Kimmie Lou, “Basically you fucking morons have boundary issues…….c’mon you’re the Christ, Antichrist and the guy next door?” Here we are at the Canadian Border just south of Creston, BC and perhaps we do have boundary or border indifference……..zoom in a bit and check out the cheesiest “Welcome to Canada” sign around and WTF is that in the foreground? A culvert flowerbed (deflowered) or did somebody backfill in the entrance to the bomb shelter……..or are Americans tunneling in to Canada again?
Ridicu got a little carried away with our graveyard buddies last night……Kimmie Lou is a little haughty this morning as we are packing on our gear to vamoose Libby. A Sherriff’s SUV keeps circling the campground loop, the deputy is eyeballing everyone. “What did you freaks get up to last night……were you streaking?” asks Kimmie Lou in as low a voice as she can manage. “Streaking with Zombies can get a little dicey……stuff is always falling off em……a couple of those frisky youngsters mighta kept everything together though……” I’m as into weird shit as the next guy, but I had to dissociate from Ridicu last night when the friction dancing started, I just really wanna get outta here…..”breakfast in Idaho anyone?”
Kimmie Lou is pretty excited about being in a whole other country tonight, she has all kinds of questions about Canada as we ride west on Highway 2. “Will there be Polar Bears?” she asks. “Yep, but not until we ride quite a ways east again…….all you get around here are Grizzlies and Brown or Black Bears……..maybe the odd Sasquatch.” It is probably the Yeti in Kimmie Lou talking when she says, “any Bigfoot or smelly Sasquatch fuckers wander into our camp and I’ll kick their hairy asses.” Ridicu and I are too hungry to wait for breakfast in Bonner’s Ferry, we pull into a diner (which will remain unnamed) in a small town called Troy. “And I would just love to sink my teeth into a fucking Grizzly……lemme know when one of these bastards is around” says Kimmie Lou.
As we dismount Kimmie Lou, she bounces up quite a bit lighter on her suspension, but she is still extra nasty……. “Just like you ASSHOLES to suggest a decent morning ride to Bonner’s Ferry and we’re not even halfway when you gotta pull over like a fuckin couple of cry babies because your tummy got grumbly.” We smile sweetly and back away from her slowly, she is almost imperceptibly rocking against her side stand so the gravel beneath her Knobbies crunches……below her breath we think she is saying “you shitty little stones sound just like granola.” Before we enter the Diner’s door, she calls out to us, “hurry up and slide some groceries down your gullets fuckheads…….this place gives me the creeps.”
Ridicu and I know the problem with our lovely mid sized motorcycle is all the Undeath Ridicu was rolling around in last night……it’s been rubbing off on her, she can be pretty saucy with us at times, but she wouldn’t normally be so verbally abusive or hurt a fly (unless it’s so dumb it just hangs around in the glow of our speeding headlight). We are no where near hungry yet, we simply had to get off the road and debug the situation. Kimmie Lou was getting so foul she may have steered us into an oncoming logging truck on the next couple of curves. Machines don’t usually absorb the putrid and vile energy of the undead…….it could very well be her Yeti genetics.
Inside we order Steak and Eggs, “don’t bother cooking the steak and uh…..do you have any Texas toast?” the waitress is beady eyeing us, so I quickly add “you know, real rare – blue like – drop it in for 20 or 30 seconds a side.” The diner is abuzz with talk of “grave robbers over in Libby” so we manage not to stand out as too odd until Ridicu asks for our coffee in a to-go cup. “You boys sip coffee while you’re riding huh?” says our server, not bothering to disguise the loathing in her voice. Ridicu offers his best seductive shrug before she adds, “we just served our last plate of Texas toast…………….will Troy toast be okay?”
We haven’t bumped into any Aliens since St Louis, they’ve likely been nearby observers occasionally and I think we got a glimpse of a few recently, but the waitress (we’ll skip her name) is making herself known pretty plainly. She understands what we are here to do and that it just has to be done, her disgust with the situation is fairly matter of fact…..we don’t take it too personally. Experienced Paramedics will tightly tuck a drunk’s shirt into their trousers before loading them into the rig……. After a few blocks when the drunk starts to heave, the neck of the shirt gets pulled over their nose……containment.
We made a show of dabbing Troy toast into our egg yolks and cut a few ribbons of the sirloin for effect, it was almost perfectly raw. Ridicu and I are average Indivisibles……we can handle close contact with the undead for fairly long stretches without ill effects for us or generally anyone else we are in contact with. Now because Kimmie Lou is getting sick we must wash away the undead, which means our living tissue needs a good scrub…….with dead.
