The Scooter Stories, Part Three: The Falls and Falls

Before I rattle on some more about Disneyland (I find I'm not much interested in writing about it anyway), I should wrap up my series of scooter stories.  When we left off last time, I had just bought my Honda Elite 250.

The year was 1985.  Sometime that summer, I was maneuvered into quitting my job at George's record store chain.  I soon found another job at a different record store, working for much nicer people who treated me fairly.  I don't honestly remember when in that sequence of events I took my big scooter trip.  I think it was probably while I was still working for George.  I must have arranged to take six days off.

It was my most ambitious scooter trip ever:  I intended to ride my Elite from Columbus, OH to Syracuse, NY, with a side trip to Niagara Falls.  John had gone along on the Loveland castle trip, but this time I was going alone.

The big day came - and it was raining.  I wrapped most of my luggage in large black lawn & leaf bags, and left town anyway. 

Somewhere around I-270, which rings Columbus, my speedometer cable stopped working.  I didn't let that stop me, either.  I figured I could replace it en route.  And anyway, with a top speed of 71 mph, the Elite was unlikely to garner me a speeding ticket on the Interstate.  I checked with the Honda dealerships in Columbus and Mansfield (or was it Canton?), OH, but neither one had a speedometer cable on hand.

I headed up to Cleveland with no further problems.  I tried to drop in on my brother Steve outside Cleveland (I think I took the photo at right outside his apartment building), but he wasn't home.  I gave up on that little visit, and hit I-90, bound for Erie PA and points east.  I wouldn't see my brother again until after my mom died in December, 2002.

The tricky part of the driving between Cleveland and Rochester had to do with wind.  The vineyards and fields did nothing to keep the cross currents of air from Lake Erie and Lake Ontario from buffeting me and my bike.  It made for interesting, challenging driving.  I tried to pace myself based on the trucks with whichI shared the road.  They could shield me from the wind somewhat, but I dared not drive too close behind them.  I didn't want my tiny vehicle to hide in a semi's blind spot!


At Buffalo I tried another Honda shop, but no speedo cable was to be found there, either.  I began to feel I was touring the Honda scooter dealerships of the Eastern U.S.  The heck with it!  I drove off to Niagara Falls. 

And just to make a point about what the Elite and I could do together, I crossed the border into Canada, to visit the Falls from the Canadian side, too.  A certain Bruce Springsteen song was a big hit that year, as evidenced by the college-aged girls in the car ahead of me.  When the customs guy questioned them about their citizenship, they sang out, loudly, "Born in the U.S.A.!"  Uh-huh.  I bet the customs agent had never heard that one before!

I'm sorry I don't have a picture of the scooter itself at Niagara Falls, but here I am in front of them in 1985.  Trust me: it was the Elite that got me there.

One thing puzzled me, though.  Why was there a picnic table in the river above the falls?  How did it get there?  Who put it there?  Did anyone ever dare to go out to where it was?  Why didn't it wash away over the falls?  I never learned the answers to these questions.

I stayed until about 5 PM, when the shops and such started to close.  Then I got back on the road, heading east again.  I stayed at a Red Roof Inn somewhere, I think near Niagara Falls.  The next day, I "laid down" my bike, which is to say that it fell over as I was riding it.  There was little or no damage, but it was a little scary - that bike is heavy! 

Nevertheless, I finally made it to Syracuse.  Total distance, one way: about 411 miles.

While I was in Syracuse I visited my dad, who had not yet retired from Syracuse University.  I think we went to a local park by the Erie Canal, and dropped in on Manlius, where I was shocked by the heavy traffic.  I probably went to see my friend Bob, and I know I had lunch with Ed, the ex-priest turned security guard who had performed my wedding to John.  And I checked for a speedometer cable.  No luck, of course.

And I visited Syracuse University itself, or at least Marshall Street.  The neat old gray building up the hill from the scooter in the picture to the right is the Hall of Languages, commonly referred to as HL.  Crouse College is prettier (it looks like a castle!), but HL is the venerable old building that greets visitors as they come up University Avenue.  Besides, it's the home of the English Department.  Crouse is the music school.

On the way to Syracuse, a state trooper had questioned whether my Elite 250 was capable of keeping up with the rest of traffic on the New York State Thruway.  I told him that it was fast enough for me to have gotten a speeding ticket on it, doing 69 miles per hour outside Mansfield, Ohio.  (I don't remember exactly when this happened, but while the traffic cop filled out my ticket that time, I fretted that he would notice my Walkman and give me grief for listening to it while driving.  Also, on the police band during those few minutes came a report about some fugitive that was contaminated by nuclear waste or something.  The radio advised that police not approach the guy.  Or something like that.  It was a long time ago.)

