And So It Begins

And So It Begins

The third annual Civil War Harley Tour gets rolling on Friday. Unlike years past, I am totally unprepared to spend two weeks on a bike. It's not that I'm unprepared to soar down open roads, sample local cuisine and see more of this beautiful county, it's that I'm completely disorganized. And Jason, the World's Last Boy Scout, is worse off than I am.

This time last year, we had the route mapped, down to the time we would leave our first destination and arrive at the next. We've got our route, but the time details are missing. Last year, I had a site seeing itinerary, where we'd go and what we'd do at each stop, including the website for the location, hours of operation and prices. This year, I've got a few thoughts and ideas. We were packed a good five days before we left last year - clothes, toiletries, electronics and associated power cords, camera, rain gear, on and on. This year,  I think I know where the rain gear is, and I hope I'm right.

Somehow, The Ride snuck up on us this year. Not in a stealth, Spider Man kind of way, but more like a blissful ignorance that June was far enough away to still plan, and silly us, here it is.  We knew where we were heading in January, but I guess when you juggle a new job, a new boss, a new house, the sale of not one, but two houses, a kitchen demolition and redesign, and which John Deere tractor you need to purchase to mow the two acres you now live on, a vacation is a dream.  But now the alarm clock is ringing wildly.

We're heading to West Virginia first, to see Courtney, Joey and the kids. The it's off to Virginia to see Bryan and his new fiance, and meet her parents. Ajax the Wonder dog and Getty Getty Thundercat will make the trip too, but they'll be staying in Virginia with my niece, Kaila. The bike gets revved up on Tuesday morning and we head to Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, then Charleston, Savannah, and back to Virginia via the Smokey Mountains. Honestly, I'm really looking forward to this trip and can't wait until Friday.

I think I'll stop writing and start packing.

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Why Don't Men Ask for Directions?

Why Don't Men Ask for Directions?

It's the question women have been asking since the dawn of time, and I found myself asking it...repeatedly... as we headed unassumingly into Nashville in search of the Harley Davidson dealer we thought might be there.

As we got closer and closer to the city...yes...it is a city....I questioned (silently) the sanity of the decision.

It didn't take long before Jason also questioned the quest, and decided we needed to get out of Dodge, er.. Nashville. Now, while I would have retraced our route into the city, perhaps a tactic oversimplified, this was not the direction my husband chose.  He crabbed and hrrumphed our way for 20 minutes, then muttered something about needing a gas station. When we found one a few block later, he filled the bike with gas, bought a map and sat about 20 feet away from me.  I watched him turn and shift the map for a good five minutes before folding it and walking back triumphantly, announcing, "We're heading int he right direction. I just need to make a left."

At some point wee were able to make our way out of Nashville and on towards Cool Springs, where the hotel was located. Next challenge... we can't find the hotel.  When we got to the end of the road (which was a few miles long) he said it was on, he hrrumphed again and we pulled into a CVS.  I asked if he was going to call the hotel and ask for directions. I was, of course, told no. I went into the CVS, since I needed more sun screen. At the register, I asked the cashier if she knew where the hotel was. She must have read the exasperation on my face, because she shook her head sympathetically and asked, "Husband won't stop for directions?" I couldn't help but smile.

She sent us back in the direction we'd come from, and said we really weren't far. And she was right. The hotel was about a mile back...a right turn off the road it was supposedly on.

So, why am I blogging this story? I hadn't planned to tell it, as it didn't have any real significance to our trip, other than validating, once again, that men never ask for directions.  After leaving the CVS on the way to the hotel Jason says, "wow... do you see that sign?" "What sign?" I ask as there were many on the horizon.  "The Harley sign," he chirps.

The Harley Davidson dealer we went looking for was across the street from our hotel.

Unbelievable.

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