Patrick's Sunday Seven

Name seven foods that you wouldn't consider your Thanksgiving dinner complete without.

home-made rolls

broccoli and rice casserole

home-made noodles

sweet potatoes

mashed potatoes

turkey

pumpkin pie

All's well that ends well

Rachel arrived about the same time our music show was over.  She'd decided to drive down Saturday night, sleep on the extra bed, and we'd all get an early start Sunday.  Nobody had warned her about my hacking and coughing.  Besides,we sat up till midnight watching some great shows on CMT about the outlaw movement in country music, laughing and talking about anything and everything. 

Cliff still hadn't figured out how he was going to load an 800-pound motorcycle onto a high-off-the-ground four-wheel-drive pickup, when we got up Sunday morning.  Rachel found a place behind the motel that might put the pickup bed on a level with the ground, but when the truck was backed up, there was a huge gap.  We had a flimsy board, barely wider than the motorcycle tires, that Cliff was going to try and push the bike up, with mine and Rachel's help.  I had little hope for this plan working, and my feelings were right.  The bike slipped off the board no sooner than we'd started, and there was no way the three of us could back it up and start over.

Ah, but God puts angels in the most unlikely places.  A man had come outside the motel to smoke, came down to assess the situation, and told us to wait while he went to get another man.  It turns out this father and son were both Gold Wing riders, and they sympathized with our plight.  They and Cliff, together, came up with a plan that worked, and we got our precious cargo loaded.

I've learned that motorcycle riders everywhere have a special bond.  They help one another.  Trust me, Cliff and I intend to carry on that tradition.

We got home safe and sound, with Rachel driving most of the way.  I decided to waive her babysitting fee for last week... do you blame me?

As soon as Cliff figures out the problem with our Honda, we'll be back on the road, weather permitting.  This has been simply one more adventurous chapter in the storybook that is my life.  Would you believe we're already laughing about our Branson experience?

Trouble on Day 2

We bought tickets for the Presley's show, since it was right across the road from our motel.  Rain was in the forecast, and we figured we could walk that far, even if it rained.  We took a little nap and awoke feeling up to another ride:  so away we went once more, on a road we hadn't been on, this trip... the Shepherd Of The Hills Expressway.

Nice scenery, not so much traffic.  Great road.  Then Cliff stopped behind a line of traffic at a light, and when he started to take off... the bike died.  And refused to start again.  Cars behind us waited paitently, and we tried to wave them on around us.  Folks, we were in the middle of a four-lane road with cars coming from all directions.  What could we do?

I got off and went to the other side of the bridge where there was a raised sidewalk; no sense in both of us being in harm's way.  And if Cliff was going to push that 800-pound motorcycle anywhere, I had to be off of it.

There was enough of a break in the traffic to let him turn the beast around and push it on the other side.  Because we were on a bridge, he really couldn't get it off the road.  But he got it as close to the railing as possible.

I saw my chance and joined him, so we could consider our options.

I suggested he call 911, since he had his cell phone.  We found out you have to be injured or dead for 911 to help; they told him to call information.

He did that, and the operator was very helpful.  When Cliff told her he couldn't hear the number she gave him for a tow service, she put the call through herself.

The man on the other end told Cliff it would be thirty to forty-five minutes until he could get there, because it was shift change.  Great.  Here we are on a bridge, no way to get off, and traffic is picking up rapidly.  Most cars sped by as though we weren't even there.

Two people stopped to see if they could be of assistance:  The first was a man who had a Gold Wing at home; Cliff explained our problem, and they agreed there must be some problem with the battery (although it was practically new).  The second person who offered help was a young man riding a motorcycle.  We told him we'd called a wrecker, and he went on his way.

Cliff and I then crossed the busy road to the sidewalk to wait, because that was the safest place to be.

When the wrecker arrived, Cliff went to the motorcycle.  It started, but wouldn't keep running.  The man agreed the battery was dead, and applied jumper cables.  Once again, the bike started, but would not keep running.  The only thing left to do was let him load up our new toy and take it.... where?