But I digress.  The point is that the state trooper didn't want me on the Thruway on a bike that couldn't go as fast as prevailing traffic - in other words, at least the speed limit.  I gather there was a law to that effect.  And the Elite, being the first of the newer, more powerful scooters, was enough of a novelty that law enforcement people didn't know it was fast enough for the Interstates.  The trooper let me on the Thruway, that time, but I hit a similar snag when the time came to start back to Columbus.  The guy at the toll booth refused to let me onto the Thruway at all.  He claimed that a minimum tire size of 14" was required for a vehicle to drive on I-90.

In tears, I turned around and went to see mydad at University College.  Together we measuredmy tires.  14.5 inches, if I recall correctly.  At any rate, it met the requirement.  "Just get on at another on ramp," my dad advised.  "You shouldn't have any more trouble."  I did that.  Nobody gave me any further grief about the scooter's size or speed.


The ride back was much harder than the ride east.  Even so, I stopped at Nigara Falls again, and crossed into Canada again--briefly.  It was 90 degrees as I approached the Pennsylvania border, and I was getting very sore from all that riding.  Worse, the road itself was a mess.  There was construction for about 50 miles.  This consisted of ten mile stretches of closed-off lanes, with nothing at all going on in the forbidden lanes except one or two five-foot patches of missing pavement.  It bugged the heck out of me that I was struggling along on rough road in the other lane, while mostly-pristine stretches of new pavement lay a few feet to my left.  And there was no road crew working on the road at all.  When I complained about this at a Welcome station, the person said, "You don't want them working outside in 90-degree weather, do you?"  Why, yes.  Yes, I do.

The condition of the road was even worse in Ohio, grooved and pitted.  I was mighty sore by the time I got home.

A week later, I was off again to Mansfield, to collect my favorite pillow, which I'd left at the Red Roof Inn.

One more installment to follow.

Karen

Where in the World is Karen Funk Blocher?

Home, actually.  And it's late, and I don't feel like writing a long entry tonight.

Despite the large man's efforts on her behalf, Tuffy was extremely glad to see us.  She yelped and jumped and wriggled and licked, and didn't return to mooching mode for at least an hour.

Yes, Sarah, we were at Disneyland.  Here's a key to the photos of the last couple of days:

 

 

 

 

From the "Look at This" File: 


1. Blurry Pixie Power. Tinker Bell near a castle turret during the fireworks Sunday night. We just couldn't get close enough to do better, especially since the camera was giving us trouble, particularly with night shots.  Tink is the blur on the right.

2. The Long Walk Back. Part of a gardeny but dismayingly long walk between the Annabella Inn and the Disneyland entrance plaza (via Downtown Disney).  Our best guess is that it was a mile each way - over and back, twice a day, for a total of four miles, excluding all the walking we did in the parks themselves.  By Monday, we were so footsore that we paid $10 in parking to avoid the second Monday commute.




3. Rehabilitated, singing tikis.  The Enchanted Tiki Room looks better than it has in years.  There was a time when some of the ancillary charcters (mostly the tikis) no longer moved, but they're back in the chorus now, keeping time with drum and voice. "Ooh!  Ah!"






4.  Golden Gate monorail bridge at CA.  The fake Golden Gate Bridge spans the entrance to California Adventure.  The monorail crosses it.  I had forgotten this fact until we got on the monorail on Monday.

 

5.  John Hench vision of modern living.  Part of imagineer John Hench's concept drawing for the last act of the long-defunct (at Disneyland, anyway) Carousel of Progress attraction.  This was on display at the Disney Gallery above Pirates of the Caribbean.  John and I bought a print of it.

 

One Last Summer Day, Somewhere Else

1. Oh you kid.  This baby goat was at the temporarily-reopened Big Thunder Ranch.  It closes again soon to become a Santa's reindeer attraction instead.

2.  Another kind of kid.  This little boy wandered fearlessly through the goat enclosure.  It was not clear to me whether just anyone could enter the enclosure itself, or whether the little boy, his mother and the older man with the cane had some special connection to the attraction which allowed them to be there.

 

3.  The Haunted Mansion.  Can you spot what's new in this famous facade?  Hint:  look between the columns in the larger picture.  I'll try to show it more clearly later.




4. The Foyer.  The foyer of the Haunted Mansion, in which the Ghost Host (Paul Frees)  introduces himself, was never meant to be this well-lit.




5.  Stitch greets a fan.  Stitch noticed I was wearing a Stitch pin on my lanyard.  I responded by pointing out another one on my hat!

