Jumpin' Off the Edge

WABDR: Section 1

2019-07-20T20:22:00.002-04:00

Section 1

We end at the beginning

Does it feel like this trip will never end? Epic adventures tend to last a bit longer than just an average one. So….on with our tale.

We got our bikes all packed up and continued over White Pass. The first time we went over it, it was a cloudy day. Thus, the visibility of the mountains was not much. I was expecting the same on our return trip to Packwood. Therefore, it took my breath away when I saw the mountain off in the distance for the first time. The beauty was so overwhelming, I teared up.

I continued to watch the mountain until I could see it no more. Soon we were in Packwood. Back where we started. After a quick breakfast at the local coffee shop, we were on our way.

I may have taken a few minutes to ride the big bike first…

Not too long though, because someone was ready to get moving.

Jennifer had some friends that were camping at Walupt Lake, which is right on the trail for Section 1. The plan was to find them and visit for a while before heading on our way. We waited...they never showed. Come to find out, they decided to camp elsewhere. Without a cell signal, it was difficult to get the information. So we enjoyed the lake for a bit.

Before too long we were back on the trail to the next lake….Horseshoe Lake. Another stop to enjoy nature.

It was to be a day of lakes. Jennifer’s kids were camping at Tahkhlac Lake as were several other people. The campground was full. Because we were not allowed to cramp their style, we stayed long enough to visit, watch them prepare a meal of MREs, and get some pictures.

Soon we were searching for a place to stop for the day ourselves. We ended up at Trout Creek Campground. Once again, I tried to get pictures of the sunset. However, we were too far in a valley to see the painting of the sky.

To bed I went. It was my first experience sleeping in a hammock. I was rather sad when no deer awoke me like they did Jennifer in Conconully. No worries. It was a great night of sleep.

We were up and on the trail early the next day. But first, a quick side trip to the ice caves.

The ice caves are naturally formed and still had snow in them! Needless to say, we did not have the majority of recommended safety items. We went in anyway. Check out the ice crystal still hanging from the cave.

I went on exploring the smaller caves while Jennifer filled our tanks with our reserve gas. I am so glad she was paying attention to the details! Standing outside of each cave was like standing outside a freezer. Cool air greeted me at each one.

Right down the road was a sign for natural bridges. We stopped. I am sure it will be no surprise to anyone that I did not walk over them. It wasn’t as big of a drop-off that I had been dealing with. But it was enough that I would admire it from afar.

We stopped A LOT on our last day on the trail...due to cloud cover, we did not have a consistent signal on our GPS. We relied on it to know what roads we needed to be on. Many of them are unmarked. Some have numbers. Either way, our challenge was set for the day. I should probably mention that Jen had paper maps in her backpack. We didn’t really want to go through the rigamoroll of getting them out. Thus, we stopped so Jennifer could check in hopes it was working.

Instead, we used the compass on my phone and going south...I think...

We stopped and asked some campers if they knew how to get out. We took a picture of their handwritten directions to follow it backwards.

We never did use them…we stopped a rider we saw and asked him. Finally we found out way back to tarmac. There was one more fire road to find….we never found it. However, we did find Wind Mountain. When I tell you the wind was strong, that is an understatement. Once again we were being blown all over the road, except this time traffic was heavy.

Eventually, we made it to Stevenson and our next celebratory meal.

We finished it!! All SIX sections! Ok, we didn’t go over the Bridge of the Gods. Not sure Jennifer could have handled me riding over the grates of the bridge showing the river way down below.

This trip was so much more than I imagined it would be. Just a few hours more and we were back where we began.

Our Epic Adventure does not stop here. We unloaded the bikes, took a shower, loaded up the car and started Part 2.

WABDR: On the road to Section 1

2019-07-19T11:11:00.003-04:00

On the Road to Section 1

We woke up bright and early on the day of America’s birthday. We had no idea where we would end up for the festivities, but we knew we would be at somebody’s cookout. Ok, so maybe we didn’t. I believe that morning I said something like, “I am speaking my intuition. We will be invited to a cookout.” Jennifer laughed and we were on our way.