It was the weekend, so no motorcycle shops were open.  If we waited until Monday, we'd be spending another night in the motel, and maybe more, if we couldn't get the problem fixed right away.  We were over two hundred miles from home, stranded.  Finally Cliff told the wrecker man to take it to the motel and we'd figure out what to do later.

The wrecker fee was only $74, and he spent almost an hour with us, not to mention the miles he had driven.  I consider that very reasonable.  But then, when you've been stuck in the middle of a busy road watching cars whiz by at a blur mere inches away, any rescue sounds cheap.

Cliff put the poor, dead Gold Wing to bed in the parking lot and we started discussing ways to get home.

1.  We could see about renting some sort of moving van truck we could load the motorcycle on, and drive home.  That sounded difficult and expensive.

2.  We could call Cliff's brother, Phil, and have him bring our pickup and trailor down.  Cliff's rescued Phil before, and we had no doubt he'd come to our rescue.  It's just rather humiliating, in such a fix, to pull your brother away from his family for a mission like this.

3.  We could call our daughter, Rachel, and ask either her or her husband to come after us.  Rachel's son was having a birthday party, and her mother-in-law and her mom were visiting.  Not a good time to inconvenience someone who works ten hours a day, six days a week.  However, this was the logical choice.  By this time, Cliff had figured out he could get the motorcycle in the bed of the pickup, so a trailer wouldn't be necessary.

We made a few calls to our daughter:  what could she say?  Of course she and Kevin agreed to help us out; Kevin would stay home and supervise the party while Rachel came to our rescue.  That settled, we went to the music show across the road.  The rain in the forecast, by the way, never materialized.

A lovely Day 2 (Saturday)

In spite of my silly cold and our lack of sleep the night before, we had a great time Saturday just tooling around in the hills.  Repeatedly I'd say to Cliff, "Can you believe this is November?  Wow!"

We had our Gold Wing and she was purring like a kitten.  Cliff had learned to handle it well at this point.  We were sitting on top of the world.  Little did we know our bubble was about to burst.

The end of Day 1 of our adventure

This picture, taken friday night, shows you what 76 highway in Branson looks like when all the music shows let out.  I took this shot as Cliff and I were walking back to the motel after Moe Bandy's show.  We were actually moving along faster than the cars were.  And we don't walk very fast!

I've had a mild cold lately, and it decided to settle in my bronchial tubes Friday night.  I slept three hours and coughed the rest of the time.  So of course, Cliff didn't get much sleep either.

Moe Bandy

Moe, noticing my George Jones T-shirt, asked where I'd seen "the Possum" perform.  He told a couple of stories on stage about some escapades he and George went through together.

I've figured out the way to get your picture taken with someone in the music industry:  Catch them either before they get famous, or  long after their glory years.  They'll gladly pose with you.

I realize most of my readers don't have a clue who this guy is... you'd have to have been a country fan back in the 70's to know him.

Here's one of my favorite Moe Bandy songs... I don't know whether he wrote it or not, but it was one of his last records to make the charts.

TOO OLD TO DIE YOUNG

If life is like a candle bright,
Death must be the wind.
You can close your window tight
And it still comes blowing in.
So I will climb the highest hill
To watch the rising sun,
And pray that I don't feel the chill
Till I'm too old to die young.

chorus:
Let me watch my children grow
To see what they become.
Oh Lord don't let that cold wind blow
Till I'm too old to die young.

Now I have had some dear sweet friends
I thought would never die
Now all that is left of them
Is the tear drops in my eye
If I could have one wish today
And know it would be done
I would say every one can stay
'Till they're too old to die young

Our adventure, Day 1, part 2

I was sure it wouldn't be crowded in Branson; after all, it's November.  Kids are in school.  Any year I've been there before Memorial Day or after Labor Day, it's been very pleasant and easy-going, without the traffic jams on 76 that are this tourist town's trademark during the summer.

What I didn't know was this:  It's Branson's big Veteren's week.  They have all kinds of cut rates and free shows for veterens and their families. 

Yep.  It was crowded as I'd ever seen it.