 
 Is it 2:36 AM already?  I've gotta go to bed!

Karen

One Last Summer Day, Somewhere Else

I may soon be forced to admit (perhaps even in this very sentence!) that we've been out of town this weekend.  If you're a burglar, however (and you're not; I trust you implicitly), you should be aware that our house is being guarded in our absence by a large man and a loud dog.  Bark, Tuffy, bark!

Tomorrow night I'll tell you outright where we've been and what we've been up to, but in the meantime here are a few more visual clues, summer fun division:



This kid really knows how to relax at summer's end.



And so does this kid.



Me, I hung out for a while in this creepy old house...



...and didn't even mind that I never met my host face to face.



I did meet this guy, though. Aloha!

Karen

From the "Look at This" File

In my overwhelming need to post something quickly and go to bed, I'm going to post five pictures here and ask you to identify them.  Not all of them are good pictures, and I deliberately chose them for their obscurity.  So here's your pop quiz:

1.  What is shown in each pictures?

2.  Where and when did John and I take these?

Answers Tuesday night.

Karen

Fiction: Mall of Mâvarin, Part Twenty-Five

I'm in the middle of a very busy weekend, so my online presence will be minimal for the next few days. But well, I told you I was obsessive about this journal!  So here's a minimal installment of Mall of Mâvarin to tide us over until next weekend.

The easiest way to catch up on past installments of this serial is on Messages from Mâvarin at http://mavarin.blogspot.com. Synopses to Parts One through Six can be found at the top of Part Seven. Synopses to Parts Eight through Thirteen can be found at the top of Part Fourteen. Synopses to Parts Fourteen through Eighteen are at the top of Part Nineteen.  The installments themselves can be read in order on Blogspot using the sidebar.

Part Nineteen:  Li Ramet, Lee Ramirez and Joshua Wander go off to try to reverse the effects of Li's modified portal spell, which, along with the appearance of Josh's magic castle, apparently caused all the trouble.  Meanwhile, Rani and Randy announce they have successfully returned their own minds and spirits to the right bodies.  Rani sets out to try to help Carl and Carli do the same.  Despite being only a bookish high school student in a strange and magical land, Randy Foster thinks he has acquired sufficient magic and knowledge to sort out Cathma and Cathy as well.  They sit down together to let him try.

Part Twenty: In mindtouch with Randy, the girl who thinks of herself as Cathma is told that she is really Cathy after all. According to Randy, Li's spell is more an accidental "mindpush" (magical brainwashing) than an actual transfer mind and spirit.  Randy takes Cathy on a whirlwind tour through the memories of her own life, until she feels like herself again rather than the Queen of Mâvarin.  At the same time, Randy helps the real Queen Cathma to reclaim her own identity.  The process leaves Randy exhausted—and there are still dozens of people from Dewitt and Mâvarin who need similar help.

Part Twenty-One: Since Rani and Randy are too tired to do mind magic with anyone else for the moment, Cathy suggests going back to "Plan A"--seeing that Li, Lee and Josh successfully reverse Li's spell, getting everyone home both mentally and physically.  Although leaving the castle once again floods Cathy's mind with Cathma's memories, this time it does not overwhelm her sense of who she is.  Shoppingtown Mall now looks intact again, albeit in Mâvarin instead of Dewitt.  Li and Lee are proud of this accomplisment, Josh less so.  Cathy points out that the point is to get the mall and the people back where they belong, not to reassemble the building in the wrong world.

Part Twenty-Two: Li and Lee propose to leave Shoppingtown in Mâvarin, at least temporarily, until the people are restored.  When Cathy and Cathma press them on how that part of the problem is coming along, they say that the people who actually traveled with the mall (as opposed to safely in the castle) are "feeling much better now."  They have mindpushed these people from a state of emotional shock to one of relative normalcy.  The mall employees have even started selling their goods and services to customers--including curious Mâvarinû, who have started coming in from outside.

Part Twenty-Three: Li and his counterpart have convinced the mall personnel to accept Mâvarin coins, on the theory that they will be valuable in the other world for their gold and silver content and as collectible rarities.  They've even worked outan exchange rate with the J.C. Penney manager:  Ruthie Foster, Randy's mom.  Randy rushes off to see her.  Joshua Wander and Fayubi (who still doesn't know he's really Fabian Stockwell) both express an interest in goingshopping at the mall,on the theory that they may never have another opportunity to buy 21st century goods from a high-tech society.   Before they go off to do that, however, Rani announces that all these stranded people, aside from the two sets or twins, aren't who they think they are.