As far as we know there are only two places where a restaurant patron can casually walk to the restroom while holding a raw steak and a half cup of to-go coffee without raising any eyebrows…..Texas and Montana, lucky for us we were still in Montana (barely).
Here Ridicu takes over narration……I really need to forget what we did with that steak.
The bathroom is an afterthought…..it was probably the rear entrance that lead to a messy trail a ways back into the woods where an exquisitely slanted shithouse was dynamited back in the 1960s or 70s or whenever all those shithouse bombings happened. The toilet is too low and fits loosely to the floor – it wobbles, the sink is more of a spice rack with only cold water that dribbles mostly around the base of the faucet…..if you don’t mind touching the rust stained porcelain you can get your hands wet. This closet is a wonderful little health code violation already, so it’s perfect for what must be done.
We slip off it’s lid and the coffee goes onto the back of the toilet tank…..a light ripple quivers across the surface of the coffee whenever a large truck rumbles by on the highway. The steak rests on the coffee lid while we undress, our clothes go onto the knob and our sandals lay along the door’s threshold…..we wait. Even though the door was locked it opens a few inches and the Alien waitress’s hand darts around to collect our clothes and sandals, then she slams the door shut…..we lock it again.
Normally inanimate objects like clothes don’t need to be decontaminated…….they really can’t absorb much Undead energy……Kimmie Lou has so we can’t chance that a rebound / slide around situation hasn’t happened between her foot pegs and our sandals, then up and over her saddle across our shorts. This could keep infecting her, we have to break the cycle.
Our apologies to our readers for the next little stretch, if all this is triggering any of you just skip the next paragraphs until the steady italic type stops.
Wringing as much blood out of the steak as we can into the coffee takes a few minutes, then we pop the lid back onto the cup, around an ounce or so of blood in around eight of coffee should do the trick. If any of you find yourself in a similar situation to Ryder and I where a raw meat whore bath becomes necessary…….take our word for it, a light cut of sirloin works best, stay away from rib-eyes or T bones……you really want to go boneless here and as compact as possible.
We get one side of the steak good and slippery with Undeath after rubbing it everywhere. Whore baths mostly involve your middle, but there was a lot of slinking about at that graveyard…..it is probably best that Ryder remains foggy on last night’s maneuvers (avoid bringing Libby or Troy up to him the next time we are talking). By the time we have the flip side of the steak in the last place you think a steak should be, the slippery little fucker has started twitching. Like most skanky restrooms this one has a plunger permanently perched alongside the head, it occurs to us that we haven’t test flushed the plumbing yet and we have to do it with an elbow because our little buddy has started writhing so much it is taking both our hands to hold on.
Of course the toilet barely swirls it’s water before emptying in what looks like a very tentative way……this crapper is definitely not a steak swallower.
Unsteakie senses our intentions and begins to struggle more, it’s quite something to transfer last nights load of Undeath onto a chunk of meat around the size of your palm……this little bastard is becoming more and more ferocious by the second. We drop to our knees, our left hand pins Unsteakie against the back of the toilet bowl as our right swiftly reaches out for the plunger. Unsteakie starts to whine as we push it harder into the porcelain…….which is pretty impressive as sirloins don’t have vocal cords, eventually we have it wedged tightly under the rear rim of the crapper, a build up of calcium high on the bowl at the lip provides a little more traction to keep the little bugger in place.
Even though most of our weight is being transferred through our locked left elbow we still have enough reserve to kneel against the plunger shaft where the floor meets the wall. Our right hand grips the bell of the plunger near our ankle. The rubber is sorta slimy inside, but we get a decent enough hold to twist the shaft as we sharply raise it to snap the wood near the middle of the handle where a lovely bit of the wood’s grain spirals.
Voila! A wonderful little stake for Unsteakie.
Our left fingers open in the middle just like Spock saying “live long and prosper” except this time we mean the opposite. Mr Stake pierces Unsteakie through the middle and a gut wrenching squeal echoes around the bowl…..the din from the bustling diner quiets for a few beats then gradually builds back up. We have to move fast because sirloins don’t really have hearts that you can drive a stake through…….Unsteakie is probably just stunned for a few minutes.
As expected, the anemic flush barely takes our temporarily immobilized little friend into the porcelain’s neck. The water continues to flow out of the tank as if everything is moving along the discharge, but it isn’t. With the water rising rapidly in the bowl we begin working the short shafted plunger sorta like…..well…..a whore.