It was a day of asphalt only. We were heading back to Jennifer’s house in Castle Rock. The WABDR portion of our adventure over. Jennifer has a knack for finding routes of country roads, national forests, and sheer beauty. Today was no different. The majority of the day was spent riding in a painting of canyons, lakes, and cow pastures.

Did you know that cows roam freely out west? I expected them in the woods. But on the highway? I laughed when I saw the sign. Why would a cattle guard be needed on a paved road? The reality is we saw just as many of them on the rural thoroughfare as we did on the off-road one.

There are no words to adequately describe what we were riding through. Spectacular. Beautiful. Breath-taking. None of them even begin to speak of the experience.

A big portion of the day’s ride was through an Indian Reservation. At one point we stopped to get a cord to charge the helmets. The sculptures outside the grocery store were beautiful.

Miles of open space. The beauty that surrounded us was like the person who has no idea how good-looking they are. Open, kind, and welcoming just shines out of them. You just feel good being in their presence.

No filters are used in any of these photos. The colors were not as vibrant as the greens in Western Washington. Yet, still they took my breath away. We continued on. I do not know how many miles we rode until we reached Cooley Dam; all I know is that my butt was starting to hurt. Remember, these bikes are made for standing. We didn’t stay long.

A couple of photos and we were in search of breakfast. It always takes longer to find food than what we anticipate. Destination: Pepper Jacks.

Inside was a man. He kept checking me out while I ate. I am open to welcoming a good man in my life, so I approached him. He was all stiff. One might even say statue-like. Not impressed with my advances at all. Meanwhile, the man setting up the salad bar for the day looked on shaking his head. He looked much more fun than the man of the law that I was attempting to engage. You already know where this is going...right over to him. We had a moment before Jennifer was telling me it was time to get back on the bikes.

Our goal was to reach Yakima by nightfall. On we rode. No longer the only wheels on the roads, we couldn’t poke as much in an attempt to absorb all that surrounded us. We stopped often to take pictures. All the while, Jennifer waited patiently on her bike.

A few more miles down the road, more photos.

Jennifer was tired. Feeling the need to lay down for a short nap, she got off her bike.

Or maybe it was time for a picture of the bikes without her in it...

Either way, a short while later, we were back on our way. Traffic thinned as we were once again, desperately looking for gas and a bathroom. A short stop at a convenience store to take care of our needs and check the map provided another opportunity for photos. This was a day of selfies for me.

We were getting closer to Yakima. I don’t know how many miles it was from our gas stop to the next stop. I do know it was about 73 comments about the different ways our butts were numb, hurting, and begging for some relief. Finally, we reached Yakima and a convenience store. This time we planned to stop for a bit longer.

Cell service was extremely spotty on our trip. So when we stopped and it was available, there was little chatter between us. We were on our phones. Me, checking social media and sending a quick text or two. Jennifer, typically checking the map with some facebook on the side.

“Those your bikes out there?”

“Yup! We just finished the BDR. Now we are trying to figure out a place to camp tonight. Pretty sure all the campsites will be filled up being the 4th and all.” Jennifer explained to the latest random stranger coming in contact with us.

“You are welcome to camp in my backyard. I am right down the road.”

The conversation continued. In no time, the man that was with him invited us to their cookout. Remember the intention we spoke in the morning? There was no way we were going to turn it down.

These are the stories that will be in more detail in the book. The highlights include: Jennifer making friends with the dogs...again. Pickled asparagus. Who knew it was a thing? Plans of canning education between Jennifer and Pam. Overview of the wedding take place in a couple days. (We never did get to meet the bride as she was getting her nails done for the upcoming nuptials.) The awesomeness of sisters. Geography, genealogy, and how it is all related.

We ate our fill, expressed our gratitude, and decided to get on up the road a bit before stopping for the night. We would take our chances on finding a campsite...or we would set up our tent on the side of the road if need be.

