Life Amplified, Part 2

"Plans are deliberately indefinite, more to travel than to arrive anywhere. We are just vacationing. Secondary Roads are preferred. Paved county roads are the best, state highways are next. Freeways are the worst. We want to make good time, but for us this is measured with the emphasis on "good" rather than "time" and when you make that shift in emphasis the whole approach changes. Twisting hilly roads are long in terms of seconds but are much more enjoyable on a cycle where you can bank into turns and don't get swung from side to side in any compartment. Roads with little traffic are more enjoyable, as well as safer. Roads free of drive-ins and billboards are better, roads where groves and meadows and orchards and lawns come almost to the shoulder, where kids wave to you when you ride by, where people look from their porches to see who it is, where when you stop to ask directions or information the answer tends to be longer than you want rather than short, where people ask where you're from and how long you've been riding." Robert Pirsig "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance"

The last night of the trip found us in a filling station somewhere in Vermont. I should know the towns we went through but.. I have given that memory space over to other things. Important things like the sensuous curves of the boulders in quiet streams where we stopped to eat apples and cashews, the heron that swooped past as we sat quietly enjoying a landscape that didn't fly past in a glorious green blur. I remember the clear water, the quiet and soft breezes and conversation that meandered with no more agenda than the water had. The kind of talking you never do at home when there needs to be some purpose or goal. The way you talk when you don't want the time to pass quickly- the moment towards the end of a vacation when the nagging thought that tomorrow would be nothing like today presents itself. And that's ok, but you savor it just a bit more, holding it like a sip of wine just inside your mouth, breathing through the lovely aroma and complex tastes- the kind of ease that borders on melancholy but never gets there- because the moment is just that fine.

So I was in a gas station convenience store looking at ostrich jerky and home made dog biscuits and pondering a snack- which was ultimately cheese- not being particularly fond of dried meat or having a dog handy to give a biscuit to. I heard Michael asking the store clerks if there was any live music being offered in the area and heard:

Ray Price, Merle Haggard and Willie Nelson.

Oh boy.

I LOVE country music. My dad raised me on Charlie Pride and Johnny Cash was considered classical music in our house. My inner cowgirl was jumping up and down- my outer cowgirl desperately wanted a shower and a change of clothes but we scooted to the Hampton Inn just on the other side of the highway and quickly checked in- and ran off to a Vermont Country fair.



We had discussed a "nice" dinner for that night- maybe some fish- good vegetables maybe a bottle of wine but give me a sausage and pepper hero and a diet coke and color me very happy indeed. Add a side of jalapeno poppers and a couple of bites of Michael's extremely good fish and chips and fine dining was accomplished.



The evening's main event should have been the powerhouse combo playing on the bill for the night but it was not. There are people who are events unto themselves - Michael provided an entertainment that would have shamed Scherezade in it's daring and rivalled the most brazen of hucksters for sheer, unmitigated, glorious gall. It would have been enough for me to find a great show like this by accident- but coincidences follow Michael around like a lovesick puppy- for some reason he utters a wish, like- I want to see Willie Nelson (he actually said this about 10 days before we took the trip) and the universe says OK- moves a few inconveniently placed mountains and VOILA- Willie, with Merle Haggard thrown in for good measure. He takes this sort of occurence in stride. Nope. Not enough. He wanted to get us backstage. I decided at this moment to step back and watch and if anyone asked me anything- I would pretend to only speak Serbo-Croatian. I wasn't quite sure what that would sound like- but I reckoned neither would the folks at the fair. Michael moseyed up (after 3 days on the bike moseying is the only speed you've got- on him it looks natural- on me it looks like a possibility of some sort of inconveniently located rash) to the entrance booth and spoke to the first of what felt like a half dozen sweet chubby ladies in stretch pants and proceeded to tell his tale. He used a technique I like to think of as "the nugget of truth" No matter how many great big whopping lies seeded the delivery there was one constant- he knew someone who knew someone backstage and there was an all access pass waiting for him if only he could only get there. Then he'd smile. I'd seen this smile before. It is infinitely calm, utterly benign and there is no trace of any sort of guile. I have seen this look charm waitresses and hostesses and concierges of all ages and walks of life- all these women seem completely disarmed by this .. look. I have been around him a bit and he has to switch the beams on pretty high for it to work on me but I'm damned if I don't find myself halfway through doing something I really didn't want to do before I realize I have once again been taken in by that darned look. First hurdle down- Michael heated up the lady at the admission booth's polyester pantsuit and we were in- admission cost-free. At the gate to the grandstand another flowered shirt and coordinating pants lady fell to his charms yielding up a name- we had to see Dwight the security manager at the backstage gate. As we started walking Michael flagged down a rather official looking man headed in the direction of backstage in a golf cart- I heard Michael repeat "the nugget of truth" paired with Dwight's name and the next thing I heard was "Hop on." We made it all the way to the backstage gate when we were stopped by three locals hired on as security at the back gate. I have had a little experience with Vermonters- in any other state we would have made it backstage but the men from Vermont.... well they can't be swayed by the extremes of weather and life in Vermont and are further bolstered by a heritage in which charm is rated pretty low on the survival scale- well- Michael had seemingly met his match and we walked back into the fair. Michael charmed his way past the admission lady AGAIN- but his heart wasn't truly in it- he hadn't quite carried off a hat trick on this one.