We move Unsteakie a little further down the pipe, but the toilet overflows some anyway. The floor of the bathroom slants away from the door and the water disappears under the baseboards. It looks as if we will be at this a while, our knees are sore from slipping around on the linoleum some, we take a bare assed seat in front of the throne with our legs gripping the base of the bowl……the pumping continues. When we have plunged the last of the water into the toilet’s neck we flush once more and again pump like mad, the excess water over the edge of the bowl isn’t so bad this time and we are able to dry the bowl in about half the time.
Five flushes later we are exhausted…..drenched in sweat / soaked in toilet water, but fairly sure we have driven Unsteakie at least halfway to the Septic Bed. Our legs are asleep, we lower the toilet seat…..somehow we are able to lift ourselves onto the head. Our mission is almost complete, we feel like we have been lashed to the mast of a fishing trawler during a monsoon. Now imagine we are untied and are coiling the hefty line back on deck. Before the last flush we shut off the toilet’s water supply……our coil conforms beautifully to the dry porcelain.
When we are finished and the circulation has returned to our legs we do what we can to clean up with the dribble from the sink and a sputtering soap dispenser. Another knock at the door, our clothes come in and then a flat pan slides along the floor, nothing is said. There is around an inch of cold bacon grease – all sliced into cubes like ice – in the bottom of the pan. After we get dressed we slowly pour the cubes over the top of our neatly coiled poop and the mound’s remaining heat gently softens the bacon grease so that a wax-like coating encases our shit.
Unsteakie’s tomb is sealed……when it revives, it will have no choice, but to return to the ground.
When we exit the bathroom with our bloody coffee there is already a sign that says “OUT OF ORDER” affixed to the door which we have locked behind us. Our table is cleared and the Alien Waitress waves us along, the bill has been tossed……she just wants us gone.
Outside, Kimmie Lou is still punishing the soil beneath her. Her tires have worked themselves almost two inches into the gravel, stones have bubbled up around the troughs made by her tires like popcorn. As we approach we can actually hear her hissing. “Think you have everything cozy and compacted you cocksucking little sandy layer?” She laughs a sick little twisted laugh and then says, “I’m gonna spray you around like refugees on my way outta here, you grainy little fucks.”
Obviously Kimmie Lou has been too busy hating the Earth to have any idea about what has been going on inside the Diner, we are standing right next to her and she doesn’t even know we are here. It takes her a few seconds to register that someone is pouring greasy coffee all over her seat and down her sides……”WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ASSHOLES DOING!” I startle a bit, “aw shit, the lid wasn’t on the coffee…..sorry Kimmie Lou.” We just happen to have a whole wad of napkins on us and we are apologizing like crazy while rubbing off all the slimy residue coating her mid – section. A couple walking across the parking lot gives us a wide berth…..Eventually the bitching, frantic apologies and vigorous drying settles down.
An Alien bus boy walks up to us with a broom and a steel dustbin, he begins sweeping the gravel until all the napkins are inside the dustbin. When there is a break in the traffic he trots across the highway to the Kootenay River…..a small flask of lighter fluid is extracted, then a handful of twigs and grass are pressed into the bin before the pyre is lit. A gentle morning breeze carries the squeals downstream, but we can still hear the Unnapkins meeting doom all over again. When the burn is over the Alien swishes the dustpan around in the water so whatever ash remains gets the burial at sea treatment. On his way back in to the Diner the Alien scowls at us, Kimmie Lou has been silently watching him since he came out and collected the napkins. She waits for him to enter the Diner, then turns to us and asks, “what the fuck is going on?” “Can we tell ya while we ride Kimmie Lou?”
She looks at the ground around us and says, “okay, but I wanna kick up a little dust on our way outta here.”
We almost go down a couple of times because of all the gear on Kimmie Lou, but we manage to crank off seven or eight donuts (doughnuts) before we return to the highway. The breeze generated at 60 mph (100 kph) feels like it has a little Amelia Earhart in it, Ridicu fills Kimmie Lou in on the effects of Undeath and the measures we took to treat her. She remembers our morning and the terrific anger she had going, but she thought she just sorta seemed…..well…..spunky. “You were becoming a bit of a monster Kimmie Lou…..we woulda been dead by lunchtime if we didn’t decontaminate you” she still drifts over close to the yellow line when we meet a logging truck…..like she’d like to give one a slap – its kinda funny how we get blown around in the turbulence except the few times the truckers leaned on their horns.