We rode onto White’s Pass, fingers crossed we would find somewhere to lay our heads. About an hour later, we found a campsite with one site available and claimed it.

Once again, the scenery around us was the thing dreams are made of. Once again, I tried for a sunset, but to no avail. Instead, I did some writing and went to bed.

In the morning, the wind made it difficult to pack the tent. As a matter of fact, it ended up in the bushes at one point. We had conquered bigger challenges.

We were not going to let a little wind get the best of us. We were on our way to finish with the beginning. Section 1!

WABDR: Section 6

2019-07-18T16:31:00.003-04:00

SECTION 6

Cows, a Celebrity, and Canada

Today was the day!! We must have been pretty excited because we were packed up and on the bikes by 6am. (One would think being up that early I would have been able to get a picture of the sunrise. Nope. From my experience in the west, the sun must stay out 24/7.) Jennifer told me her research said that Section 6 was the easiest part of the WABDR. After the last few days, I welcomed easy!

In no time we were back on dirt and in another National Forest. Not only was I looking forward to easy, Jen told me about a different areas we would be going through: ghost town, a cabin, and Skull and Crossbones Trail. Okay, so I wasn’t so excited about the whole Skull and Crossbones part of things. Although, I was looking forward to taking a picture with Poet Lover in front of it looking all badass.

The research was spot on. This was my dream trail. There were no “slopes”. There were no steep downhills. And the switchbacks were big wide. The biggest challenge of riding that day was being intentional about staying on my side of the road. Even with no cliffs, after the previous couple of days of hugging the mountain, I frequently found myself drifting over to the other side.

“Get your pansy ass over to the right side of the road!” Jennifer’s voice came out of nowhere. Repeatedly.

Gone were the days of “Do what you have to do.” There was no fear on this day and we were going to act accordingly. Jennifer would see to that! I would like to tell you I only needed that one reminder. The reality is, there were a few more.

It was a beautiful ride! Serenity was offered to us in the form of blue skies, bursts of color blanketing the ground, and seeds to wish upon. The sun shone bright as the aroma and beauty of sage surrounded us.This is what I imagined our trip would be!

And wish I did! For those of you following the story, I am sure it comes as no surprise that the wishes contained flat, good roads surrounded with drop-offs far from me. Those were the superficial wishes. I sent other desires floating into the breeze. (More about those in the book.)

The abandoned cattle alley came into view unexpectedly. This was our first significant stop. Sounds of nearby cows brought me back in time. Rather than use words to show our explorations, I will let the pictures speak for themselves.

Remember that cabin that was somewhere on our trail? While exploring, I found it on the other side of the trail. I love listening to abandoned homes telling me their stories. It was no different with this one. Even though it was no longer standing, if one listens close enough, the stories will reveal themselves.

The Skull and Crossbones Trail sign was supposed to be somewhere nearby, but we never found it. So much for getting proof of the badass I imagine myself to be...instead I was drawn to the sage.

Remember those cows I spoke of earlier? Today was a big day for cows. We were riding through their world. They were there when we least expected it. Cows of all sizes and colors. It was quite common that day to stop and wait for them to get out of the road.

In previous posts, I spent a lot of time talking about the road and how it freaked me out. Today’s roads were everything wonderful!

When we were back on asphalt, we stopped to get gas and lunch. A stop like any other day...until we met a celebrity. Truth be told, I had no idea who Jennifer was talking to. I figured he was a friend of hers. After all she was asking how is mother was doing. Asking about when he was going back to Alaska. And then she asked for a picture. Jennifer doesn’t typically ask to get pictures taken with people. Come to find out, it was Gabe from the TV show, Alaskan Bush People. Super nice guy!

We said our goodbyes without asking for an autograph. We never did get lunch due to the only restaurant in town being closed. Onto Nighthawk, the ghost town I had been anticipating all day….only there was nothing there but a sign. Very disappointing.

I did take a picture of an old house, or maybe a store. We stopped on a bridge.I walked over it to get pictures of the river and the old house/store.