Part Twenty-Four:  Rani explains to the others that despite all previous suppositions to the contrary, nobody is in anyone else's body after all.  Although the Mâvarinû remember bits of the Americans' lives, and even identify with them, they remain themselves in reality, body, mind, and spirit.  He offers to help Li and Lee to feel like themselves again, promising that while in Mâvarin, Lee will still be able to do magic.  Afterward, they will need to solve the problem of getting the Americans--and Shoppington Mall--back to DeWitt, New York.  Meanwhile, the others decide to go shopping anyway.

Part Twenty-Five: Shop 'Til You Drop

Fabian Stockwell shook his head.  “You know, this is still very strange for me.  I feel sure that I should know who Tommy Hilfiger is, but I really don’t.  Does he work in this marketplace?”

Fayubi chuckled.  “No, he doesn’t.  And it’s called a mall, remember?”

“Oh.  Right.  So if this Tommy person isn’t in the mall, then why did you ask how I felt about him?”

“Not him,” Carl said.  “It.  Or them, maybe.”

Fabian turned his puzzled frown on Carl, and then on Fayubi. Then he turned to Cathy.  “Can you tell me what they’re talking about?”

“Tommy is a brand name,” Cathy explained.

“Okay.  What’s a brand name?”

Hmm.  This wasn’t going to be easy to explain. Under normal circumstances Fabian Stockwell would have known as much about branding as she did, and probably more.  He’d even talked about brand consciousness in his psych class.  But for now, with Fayubi’s memories overshadowing his own, he seemed completely unfamiliar with the concept.  “Look, let’s just go into the Bon Ton, and I’ll show you what they’re talking about,” she said. 

So that’s what they did.  “A brand name,” Fayubi explained, sounding very much like Mr. Stockwell on a normal school day, “is a means of labeling or identifying a particular piece of merchandise, or more likely a series of related products, using a particular name that the potential buyer is expected to remember when making purchasing decisions.  Once a consumer associates that name with positive expectations about the related merchandise, brand loyalty is established.”

“Right,” Cathy said.  “Imagine that you’re really good at making pants.”

“Or shirts,” Carl put in.  “Really nice shirts that everyone likes.”

They had arrived at Bon Ton.  Carl led the way in.  Cathy and the others followed.  Fabian stared at the shirts as they went by—Ralph Lauren, mostly.  “Okay, shirts, then,” Cathy said. “And you put your name on all your shirts, just inside the collar.  After a while, people who like your shirts will look for shirts with your name on this, and choose them over other shirts.”

“Over here.  Look,” Carl said.  He led the way for a rack of Tommy sports shirts.  “See?  There’s the Tommy label.”

“So this Tommy person makes shirts?” Fabian asked.  He picked up a long-sleeved shirt with red and blue stripes, and stared at it dubiously. 

“He designs the shirts,” Fayubi said, “and his company makes them.  What do you think?  Will I enjoy having something like this when I’m fully myself again?”

“Well, it’s certainly a curiosity,” Fabian said.  “Maybe we can get just one shirt, as a tangible reminder of this day.”

Three shirts (two for Fayubi, one for Jami), a jacket, four pairs of jeans (one each for Jami and Carli, two for Fayubi), and two necklaces (identical ones for Cathma and Cathy) later, the four twins and their mentors had pushed together several tables and were eating pizza together.  The Americans-turned-Mâvarinû all seemed to enjoy this at first, but before they finished their slices, Jamie and Fabian started behaving as if they were suddenly very nervous.  Their movements became quick and jerky, and they blinked rapidly as they downed the last of their mushrooms and pepperoni.  Cathy glanced at Jami and Fayubi, and was startled to discover that they were behaving the same way.

“Are you four all right?” King Carli asked.

“Fine, fine,” said Jami and Jamie together.

“No, we’re not,” said Fayubi.

“Something’s happening,” said Fabian.

“I think…” Fayubi began, but he never finished the sentence.  He slumped over suddenly, apparently unconscious.  So did Fabian, Jami and Jamie.  Carli and Carl followed suit a moment later.  Cathy and Cathma were left staring at each other, across a double table full of sleeping men.

Welcome to Mâvarin

Messages from Mâvarin (use sidebar to get to the individual installments)

Scooter, Cycle and Castle

Where were we? Ah, yes.  John and I were in Columbus, Ohio, about to take a road trip on our new motorbikes.  John had his 350cc Honda motorcycle.  I had my 1984, 80cc Honda Aero scooter.

The destination, chosen by me from a book called American Castles, was Chateau La Roche, also known as Loveland Castle. It was most of the way to Cincinnati, about 95 miles each way. That's a pretty ambitious distance on a scooter that only does 40 mph.  I was pretty sore by the time we got there, but it was totally worth it.  It was my favorite kind of castle, a Norman keep. 