Crossing into Idaho……Kimmie Lou exclaims “I feel reborn!” “I think this near death experience may bring us closer together Morons……how the darkness sort of lightens you up.” We ride in silence for a while until we encounter Our Field Of Duality.
Kimmie Lou, “here we are again in a picture that shows both sides looking the same but opposite.” Our regular readers may recall this shot used as one world was ending and another was beginning almost a year ago. The picture and our road trip are from the summer of 2012……here in 2013 our trip is still a blog S-L-O-W-L-Y rolling out as we intermingle Opinion / Rambuncious Manifesto type pieces. Our riders from 2012 are aware of the 2013 (New World) pieces. Kimmie Lou, “Morons…..if our readers gotta track along anything resembling reason they dropped away a while back, this little back and forth in time business is hardly worth mentioning.” “We mention it and anticipate returning to this field occasionally because Ryder and I sorta do whatever the fuck we feel like doing……also, here Kimmie Lou is no longer just a Dual Purpose Motorcycle…… she is awakening to the duality in her being……”
We hang out in Our Field for a decent stretch, Kimmie Lou explores this transcendence that she has experienced…..”it was like death was inconsequential – my being is obviously in more than one place.” “Sure, but can we stop playing chicken with logging trucks.” Its cool to welcome death in much the same way life is welcomed, better to not wander out into the road looking for it though.“Yeah Kimmie Lou, the front end of these trucks are pretty messy……lots of squashed bugs. How about we check out some of the sheer drops through all the passes coming up? Wouldn’t it be better to kinda just go sailing right out there?” Ridicu extends our left arm with our hand flying out into space.
After some discussion we agree that Thelma & Louising it off some great precipice at high speed could work for us should exiting this place become attractive. “Let’s hope we land somewhere in the next round AFTER the invention of ice cream.” “Do you guys know when you’ve married a Kristy?” says Kimmie Lou. Ridicu and I briefly cross eyes…..was HW a Kristy? Kimmie Lou is laughing like she is following a dune buggy down a flight of steps, “I mean IRS Dodger Kristy…..she was talking about being married to you goofs a few rounds ago.” “You mean the one with a little Apache in her…..gave us the best elbow we ever had?” Kimmie Lou nods. “Yeah, come to think of it she did seem pretty familiar.” Don’t get on the edge of your seats…..Ridicu sorta remembers being wildly in love with every woman he meets.
“Well here’s the thing” says Kimmie Lou, ” in the infinite universe all possibilities exist…..you morons have been married to everyone innumerable times.” “Sure Kimmie Lou, we have encountered everyone as wives, husbands, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, parole officers right on through bicycle mechanics and secret shoppers…..so what’s your point?” “Ever wonder why men tend to objectify women so easily?” asks Kimmie Lou. “Sheer Terror.” offers Ridicu…..all of us crack up for a stretch.
When the laughter fades away, “actually it is a way to Unopen Heaven” offers Kimmie Lou. She obviously had quite the chat with the Kristies while we were stumbling about outside the MK Steakhouse……not too many motorcycles know Heaven is perpetually sprung open except when everyone stops looking around with love in their eyes and hearts. She goes on, “there is a reason its called The Realization Of Man…..the realization of the species has a nice equality ring to it and everything, but that isn’t quite whats going on. We think about this a few minutes, there is something vaguely familiar about the scent in the air. Kimmie Lou eases back in, “at the open Man’s isolation is lost…..he awakens to all loves.” A few beats go by then Ridicu snorts,“so I’ll see your hundred virgins and raise you…..millions?”
Kimmie Lou says nothing…..she just waits for us to interface. Ridicu knows or has glimpses of stuff I don’t know and I have metric tons of information he has forgotten…..when I forget something he gets his jollies by casually dropping the fact into a conversation when I least expect it. We interface once or twice a decade, Kimmie Lou is waiting and Ridicu is available, I’m just not ready to do it at this moment.
I have begun to wonder if this whole fucking blog is just a very long elaborate suicide note.
“Yes.” Follwed by Kimmie Lou’s “probably.”
“I’m not so sure about making a run to Mecca this year, maybe it would be better to wait for an invite”
“Okay.”Then Kimmie Lou shrugs seductively, “whatever you say.”
The thing is Kimmie Lou is getting to an age in motorcycle years where she is ready to shed her virginity, she would love to kick around Europe for the harvest and give herself to a Vintage Moto Guzzi before we ferry down into North Africa. We talk it over for a while and decide to play things by ear.