The anti-Semitic graffiti stopped me in my tracks. The town had a population of 7. I was sick to my stomach to see such hate.

Other writings were on the bridge. I took a few quick minutes to think of Kellie and Duane and what there story might be.

The beauty from the bridge on such a beautiful day….

We were nearing the end of the WABDR. Before I knew it, signs for the Canadian border were in our face.

WE DID IT!!! A couple of sisters in our 50s mastered the mountains on two wheels! Crashes, washouts, and drop-offs did not stop us!!

We decided we needed to go over the Canadian border because we were there. See that white building behind our bikes? That is the Canadian border. On we went. Jennifer with her bigass knife strapped to her bike. (We needed some form of protection against wild animals.) Me with my expired passport, license and birth certificate. After a lengthy conversation with the friendly border agent, he let us in.

Come to find out, he also rode a dualsport bike! He suggested a place for us to get some lunch and we were on our way...to the sign to get pictures of the destination point (or so we thought) of our Epic Adventure.

Did you notice Jennifer’s bike now has everything on it but the sleeping bag? Poet Lover threatened to burn anything else, so…

The past few days submerged me in rushing waters in the form of all that challenged me. I emerged from that baptism into my fears a changed woman.

The story does not end here. Did you really think it would? We had a celebratory lunch to get! After riding through Canada and not finding a spot for lunch, we headed to a different US border entry...and waited in line.

Would you believe the border agent would not let us go through together unlike the Canadian side? Once again, my helmet came off. I gave my documentation and answered their questions. I was only in Canada for about 20 minutes. No, I had no tobacco products. No, no weapons. He sent me on my way. I waited in the US, out of radio range, for my sister looking at this sign.

It was taking awhile. At no time while on bikes during this trip did I like being out of radio range of my sister...especially when we were in two different counties.

Come to find out when the border agent asked if she had any tobacco she replied, “I have some cigarettes I took off a picnic table.” Remember Zeb’s cigarettes? The ones that were actually in my backpack that I did not acknowledge when I was asked? (I forgot I had them.) The agent did not have a sense of humor about the story and gave her the third degree before finally sending her on her way. It was now somewhere around 2pm and we had yet to eat that day. We were HUNGRY! Celebratory lunch he we come!

We stopped at the first restaurant we came to and decided to split fish-n-chips...not fully cooked through at that. It wasn’t much of a celebration. We ate it because we were hungry.

Back on the road. Our goal was to get to Republic for the night. Revealing in all that we accomplished, we road down the road. Epic Adventure Playlist in my ear as we watched big dark clouds form. Riding in a big storm is no good on a bike made for the roads, let alone a little 250 made for trails. The wind was tossing us all over the road. We were riding through nothingness. We saw a sign for a store three miles ahead. We pulled into a mobile home turned store only to find out it was closed. We continued on until we saw a driveway. Time to meet some more people and avoid the storm.

They were sitting in the garage enjoying the afternoon. “Do you mind if we hunker down here until the storm passes?”

They looked as us kind of funny, but said okay. We chatted for awhile before heading on our way. The storm never did come.

That is a stuffed animal hanging out the window. The story will be told in the upcoming book.

Back on the road to Republic looking for the first gas station. We found one in Wakanda...no, I mean Wauconda. I can’t even begin to tell you my disappointment. While I was lamenting the lack of kings and queens of color, my sister struggled with empty gas pumps.

In no time, we made it to Republic. A hotel and a real celebratory dinner was the plan for the evening. And so it was. But first a bath…

You may think the story stops here. It doesn’t. Remember we started with Section 2 and skipped Section 1? We went back to the F-it motto of the trip and decided to end at the beginning.

WABDR: Section 5

2019-07-17T15:42:00.001-04:00

SECTION 5

“I hope you're writing and not being all lazy and shit. This blog and book isn't going to write itself... Plus IT'S SECTION FIVE!!!!”

