First Time

We were in Wyoming, again, over the weekend. This time it was the family reunion for my sisters and brothers. It was well attended, with three generations and lots of babies. We had a great time. I'll tell you about it later.

One of the things I did this weekend, however, was to ride the motorcycle with CoolGuy for the first time, ever, in our hometown valley. My children expressed their surprise, but, I wasn't his girlfriend in high school, so I didn't go for any rides with him. The only other time we took the bike up there, I was quite pregnant, so I didn't ride it then, either.

What a wonderful place to ride a motorcycle! It was cool and pleasant and green. One evening we went into town to pick up a couple of items for the campfire cookout. Amusingly, we pulled into the parking lot of the market, just as two of my brother's daughters were coming out with their cart. They walked up to us and we all recognized each other at the same time with a cheerful "Hi!" We exchanged pleasantries and they loaded up the truck and one girl said, "You guys look really cool!" That was a nice compliment from some authentically cool people to a couple of geezers. But, hey we were on a vintage Harley, wearing our leather vests and boots.

Another afternoon we headed out on some of the back roads that were only gravel coated when we were youngsters, but now have pavement. We headed across the valley toward the western hills where aspens and sagebrush share the scene with lupines and sunflowers. It was so beautiful! There were sprinklers spritzing the pastures and the breeze would blow a little mist our way. Some fields had rows of drying cut alfalfa and some were dotted with bales. The fragrance of freshly cut hay was just as intoxicating as ever, and even a little better than usual, since I knew I didn't have to mess around hauling and stacking any of it. We both laughed when I mentioned that to CoolGuy. He's handled his share of bales, too.

The little community we drove through was the one where both his parents spent their childhoods. We commented about which of our old friends used to live where, and we drove by the old homestead of his relatives. I noticed that there is a park now where once was a rodeo arena. I'd ridden a cow in one of the Pioneer Day rodeos they used to hold each summer. Well, I did make it out of the chute, but not much further. I can't even remember how old I was---probably 11 or 12. It all felt so familiar, but we've been gone so long from our former home that we probably don't even know most of the people in those houses we passed.

It was such a marvelous afternoon. The sun was warm, but the breeze was cool at 40 mph as we moseyed around. As we drove east again on a main road, CoolGuy pointed out that this was the road where he'd first driven a two-wheeled motored vehicle. His dad had gotten him a little scooter with a two-cycle engine, and had taken it out to a machinist to have something welded on it. Then, CoolGuy--about 13 years old---got on and took off down this country road and was immediately hooked. I asked who taught him how to ride it. He replied, "I just got on, twisted the throttle, and kept it pointed straight. There wasn't anything to learn." He's been twisting the throttle ever since and I'm just glad I get to ride behind...especially on such a beautiful afternoon in such a lovely place.