We bought the last remaining "good" tickets which placed us in the back of the orchestra, perhaps 50 rows back and on the far left. The sound was wonderful and the music quickly had me humming. As Ray Price ended "Help Me Make it Through the Night" Michael nudged me- "Follow me" he whispered. He walked boldly along the aisles, moving through the t-shirted security with the same confidence with which he navigates the road on the Harley until we came to two empty rows- rows 7 and 8 to be exact, slipped to the middle of the row and plopped down. "They always leave a couple of rows open for VIP's" he said smugly, settling in with a decided air of complete redemption and at least partial satisfaction. We weren't backstage but we were really, really close. What else could I do- I applauded. The lady behind me looked at me funny- no music was playing- but I knew- I had already witnessed the performance of a true virtuoso.



Merle, Willie and Ray


Monday we made our way home- the long way. Jersey City by way of Plattsburgh, NY. Determined to avoid the holiday traffic and in a way for me at least.. to make the day last as long as possible. After all- in less than 24 hours I would be sitting in a new office, in a new suit and pinchy shoes trying to learn a whole new role- corporate executive. As filthy as my 4 day jeans were I wanted to hang on to them just a bit longer... to hang on to my wild side, newly discovered and with each taste of freedom, just a bit more fierce and bold. All along the trip I watched the motorcyclists that passed and could count the female drivers on only one hand. But I cherished the sight of them. I knew nothing about them except that they were women making their own way on the road. Loudly. I felt myself reaching for them in my mind's eye- wanting to tap a shoulder and say "How did you get so strong?" "So brave?" "So free..." and then they would be past, long gone on their road and I was left with a longing I could not name. I just wanted to know- could I have a little piece of that? Hold it inside on those days when the world would see only sensible make-up and French knotted hair and a smart but very buttoned down woman in her 40's with all the assumptions people make when they see such a woman. Assumptions I know because I make them myself... adventures past, life settled and everything neatly tied up in little bundles scented with lavender sachet.

I watched the sun setting as we made our way down the side roads and route 9W carried us along the Hudson and turned these thoughts over and over in my head- unless you like to shout, talking on a motorcycle is limited to a few "look at thats" or requests for a rest stop, so there is a fair amount of time to think. I thought back on the last year- and if you look at the blog you'll see some of it for yourself. What I saw was by no means settled and if there was the scent of lavender is in my life it was coming from a field I passed by at quite a bit beyond the local speed limit. It is said that clothes make the woman but I am learning- not clothes, nor anyone's assumptions, make me anything I don't choose to be- and I don't need a leather vest or a Harley (though the idea of having both has crossed my mind on a few occasions), I don't even need to nurture my wild child- I think in my life the challenge is going to be... keeping her in check- at least a little bit of the time.



Scenes from the "long way home"















And just a bit about the title of these 2 posts. I heard a couple of kids talking- and one said to the other- I'm so "amplified"...
he meant stoned.. Now I am not a drinker- and I don't do drugs, but I do love the idea of life lived that way- all the way... where the motto is always "Turn it Up!" :) X