The message from my sister I woke up to this morning. It doesn’t matter that I had no sleep the night before because I was flying from the west coast to the east coast. You know what that means? A three hour time difference my body needs to acclimate back to. No time for that! After all, it is Section 5! A day of death-defying fear.

Back to our Epic Adventure...

Due to the loud snoring of the man in the next tent over, we were up early, packed,and on our way before 8. After a quick breakfast at Apple Cup Cafe, we got back on the trail. Stories of bikes going off cliffs and riders needing to be rescued fresh on my mind.

The start of the trip was like any other day, service roads kidding me into confidence that this would be a relaxing ride in nature. In no time, we were climbing. We were on or fifth or sixth day of this. You would think the heights would be getting easier. No such luck. With each foot of elevation, my heart beat a little faster. Really, it wasn’t how high we were. As long as I was surrounded in trees, I was able to pretend I wasn’t riding beside a cliff. No, that’s a lie. Even when there were trees, I would catch a glimpse of emptiness out of the corner of my eye. I just knew those trees jutting from the cliff were meant to give a false sense of security. I wasn’t falling for any of it. I was sure that is how people went over the side. Remember the dude that had to be rescued with a mangled leg? Or the man who sacrificed his bike to the mountain gods? Those are only two I know of. I am sure there are many more stories of instances of the powers of the mountains reaching out for either man or bike.

I don’t remember the roads that day. I believe the were good. No ruts or baby head rocks to worry about. Howevet the cliffs, I mean SLOPES, were another story. Slopes in Eastern Washington aren’t hidden by trees like they are on the Western side of the state. No, they are there in all their glory. Our side of the road was the slope side. Perspiration dripped

from every part of my body. The sound of my racing heart could be heard over the sound of my bike. Meanwhile, a pep rally was happening in my head. “Head up. Watch your line. You can do this, Mandie.” Every now and then I would hear Jennifer encourage me, “Just ride your ride.”

What a relief when Jen said she had to use the “facilities” when we came to a field. She went off to find a tree while I enjoyed the comfort of the trees surrounding me.

We were riding closer to the drop offs than any other part so far. It took every bit of inner strength I had to trust Poet Lover (the bike remember? Although, about that time I would have preferred him to be in human form….with the only dropoff being that of the bed to the floor.) No such luck, we were on a mountain leading to the heavens. One wrong move and we would be hurling to the depths of the earth below. It was imperative I trust him to go where I was guiding and trust myself to keep my head up and follow my line. There was no way I was going to ride along the cliff’s edge. Even writing this I am hyperventilating.

“Mandie we aren’t the only ones on this road. Logging trucks or other vehicles could be coming from the other way and you would never see them.” I know she didn’t want me to die in that way. I would rather meet my death by something coming the other way than going over the cliff to my death.

“I will take my chances and pray nothing is coming the other way.” Pretty sure my voice was shaky and weak when I responded to her hugging the mountainside of the road, I know all of it was the “mountainside.” I am referring to the part of the mountain I could reach out and touch.

On we rode. I needed to get off the bike to breathe without having to pay attention to how to avoid death. Eventually, we found a spot to stop for a bit. Due to the work I was putting in, I took off a layer or two.

I look rather relaxed in that picture, don’t I? Mediation works wonders. The reality is, with every cliff, I imagined what would happen if I rode over it. What if my throttle stuck? What if I panicked and went all “whiskey throttle”? How long would it take life flight to get to me? How would Jennifer even contact them? My phone, the one that got service would be at the bottom of the mountain with my crumbled body. What if…

Jennifer got me out of my head from time to time, ”You’ve got this Mandie!”

Meanwhile, Jennifer is looking at each cliff thinking about how she would recover the bike. Before you get all “how could she not think of you first?” Poet Lover is like no other bike. He knows how to meet the needs of whomever is riding him. As we all know, lovers like that are not easy to find. Wouldn’t we all do whatever we could to save our lover? Therefore, she questioned if she would be able to get the bike up herself? Who would she call in? Would Bill be able to give her a hand? Is rescue even possible?