Before we leave the Field. “What do you guys remember about FUCK?” asks Kimmie Lou. Freedom United Cosmic Kristies has become Kimmie Lou’s favorite new word, even after we got the Undeath off her she is still “Fuck that”…..Fuck thissing up a storm – almost like she’s from Northern Ontario.
“The various common origins of the word fuck are all bullshit…..our favorite is when after the Black Plague a scarcity of children was viewed as a problem in England and the call went out:
Fornicate Under Command of the King
“Yeah, that one is pretty cute,” says Kimmie Lou, her forks half chuckle as they sway side to side.
“The way I remember it…..it all goes back to the Garden Of Eden. Adam croaked F-U-C-K to Eve after she roundhouse kicked God in the face.” Yep, he was spitting teeth for quite a while there…..Taoism, Judaism, Buddhism, Christianity, Hinduism and all kinds of other stuff. Little chunks of enamel and root debris like Scientology are still getting coughed up. Kimmie Lou hums “All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth” while she watches us both as we wobble a bit…..
It is practically impossible to say what happened under the Apple Tree, Ridicu tingles with his perceptions…..I have a couple of hazy ideas. We intuitively understand we are far better off not knowing particulars here…..our awareness will never be conjoined. The basic understanding we grasp is God somehow Crossed Eve and she didn’t go for it, the Apple and the Snake were all part of the cover up. A lot of beings got misinformed for these events…..this is where Public Relations got its start and of course God swung a big stick.
When Kimmie Lou senses we are sorta stable, she continues “Creatures of the Forests and Seas and Skies and Everywhere are sensing the truth and Kristies will continue to surface…..restoring nature as they emerge.” “So you’re a Kristy now Kimmie Lou?” “Morons…..you both know everything with feminine energy is a Kristy. First there was Eve Kristy, then Adam Kristy all down through their children…..eventually a trend caught on where weird middle names became a thing and little Jason or Jennifer Kristy became Jason Boris and Jennifer Natasha…..who knows how this shit gets started?”
At the time of this post Ridicu and I have still been unable to work out our broader identity:
We seem to be leaning towards the KRRK abbreviation as the laughing RR is preserved…..we have discussed our inner 12 year old girl with our therapist, but we still haven’t quite come out as a lesbian trapped in a man’s body. Our therapist is still trying to get her head around dozens of our issues so it may take some time before we have everyone seated at the table to hammer things out. We’ll update the site name after we’ve been to the courthouse for an official name change.
Before we leave Our Field Of Duality Kimmie Lou says, “So it’s largely up to Men and certainly Women are involved, but the species needs to embrace the Mystery and Grace abundant in its Feminine or settle for the everyday fuck…..personally I’m holding out for the Magnificent…..the Spectacular…..the Wondrous.” Kimmie Lou’s engine has started and Ridicu and I decide to take her back onto the highway before she overheats. When we’re up to highway speed and Kimmie Lou’s temperature cools I ask, “where did Eve get the balls?” It kind of boggles the mind to imagine what she was thinking before starting the ultimate shit storm. “They’re called ovaries and they remain close to a Woman’s Center…..unlike our traveling gonads that swing vulnerably in the breeze and shrink in the cold.”
Kimmie Lou starts to sway like we are down the backside of The Trail Of Tears, “a lot of this round seems to hinge on balancing Feminine and Masculine where Nature keeps the units of measure to herself.” The next thing we know our hands have left Kimmie Lou’s handlebars and are folded across Mr Fandango. She continues to slalom…..even more expertly down the road, “a lot of it is about letting go boys…..and quieting down.” A logging truck is approaching and I guess the trucker is a little unsettled by the sight of us because he is almost taking the shoulder to steer clear. Ridicu and I wave with both hands as Kimmie Lou tightens up her turns just millimeters from the shoulder and the yellow center line, her snaking around strikes fear into the heart of the trucker at first, then he gets it and waves back smiling like a kid on a ferris wheel.
As we approach the Border we realize we forgot to ask HW to overnight our passport to the motorcycle shop like we had planned (who knows where it would have wound up). There are certain code-words every Canadian knows for getting back into the country without papers…..Peameal Bacon, Mint Aero Bars and so on. We agree that Ridicu will do the talking……Cops, Immigration Officers, Park Rangers and some Secret Service Agents love Ridicu for some reason – go figure.
