Day 1 – To Calgary
N51º 04.892' W114º 00.055'
Eventually, my profound inability to proactively prepare for a motorcycle trip will disappear as a footnote to my many and storied adventures. This is a hope. The reality, however, is that it will probably be an on-going and increasingly pathetic prologue to my desperate attempts to enjoy what is an admittedly impressive though currently underused fleet of motorcycles.
Last winter (and I mean the one that ended in 2008) I diligently ordered all the various bits and pieces I would need to finish outfitting the fleet with electrical outlets, communications systems, mounts and the like. This is a known fact, highlighted at the time by Dianne’s raised eyebrow (yes, she can do that — it comes of a fetish for Lee Majors and hours of practicing in the front of the mirror as an adolescent, apparently) as the boxes continued to pour into the office. Where they sat until they were transferred home to the garage. Where they sat until it was time to think about going somewhere. Which would be about last week, to be precise.
Sadly, an accumulation of work, travel, research and pretending to be a doctoral student has precluded much of the riding that was to hallmark my 40th year. While Dianne and I did escape at Easter, this was in fact my first and last ride of any significance to date. My attempt at riding off-road was derailed by injury before I could get on a motorcycle this time. Jane, who runs the B&B in Peterborough that I usually stay at, must think I’m a desperate klutz incapable of any level of co-ordination and who should probably be kept away from heavy machinery. Of course, that may not necessarily be a unique opinion.
What has continued to glow brightly as a beacon of sanity through the year, however, has been our planned two weeks in California. Which, as various other weekends and getaways disappeared into the abyss of deadlines, deliverables, delinquency and customer crises, grew progressively to an impossible-sounding 18 days. Last time we went to MotoGP I rode the GS. That was also the trip, though, where the idea of the Ducati began to grow on Dianne, resulting in the acquisition of same later that year. For this trip, then, it only seemed appropriate that Alessandro should make the trip this time. That, and the fact that since he came home he’s managed only one trip of any reasonable distance, and that was all of the way to Lake Louise and back.
36 hours before departure, and still needs some work…
To get ready, however, required installing power points, installing the comm. system and figuring out how to mount a GPS, a radio and a radar detector. Particularly that last one. I’ve learned that the consequences of not communicating are significant. The consequences of being lost are not to be contemplated. But the consequences of speeding tickets are exponentially greater yet. Best not to go there.
20 hours to go, and starting to look like a motorcycle.
And so, last weekend, I finally started the odyssey of getting Alessandro ready for the trip. Fairings were removed, batteries were found (in yet another new and creative place, as it happens) and logistics were co-ordinated to make all the bits fit into a relatively tiny space not originally designed for same. While all of this went along reasonably well, the faithful readers of this blog will recognize that ‘reasonably well’ can only be euphemistically referred to as inherent optimism. 36 hours before departure, Alessandro was still in pieces on the garage floor. Reassembly was particularly awkward. Fairings, apparently, are engineered to tolerances of thousands of an inch. Which means that lining up two of them to match the same bolt hole is an exercise in patience. Or a vehicle for the creative development of new and interesting expletives. Or both.
12 hours left, but we’re ready. At least, the bike is…
Nonetheless, at one in the morning on the eve of our departure (OK, the day of our departure, if we’re going to be precise about this) bags were packed, motorcycles were assembled, books were selected and camera equipment was ready. The truck was loaded up, and Alessandro was primed to go out the door. And I was ready to fall into bed for the umpteenth five hour night this year.
After all of that, the ride down to Calgary was (mostly) anticlimactic. Of course, any drive down Highway 2 is anticlimactic. Which is a polite way of saying that the drive from Edmonton to Calgary is downright boring. Except for the fact that we managed to drive through no less than three weather fronts, which largely meant ridiculous side winds and a host of angry black clouds bearing down on us like the four horsemen of the apocalypse. In other words, typical weather for Red Deer.
Having committed to getting to Calgary early so that we could relax, unwind and not have to rush to check in, get changed and race down to dinner just in time for our reservation, Dianne and I arrived at our hotel just in time to grab our bags, check in, get changed and race down to dinner just in time for our reservation. All in all, this is lining up to be a fairly typical vacation. But damn it all, we’re on vacation. And we’re going to enjoy it. Mostly.