My sister has many superpowers. On and off a bike. One of her strongest powers is that if empathy. This day was just a tough for her as it was for me as she felt every bit of fear coursing through my body. Our breaks were just as important for her that day as they were for me. Thus, when we reached Twisp for lunch, we were both ready for the opportunity to stop for a bit.

Twisp is a town of less than 1000 people. It has a old school western feel to it. (This being said from someone from the east.) We found a place to have some lunch and meet a couple of “strangers no more” (Those stories will be in the book.)

All too soon, it was time to get back on the road. Service roads at that! I was flying at 25mph! If the rest of the day was like this, I would be riding like a pro! A pro going 30mph at top speed. Riding along we came across fireplace chimney. The rest had been burnt down. From a forest fire? Left over from long ago? Was it an old mining/logging camp? A house from back in the mining days? So many questions!

I rode on imagining the story of the fireplace. The road continued to be decent. There were some “slopes”, but I managed them. And by managed, I mean riding on the wrong side of the road as needed, going at a snail’s pace, and praying we wouldn’t meet any other vehicles. At one point, we stopped to talk to some rangers. I am little fuzzy on what was said. Fear tends to shut down the parts not needed for survival. I believe they pointed the way into town and told us we weren’t too far away.

I am sounding pretty relaxed at this point, huh? And I was...until the fear came back in a way that immobilized me. Ruby Ridge brought the fear back. Is there a word more intense than “fear”? If so, that’s what I mean. Imagine a steep downhill with very few switchbacks. The switchbacks were not nice and wide ones, which would have been manageable. No, these were steep, sharp, and included drop offs.

I was going to do this! Me!! This was my demon to conquer in whatever way necessary. “I’m going to walk around this switchback.”

“Okay, do what you have to do. I will wait back here so I am not too close. Then I will ride down.”

My inner child came out for the rest of this part. Determined. Scared. Quiet. Focused. Sitting on Poet Lover, toes touching the ground, hands manipulating the clutch and front brake. We walked around the first switchback.

“You’re doing good.”

“The voice of a 9 year old replied, “Thanks.”

At the start of each switchback, I kept thinking my feet would be on the pegs and I would be riding as soon as I got around it. And then I would see the steep hill going down.

I continued to walk it down. Petrified. From time to time, Jennifer would tell me I was doing a good job. Each time the little girl in me would thank her.

Meanwhile Jennifer is fantasizing, Graham Jarvis, the Enduro God, is riding beside her. They balance on their bikes, slowly going down the mountain. Smiling at each other as they dance beside the cliff occasionally letting me know what a good job I am doing. No fear for either one of them.

And still I walked hand-in-hand with Poet Lover knowing we would make it through this together. We will take the time we need, no matter how difficult it becomes. We must have walked a mile down the mountain. The important part of all this….WE DID IT!!! ME!! I called upon every bit of my inner “strong, brave, and courageous” and made it to the bottom.

“Did you pee your pants?” Jennifer asked with a twinkle in her eye.

“No! Why would I?”

“You couldn’t have been that scared then.” The sound of laughter filled Ruby Ridge.

The rest of the ride was my kind of ride, flat with no drop-offs. We rode into Conconully, set up camp, and went and had a celebratory ice cream.

Conconully was a special place. I met a old renegade at the local tavern. He told me stories of the freedom of his life. (You can read more about him in the book.) Jennifer was surrounded by deer as she slept in her hammock. She woke up and watched them for a couple of hours.

Due to impending thunderstorms we stayed in Conconully an extra day. Or so we told ourselves. After the trip was over, we acknowledged we stayed because I needed a day to recoup from my Day of Fear. However, we moved to a motel for our second night.

Our extra day meant that we were able to get to know Dave and Beth. (Yup, more about them when the book comes out.)

We looked into getting a bottle of champagne to have when we hit the end of the trail. We decided against it.

Each day brought with it a challenge of some sort. Section Five was by far the toughest one for me. All I have to say about that is….I DID IT!!!