The Chateau La Roche was built by one man, Harry Andrews, a WWI veteran and boy scout leader.  As a medic in the Great War, he saved the life of a french earl's son, the story goes, and was knighted for it. Later he started building a stone shelter to replace boy scout tents that were falling apart.  He's quoted as saying, “Every knight needs a castle.”  He was still working on the place when he died in 1981, just three or four years before we got there.  Andrews based it on that French earl's castle, Le Chateau de La Roche.


Left:  a much younger Karen looks out from a tower of the late Norman keep. 



   

Left: the actual castle was much bigger than this.  This was just part of the wall around it.  Right: the same bikes that visited the castle, 20 years later.  Below: the Elite, twenty years later and in sad shape.


Well, anyway.  I did have another scooter accident while working at the Buzz, this one minor.  Some kid in a truck (another odd parallel, that!) sidewiped me a little on a blind curve of a two-lane alleyway.  I think I sprained my ankle again, and needed a new footrest on one side of the bike.  No big deal.

But it occurred to me that if I had one of the new, bigger Honda scooters, the 250cc Honda Elite, I would have the power and the speed to get away from some of these bad drivers on short notice, and avoid a collision.  I'd also be able to get farther, faster, and in more comfort.  I set my sights on an Elite.  It couldn't be just any Elite, either: I wouldn't settle for a 150cc one.  It had to be an Elite 250, the Gold Wing of Honda scooters.  It even looked a little like a Gold Wing.

Trouble was, I couldn't afford it.  I really couldn't.

Fortunately for me, the manager of Honda East (Skip, I think he was called) had a solution for me.  An older man (in his 50s, I think, which doesn't sound so old now!) had "laid down" his new Elite 250, and lost his nerve as a result.  I could buy that guy's bike, for considerably less than the cost of a new one.  Okay, great!  How?

I got my first bank loan (an 18 month one, I think). and got my Elite.  250cc, champagne color, top speed 71 mph (downhill with a tailwind), and with a custom locking metal trunk on the back, added by the previous owner. Oh, yeah.  This was what I wanted all along: a scooter that went as fast as a car!

Okay, so now I had my dream bike, one that can handle the Interstate and everything.  You know what that means, don't you?  Yup: another road trip.  Only this time, I was going a lot farther than 95 miles each way.

Next time:  Falls and Falls.

Don't panic (although I probably will, obsessive person that I am!) if I don't post again for several days, breaking my long string of posting every single night.  I may not have Internet access over the weekend.  I'll explain later.  Anything I don't post this weekend I'll make up to you later, including the fiction entry that at least four of you still read.

Karen

Message in a Pixel

Weekend Assignment #75: Write a note to those who are suffering in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Take a picture of yourself and the note. Post it online where everyone can see. Write on a whiteboard, a piece of paper, a notepad, whatever.

Sorry, John S, but I cheated a little.  I just had to take it digital, with a word balloon instead of a sign.

Can I really be this selfish, this oblivious?  NPR is on in the car, and AOL and Netscape have shown me bits and pieces, but I haven't watched one minute of tv news except early on, when I saw CNBC with the sound off at L.A. Fitness. I did not want to believe that things are as bad on the Gulf Coast as they really are. The nature-driven devastation is bad--very bad--but worst of the suffering seems to be caused by human frailties - greed, rage, fear, obliviousness, selfishness, neglect, despair.  The levees should have been shored up years ago.  People should have been evacuated days ago, whether or not they had the bus fare.  Survivors should not be shooting at would-be rescuers, or attacking other survivors.  I thought disasters were supposed to bring out the best in people.  Not this time.  Or, at least, the best is being overshadowed by the actions of the looters and snipers and rapists, and the neglect of governmental authorities and agencies, before, during and after.  Many people have done exactly what they should have been doing.  Many others have done the opposite.

I have no relatives in the affected area, so the only thing that personalizes this for me is reading posts from those of you who do have family there.  I pray that they are all safe and will remain so. 

It's going to be tough, but people will survive, and rebuild.  That's what people do. 

My donation went to the Red Cross, one organization that responds to disaster after disaster, and knows how to get help where it's needed.  Maybe they can succeed where the government is failing so badly, by helping those thousands of stranded people with basic necessities and medical care.

Karen

Give to the American Red Cross:

http://www.redcross.org/

Permission is granted to use this picture and/or entry for any non-nefarious purpose (i.e., don't use it to scam people!).

Tags: Weekend Assignment, New Orleans, Katrina