This Newsletter Compliments of
Harold’s Auto Service
Maintenance Centre
3139 1 Avenue South
Lethbridge, Ab
403-329-4664
CLUELESS
“So,
why don’t I pick up a used motorcycle; we’ll do a 7-day road-trip to the Island?” There…right there. Hear those alarm bells? Me neither. Ever
taken a vacation where you spent the whole time wishing you’d stayed home? I had my own R65 BMW motorcycle and reasoned, barring any
mechanical issues how bad could it be? We left Calgary mid-morning. He’s thinking “we’ll blow over the Coquihalla, be in Vancouver by 5”; I’m
thinking “he-e-e-y great, a relaxing first day out”. First clue came just west of Calgary at Dead Man Flats when he screeched his bike to a halt to
demand what my problem was. ‘I’m not suicidal’ was tempting but instead “I’ll ride speeds I’m comfortable with” (usually over the limit) “you ride how
you want…we’ll meet up down the road”. “The plan was to ride together…blah, blah, blah”; his pressure tactic merry-go-round didn’t work so I
watched steam blow out from under his helmet until Revelstoke. We found a cheap motel, walked to eat (read…consume enough wine to calm him)
then enjoyed mountain views on a nearby railway overpass where additional generous application of medicinal spirits assuaged his perspective,
well…sort of. Returning to the motel…“OH NO, my wallet!” Clue two. Running back immediately was fruitless; my wallet, debit, visa card, traveler’s
cheques and ID had vanished and we spent the balance of this less-than-stellar day at the RCMP station.
!Day two. Blasting around Coquihalla curves at 140+ km (ssssshhhh) appeases my inner demons. Fretting about my wallet whilst enduring death
stares from him did tarnish the ride but we arrived exactly on time to board the ferry with 12 other riders so there was hope, right? The ship’s power
drummed through my legs; wind whipped my hair as I stood at the bow coveting passing island properties, private beaches… hellooooo, Beverly.
Back to reality. He reached into his pocket to pay for supper…empty. His $1600 wad of cash was gone. I laughed, thought he’s really trying to be
funny now but no-o-o, only his over-limit visa and ID were there. Couple more clues. Leaving me to relay our woeful tail to a ship’s officer, he rushed
to search where the bikes were parked. I was given water to drink and allowed to wait in a staff area until the communications officer informed me I
had a ship-to-shore call. Really? OMG my kids!! I was freakin’ but it was just him; as the ship was about to sail he’d gone ashore to search the ferry
loading area. So now I was sailing sans ID, cash, food or companion. After assistance disembarking at Schwartz Bay I found myself alone perched
on a huge pylon in a dark deserted ferry parking lot with two motorcycles and a wad of cash in my pocket. Yup! One of the (almost always) great
motorcyclists had found the cash but not wanting to relinquish it to the wrong person, turned it in to an officer just prior to disembarking island side.
Near midnight, he finally arrived on the last possible Twawwassen ferry and our adventure could continue. Following an exhausted meal near
the ferry terminal, we slept…I’m sure we must have….somewhere. Onwards and upwards; tomorrow would be better.....right?
!Day three. He left me at the first available bank branch to arrange for replacement travelers cheques while he was off to find a campground.
Luckily I had the receipts in my saddle bags and I knew staff at my home branch so financial hurdles shrank far more quickly than my physical ones
now growing by leaps and icky bounds. Oozing blisters in my throat, mouth and (eeeeuuuuwww) had been forming for over 48 hours (yet another
clue) so after the bank off I headed to the nearest clinic while he went somewhere else to “enjoy the day”. Pffftttt!! So much for togetherness!
Hhmmm, a sulfa drug allergy you say; who knew? After getting that sorted I left armed with different meds and a burning desire…to sleep. My doc
had diagnosed a sinus infection the day before leaving Calgary…but still I went. (See a pattern developing Beverly?) My body felt beaten up. The
new meds knocked my feet out from under me and I succumbed to sweet comatose sleep. Tomorrow? Missed it!
!Day five. Raring to go north to Nanaimo, he woke me at 8 (having all but packed the tent with me in it). He was already bored with Victoria and
presumably with me as later became apparent. The ride was amazing; I’d never been up that way. Around every corner was another fabulous vista
to feed my nature addiction so we stopped often along the way and as darkness fell set up camp in Nanaimo. Here he says, is where I was
‘entertained’ (clue) watching him frolic about the campground square playing touch (and lots of it) football with several nubile 18-year-old girls (clue)
until a strange sensation (the entertainment part) came over me when he stepped into a ground squirrel hole. “Aawww really? Sprained your
ankle? No kidding! Gee, I don’t think I should try to carry ice and ride my bike too…it might not be safe. Perhaps the girls can collect some for
you…?” I was done blaming myself for the rotten holiday and as far as I could see…not my problem. Oy vey, she finally snagged a clue!
!Day six. Couldn’t blame it on the weather but after easily enduring a frosty night in the tent I woke up feeling well, rested and raring to go
myself…all by myself…’cause oh darn-it, he couldn’t ride. It was my turn (a positive clue) to “enjoy the day” and after postulating that the girls could
look after him headed I north to explore the Island Highway stopping for the last time at Buckley Bay. Fully enjoying the gorgeous area I dreamt
‘maybe in my next life I can afford to live there…’ After scouring rocks collecting 'shells' for my sons I tucked them into a sealed compartment under
my seat and headed back to Nanaimo. I figured he might be interested in my company by now….or at least require feeding; ankle or not, we had to
get back to Calgary the next day. Strangely enough he seemed happy to see me. After some take-out and packing all but the tent and sleeping
bags, we hit the sheets. Tomorrow’s straight-through ride home plus ferry time meant early to bed…and hope for a better tomorrow.
!Day seven. We all love to hate quasi-suicidal drivers…like I was that day. Preoccupied by the week’s events; my companion had once again
roared off; mad, at dangerously high speed, in heavy traffic. Passing when I shouldn’t, the quick thinking driver slowed so I could cut back into our
lane to avoid a head-on. Completely rattled now, I almost rear-ended a car whose driver braked suddenly to...gawk at freekin mountain sheep?!!
Swerving left into the (fortunately) now empty oncoming lane I felt his bumper rub my saddlebag. Okay Beverly; forget him, concentrate before
you die! You’re probably asking ‘did she kick him to the curb when they got home?’ Nope; seems life had many more ‘entertaining’ lessons to
teach me via this golden-boy. The final clue wafted from my bike the next evening after work as I unpacked my saddlebags. Those lovely 'shells'
I’d collected for the boys and stored under my seat were really breathtaking now...the horribly pungent clams had died a hot and lonely death.
Harold’s Auto Service…..where service is MORE than just part of our name
Beverly Kaltenbruner