Snoops had passed away.  Mucous had clogged the tube, he'd
gone into cardiac arrest, and they couldn't resuscitate him.  He was
10 days short of turning twelve years old.  I never imagined him dying
of anything other than old age, at least 18 if not 20.  I certainly
never imagined being 1000 miles away from him when it happened.

Here was another time when I really valued the friendship of Denizens.
They respectfully let me do what I felt I needed to do right then.
There were much appreciated words of condolences, but they let me
manage myself as it seemed like I needed to do.  Even though I'm
absolutely sure everyone would have understood if I just broke down
and cried right there, I fought back the tears.  Doing so might seem
unusual to some, perhaps unfair to myself, but really ... as much as I
wanted to do so, I also had a powerful feeling that I didn't want to.
That was how I needed to handle my grief.  I needed to do something,
ANYTHING other than focus on him.  And so I drove.  And asked them to
talk.  And helped pick out beer-snob brews.  And got it back to camp,
and unloaded it and iced it.

And poured myself three fingers of Bunnahabhain and drank it 5 seconds.

I called Sarah.  I called Jan.  Spoke only briefly to them, to let
them know.  Told them I didn't want to talk more about it because it
still wasn't the time for me.  They understood.

Then I went back to the group and poured more Bunnahabhain.  Really
got my drink on.  People expected I'd be a contender for the Keeper of
the Hangover, but I managed to pace myself pretty well.  Nice and
toasty but not even to the point of getting sick.  Besides I never get
hangovers.  I know you hate me for it.

On Sunday I helped clean up, and then Mary and I were on the road
again, retracing 268 to 421 to 77 to 81.  The night before we'd come
up with a new plan.  Instead of taking my bike up and flying back, I'd
just ride hers than drive back.  So in Martinsburg I suited up again,
put the ear plugs in and helmet on, and lost my conversation partner.
We got up to Hazleton, PA, just as the last light of the sun was
vanishing from the day, and stopped at a wonderfully comfortable
Hampton Inn.  Once again, nice company.

Their free breakfast offering was pretty good too.  After a bite start
us off, we were on I-81 once again.  Skipping the 80-95-195 option
through the city and southern Connecticut, I opted instead for 84 to
the Pike and 495.  In Connecticut Mary remembered she had her MP3
player so I got a nice bit of music to listen to for the last few
hours.  We reached Mary's home at a little after 4, where I helped
unload everything, put the VFR away and said my goodbyes.  By 5pm I
was back in the driver's seat of the Mazda and headed once again for
West Virginia.

I'd determined I'd drive til midnight, wherever that would get me.  It
got me back to Hazleton.  Unfortunately the Hampton Inn was all sold
out, but I was able to find a room in the manger um Comfort Inn.

Finally in bed 1:15, I was fast asleep by 1:16.  Got a solid 7 hours
of sleep and at 9am was again driving, for the final 2.5 hours to
Martinsburg.  Dropped my gear at the police station then returned the
car.  Car ended up being a little cheaper than we first expected.  The
nice woman there gave me a free ride back to the police station.  With
the temperature around 90 and the clock approaching 12:30, I was
pointed back to New England.

The ride was pretty much as tedious as I expected.  Traffic wasn't
terrible, but the work zone in Pennsylvania were a bit annoying, and
the one just west of Newburgh, which we'd passed the previous day and
had no activity, was a major pain in the ass.  Sitting in stopped
traffic at 95 degrees I was sweating and watching the oil temperature
gauge climb up to the warning level of 260 degrees.  I'd been in the
traffic jam for more than a mile at that point and I just said "fuck
it".  Pulled to the shoulder and motored at 15 mph past 4 more miles
of screwage, with nary a honk or hostile action from another driver,
and merged to the one open lane, noting with chagrin that the other
lane didn't even seem to need to be closed.

Traffic went decently from there, better than expected in parts even
especially as now it was around 6pm and that area from Newburgh to
Hartford is pretty congested.  I was still unhappily hot, but in
places even the other drivers were flying at 85mph so I just went with
the flow.  I'd been doing 75mph mostly, but finally I just got to the
point where even without anyone around me as a rabbit I just wicked it up.

Just past Hartford the temperature started getting more reasonable.  I
also noticed some cute girls (teenagers, alas) in a nearby car trying
to get my attention.  They were pointing at me, and pointing at a
sign, and pointing back at me.  "HONK IF YOU LIKE <illegible>".  So,
what the hell, I honked a bunch and they laughed.  I still have no
idea what it is that I like though.  Honk if I like nubile
cheerleaders?  Honk if I like puppies?  Honk if I like boys?  Whatever
it was, I was enthusiastically all for it.

I made it back to Cambridge in record time, barely more than two hours
from Danbury.  Got into the apartment, hugged my other cat Rooster for
a good long while, then installed the air conditioner.  Had a nice
cool shower and climbed into my own comfy bed for 10 hours of sleep.

Sorry this all ended up a bit longer than I might have led you to
believe it would be.  Honestly, it's a lot shorter than it could have
been.  It's been a very, very interesting week.

Dave.

PS: Thank you for being my friends.

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