Bike Trip Continued

Since my last post I've been to the edge and back.

We slept in yesterday morning and I barely made it to the free continental breakfast in time. As Paul put it, "The grasshoppers have picked it clean." They were still buzzing around when I stumbled in for my cup of coffee, which, thankfully, was very hot and very good.

Since John wasn't going to be singing until 8:00 pm Paul and I decided to go see Captain America and relax for the day. It was gray and cloudy but no rain. It was a different story when we exited the theater.

We donned our rain suits and attempted to find an easy way to get to New Holland where the concert in the park was happening. Turns out there is no such thing as an easy way to get there. There might not be ANY way to get there. I have decided Lititz is one of the most secure locations in the country since entering or exiting is a challenge, at least for the navigationally-impaired, which I'm thinking we are.

We picked the busiest, most congested, road in the state and optimistically assumed we would be there in less than half an hour as our gps predicted. Not so. Traffic stretched as far as the eye could see ahead and behind and we moved forward at a slow crawl. That's not a relaxing thing on a motorcycle. The rain was steady, but light and in an hour or so we managed to escape route 30 for a smaller country road. Behind two motor homes. And a buggy. For some reason the aforementioned RVs refused to pass the buggy, so we all followed, once again at a slow crawl. And we picked up quite a few vehicles in our train.

At some point we turned onto another side road, once again escaping the congestion. I had decided there may not actually BE a New Holland. We picked up speed, almost hitting the heady rate of 40mph when Paul turned into a paved area at an intersection with another road. I pulled up, thinking he may want to check his map. No such luck. His bike died. Yes. Dead as a doornail. The upside? No traffic at our current location.

"Well," Paul said, "we have roadside assistance with our insurance." So he pulled out his handy dandy card and dialed the number. After several automated routings and a lengthy wait he got a live person. A person totally unable to find us on any map anywhere. When I heard Paul say, "The road name is Hershey. Like the chocolate bar. No we are not IN Hershey. The ROAD name is Hershey!" I got a sinking feeling and hoped we would make it to the mystical New Holland before nightfall.

A young Amish man was passing, pushing along on a scooter. He was barefoot and balancing a large box marked "eggs" on the handlebars. I tried to squelch my sudden desire to break into hysterical laughter and stopped him long enough to ask where New Holland might be. "About six miles up this road," he said. He offered us his sympathy at our plight, said he would help if he could, then merrily proceeded on his way balancing his eggs most impressively.

Paul was still pacing along the road while attempting to explain to the voice on the phone where exactly to send the Harley repairman. He was not having much success. And then Keith arrived. In a pick-up truck. He pulled alongside and stuck a cigarette in his mouth, asked if we are OK and said he never passes stopped motorcycles without stopping to see if they need help. Either he thinks bikers are mentally challenged or he is one of us. It turns out the latter is true.

Well, Keith tells me he has a friend that fixes bikes and is only a few blocks from New Holland. He offers to call. After a few more minutes of pacing, Paul tells the insurance guy to give it up, he'll arrange his own help. We give Keith the go-ahead and he calls his friend Earl. As soon as I heard that name, I knew we were in good hands. According to Keith, Earl fixes bikes in his spare time after ten-hour shifts at the trailer factory. It turns out Earl can come with a trailer and load up Paul's bike and his bike trailer and take them to his shop. And when I saw the custom-built bikes at Earl's place, I knew our trust in the man was well-placed. Orange County Choppers, eat your hearts out.

Meanwhile, Keith led me to the New Holland (amazingly there IS such a place) park where I had just pulled to a stop when who pulls up beside me but my brother Sam and his wife Sarah from WV. They are in Lancaster to visit her parents and decided to come to the park to hear the concert.

We looked around and wondered why the park was virtually deserted. Yep, we are in the wrong park. After a few phone calls and some more directions we plan to meet up with Paul and Earl at Earl's shop, so Paul can ride with me to our destination. Keith says we can follow him to the shop but it turns out Earl has moved. Uhuh, no longer where Keith thought he was.

By this time I can distinctly hear the Twilight Zone music. Which is better than banjos.

We pulled up to the park with thirty minutes to spare before Paul was to play. The concert went well and while the skies were cloudy and heavy with the promise of rain at any moment, it did little more than mist until the music was almost finished. Then it started to rain in earnest. With that, the audience disappeared and we packed up to head out.

Paul drove my Honda ACE while I hung on for dear life, since there is no back rest on my bike. I love my motorcycle and it's plenty big enough for me, but the poor baby was chugging with both of us piled on. When I remarked that we had, years ago, both tooled around on a much smaller bike, Paul pointed out the obvious fact that we were also packing around a lot more weight since then. Add depression to the list of hurdles to overcome.

With the rain and the darkness and the slippery seat, it's a ride I will never forget. We both prayed, enthusiastically, and aloud, as we drove. And God heard and answered. I told Paul if I would not be too stiff and sore I would get down and kiss the ground in the hotel parking lot. Paul decided maybe we should start acting like grandparents and stay home. We thought about that for a few seconds and decided, nah that's not the way to go.

So, this morning we faced a few decisions. If we check out of our hotel how do we transport our luggage since Paul's bike and his trailer are in a hard-to-reach town in Earl's locked garage? Will Earl have the bike ready today so we can head home this afternoon? Should we stay in our depressing hotel, if we are stuck here for a day or two? And then I realized something.

Coming from a family larger than some villages has its advantages. My nephew lives near here. He and his wife are picking up our luggage and transferring us to their house where an empty guest room awaits. Life is good. Time to visit family and in all likelihood, gain some more weight.