We pull up to a booth where a Curly Brown Haired, Brown Eyed Rugged Canadian Woman in a Customs and Immigration uniform is typing something onto her screen. The exterior of the booth is finished in wood siding so that it looks like you are entering a Provincial Park, but the inside looks kinda like tactical command center. “Howdy Miss, is that a Peameal Bacon sandwich I smell? She hardly glances at us as her left hand reaches out to us with what looks like…..our passport. “A Pelican dropped this off here for you around an hour ago” then she adds, “are you boys going to stay decently clothed in public during your stay?” Ridicu shrugs seductively, “more or less.” “And Smartassery…..any chance you could trim back on it for this visit?” “Not likely.” She types a few more things into her screen and then scrolls to the bottom of what we assume is some dossier on us, then she says, “your Tasmanian…..up to date on his vaccinations?”
We are wearing the Tasmanian on our right elbow and we turn to look at him for a sec, when we look back over Curly Canada Customs has swiveled her seat and is leaning out of her window and looking over Kimmie Lou, “Nice Knobbies” she says. Kimmie Lou has never been to a Border Crossing before so she is not sure whether to say thanks or stay quiet so she just dips her forks a bit in a very subtle curtsey. “The Tasmanian is a Devil…..DIS ease is part of his thing…..it would be pointless to vaccinate him.” “Oh” she says, then turns back to her screen, as she’s typing she’s speaking the words “Vaccination Record reviewed and up to date.” A big smile comes across Curly’s face as she waves us on, “welcome home boys…..we’ve missed ya.”
Before we put the Tasmanian back on and ride away we flare our nostrils appropriately at Curly, but she’s already back in her screen reviewing the registrant of the El Camino behind us. A ways up the road Kimmie Lou asks, “aren’t borders supposed to be a little tougher?” “Technically, they’re a filter for bad elements, but when nothing seems too nefarious……they are basically just a nice place to stop and chat for a bit.”
Riding the afternoon Northwest of Creston is wonderful, the roads along Kootenay Lake – Highway 6 & 31 are a lot of fun to ride, kinda like North Carolina and Tennessee, but something has changed…..Canada definitely seems different…..there’s something in the air.
Another Mirror Lake? It’s likely several lakes in North America are called Mirror, but there is a softening of light and a differing density to the air, a scientist might talk stuff like elevation and whatnot, but we know something is shifting. Kimmie Lou, “No actual Thrum……but it’s like 739,216 pairs of eyes are on us around here.” “All this inhaling and exhaling, it’s not just all the Critters, the Earth itself is breathing.”
Okay, okay, okay…..so we’ve talked oneness and some wide concept / semi-crazy stuff through the blog…..check out the Kootenay Region when you get a chance, you’ll see what we mean. The three of us are silent for a few minutes, just sensing it all, when finally Kimmie Lou says, “this Semi-Silent September stuff hasn’t exactly caught on next year…..even you guys haven’t bothered to quiet down.”
When we are back on highway 31 heading North, I explain “Ridicu and I contribute to the silence somewhat differently Kimmie Lou……it’s a timing thing.” She thinks this over for a few miles, “I don’t think this will work out, people don’t like to be told to shut up.” “things sometimes turn out differently than you would expect Kimmie Lou…..we have as much interest in unintentional consequences as intended action.”
At Kaslo we encounter a sign that makes Kimmie Lou sputter, we switch her onto reserve and pick a gas station.
Kimmie Lou, “the double rainbow marks our first corner fellas” Nakusp is around 60 miles (100 Km) away, but we are on pavement that we will backtrack along on our journey east in a few days after the Motorcycle Rally. We kinda figured our Eastern leg would start from around here, but whenever we asked Kimmie Lou she would say someone told her to wait for a sign…..then we would be ready to start the next leg of our Land Based Devil’s Triangle.
Kimmie Lou has been tight lipped about who or what is working out most of our navigation. Whenever we look at a map, certain routes are obvious, but Kimmie Lou will throw out alternates at times. She knows stuff about what is coming up ahead of us…..it could be a little Wanda Witchyness, more Mistress Luscious Lasagna, some Stinkless or Misty Mountain Lion. Ridicu and I have made our peace with various Mysteries…..could be the Kristies, then again there’s Angle and let’s not forget the Lovely Lightly Freckled Lizardu. An idea to be in control, to know all factors going in to something wastes a phenomenal amount of energy. Understanding every detail in things is like we’re distrusting the Universe, better to figure stuff out as we go…..or not.
“I wouldn’ta guessed a double rainbow as a corner piece for a Devil’s Triangle though…..” Before we leave Kootenay Lake and head for Valhalla Kimmie Lou smiles, “Girl Power dudes, this really is about to be a Whole New World.”
Ha! Double Rainbow…..bitches.