My Biker Flirtation

Since leaving Southern California, life has been a whirlwind. Well, okay, it’s been that way for much longer. Several months. A year. More.

I feel the need to both wrap things up and move them forward. Visualizing this, I see myself extended fully in two opposite directions and stretching like a bungee cord, just waiting to snap in some unexpected direction.

Even as I’ve traveled, I’ve been thinking about loose ends - not what I had planned. My visit to the Boise UU Fellowship – wonderful as it truly was – only heightened my anxieties; but at the end of the day on Sunday, I knew that the “retreat” would begin on Monday; and I started to relax.

As darkness fell, I pulled into the BUUF parking lot, grateful for its sanctuary. I ate a light supper and was still sitting at the table when I saw a white Ford pick-up enter the parking lot. Maybe it’s just turning around, I hoped; but it swooped in right behind me - blocking my exit - and stopped, engine running.

Reacting instinctively (and logically, because I was in a dense neighborhood, where a call for help would be heard), I tumbled out Ethel’s side door to confront my besieger. But as I exited, he roared away across the lot. I watched the truck pull into the street and then back into a driveway across from the church. A neighbor. I waited.

About a half hour later a lone police officer showed up. “What are y’all doing in there?” was his brusque and puzzling question. I explained in my most soothing and convincing middle-aged, middle-class manner who I am and what I’m doing (except for the “gay” film part – needless can of worms).

After a few more, now less hostile, questions and the production of my papers, Herr Officer left. The next morning Mr. White Pick-up strolled over to apologize for calling the cops on me. There’s apparently been “trouble” in that lot. I assured him I’d have done the same thing myself.... Would I have?

Most of the afternoon transpired in a sickish haze of errands – an expensive trip to Costco (redundant, I know) and the acquisition of adequate maps (AAA ain’t what she used to be), among others. Finally, around 5:00, I hit hwy 21, north, into the hills.

For three days and nights I drove through central Idaho towards Montana. Each night’s camping spot exceeded the previous in terms of beauty and solitude. And not once did I pay to camp. On national forest service land, there are many unofficial campsites: just drive down any public road and look for a turnout or gravel road leading to a protected, level site. Along Idaho 75 and US 93, those sites tend to be along rivers or creeks, as the road curves through stunning, isolated valleys.

And each night I slept more soundly, as cares dropped from my shoulders, leaving room for my mind to settle. The peace in those forested hills is deep enough to absorb my little cares with no noticeable disturbance in the force.


Thursday morning I wake eager to get on the road. Today I enter Montana! This fourth largest state – Big Sky Country – has figured large in my imaginings about this trip. I plan to spend some time here.

Within a mile of crossing the state line, on hwy 43, Ethel and I cross the Continental Divide, at Chief Joseph Pass. Joseph was the Nez Perce chief who famously said “I will fight no more forever.” That was after the massacre of his people at Big Hole and their subsequent final defeat at Bear Claw.

Later I visit Big Hole National Battlefield. Seldom have I felt so ashamed of “my” ancestors. Despite suffering huge losses of sleeping women and children in the dawn surprise attack, Nez Perce warriors fought back effectively – quickly pinning down the troops and allowing the rest of the band to escape - for the moment. I claim them as my spiritual ancestors.

A few years ago Nez Perce - now returned to the area - built teepees along the river, to represent the village. You can walk into the area of the shameful massacre, but the sight of it from a hilltop overlook brought tears to my eyes, and I drove on.

As in Idaho, the highway follows rivers, but I notice a difference on this side of the Divide.

Rivers contained are
Turbulent and dangerous
Calm water is free

The narrow rocky gorges of Idaho restrain its raging rivers, but the high plains of southwestern Montana allow water to meander freely and expansively. Under the wide blue sky – unlike the narrow patches glimpsed from Idaho canyons - I begin to also feel expansive, bold and carefree, with lots of room to roam.

Not far down the road I reach Wisdom. I stop by the road sign to snap a metaphorical shot or two, and debate which of two equally appealing routes to take out of town, when I see THEM.

All day, in increasing numbers, I’ve encountered motorcyclists. Some are couples traveling together, a few are singles, but there are also group after group after group of single men – you know, BIKERS! And there at the crossroads of Wisdom, I see where they’re all going. Without exception, they’re taking hwy 278 south out of town. I know from the maps that there are hot springs down that way.

I begin to imagine a biker gathering: Hundreds of men - mostly men - tough guys with weathered, manly faces and manly odors, after days on their bikes, soaking in the hot springs. Maybe I could find someone who’d like to have a traveling companion for a while…. I like bikes - the hot metal between my knees and the wind in my face. Bikes are exhilarating; bikers are exhilaratingly dangerous, at least in my imagination. But then, who better to protect me from – say – bikers than BIKERS?! Perhaps I should just take a hint from the Universe and follow these bikers…hmmm….

As I drive along, I begin reflecting on the fact that ALL of my male friends, at one time or another, have admonished me, in solemn tones, to “Be Careful” on the road. And that goes, as well, for most of the men I’ve encountered along the way. We smile, we chat briefly, they learn what I’m doing – traveling alone – and they issue the Warning. It’s a common statement “Be careful”, but underneath it is also a warning. And I want to know why.

Logically, I can think of a few reasons men might almost universally bestow this advice on middle-aged me, as they once admonished younger me to “Smile, honey!” Back then, I often didn’t feel like smiling. And now, well, I DO want to be careful; so I’m thinking:

a) Do men assume, because women are physically weaker than men, that we can’t take care of ourselves? But that seems rather Paleolithic, and my men friends are a pretty enlightened bunch.
b) Are there so few currently acceptable ways for men to show their protective/nurturing side that they leap at this bona fide opportunity? I mean, would they even consider issuing that warning to a man in a similar circumstance? Probably not.
c) Is there a common, but normally repressed, side to the male psyche that finds itself wondering if it could resist doing – you know – BAD things if they came upon a poor, defenseless woman? And do good men try to warn me about their less well-controlled brethren?
d) Or what?

I know my tone is a little smart-ass, but I’m genuinely curious. What do you think, dear readers?

And by the way, I remembered in the nick of time that Wisdom is often earned at a high price. I didn't follow the bikers - I took the other route out of town. So much for my biker flirtation… Hey, thanks, guys!