WABDR: Section 4

2019-07-16T16:35:00.003-04:00

SECTION 4: We meet the boys

Before we get into this section, I need to make a correction in the Section 3 post. The “two small hills” found in the washout section of the trail were actually two craters where the earth dropped away. In other words, at one time the section was flat until the water created two gigantic mouth holes with rock jaws that reached out for anyone who dared enter. (That better Jennifer?)

No wonder she cried when she made it through it alive, high on adrenaline! It was only after the high wore off that she saw “the two small hills” for what they were, two small divots.

We now return you to the regularly scheduled entry...

For those who have been paying attention to the entire story, remember our “F-it” approach to forgetting the first aid kit? Well, a couple of close calls later, we decided it was prudent to head to WalMart for a first aid kit before facing the day’s challenges.

First Aid kit secured to my bike (don’t worry, I was ready for the extra weight), we headed to Leavenworth for breakfast and quick tourist stop. If you ever find yourself there, Louie’s is the place to go. Their hot chocolate is mouthwatering...and it also does a great job of warming one up.

After breakfast, Jen did what she does and went back to the bikes to study the map. It might be a good place for me to mention, I was totally oblivious about how to read the Trail Tech, the GPS that was guiding our way on unmarked dirt roads and narrow paths. I continued on with my camera and Flat Stanley. (He was so quiet, I kept forgetting he was with us.) A few pictures later, we were ready to get back on the trail.

Back on the trail it was extremely rutty. I imagine those who ride off-road find a rutty road exciting and fun. Due to the previous days’ experiences, I slowed my roll. A lot. There were several ruts I walked through, my feet using either side of the rut to guide my way through it. Even on the good road I went slower anticipating the next washout.

“Do what you need to do. Remember if you’re not having fun, I’m not having fun.” Jennifer consistently reminded me.

There weren’t many stops this day. However, we did stop for a few minutes to talk to a couple of riders we met on the trail. We said goodbye and each went on our way. As tends to happen on occasion, we took a wrong turn. We were going uphill so there was no good place to turn around…until we got to the top. Come to find out, it was the SUMMIT OF THE MOUNTAIN!

At the top, we took some pictures and drank some water. I needed it due to the fear-inducing perspiration I was experienced going up to the summit. Even in the midst of the fear was exhilaration. Look at what I was doing! I summited a mountain! On a dual sport bike!!! Once again, we celebrated with a Facebook live video. We even let Flat Stanley get out and see the view.

You saw the picture of the road we rode up. In case you are wondering, yes, I walked the bike three quarters of the way down the short, steep, rocky trail. Once again, Jen reminded me to do what I needed to do. Soon we were back on forest roads and I began to relax and enjoy myself again.

We rode on for awhile. Soon it was time for another break. Food? Water? Bathroom? Breathe? Check directions? All of the above...and some panning for gold. We stopped at what must have been someone’s campsite at one time and did some exploring. No, we didn’t use the toilet. We opted instead to do as our ancestors did.

Although we found no gold, we did find our way on the BDR. More forest roads until we reached asphalt. When we pulled into our gas stop in Ardenvoir, I smiled when I saw other bikes there.

Ardenvoir is a small town with a population of a little over 1,000. Yet, the parking lot was full. Cooper’s Cafe is a definite must if you are in the area. They can meet any need you may have: post office, camping supplies, general store stuff, gas, restaurant, bar. Add WiFi to that and it was like we pulled into a resort and social hour had just begun. Once we laid eyes on the men‘s burgers, our mouths were watering for something more than Cliff bars and trail mix. Thus, we ordered ourselves a burger and fries. It was the best meal we had on the whole trip.

Remember those other bikes we saw? For the next hour, Jennifer and the other riders talked bikes, rides, and discovered people they had in common. Jennifer told them about a rider she heard about while packing up the bikes. He wasn’t as successful as Jennifer was riding through the washout. He broke his leg quite severely and had to be rescued due to being at the bottom of the “slope.” Really?! Let’s call it what it was… a CLIFF!

And then, they started talking about some new rider that went over a cliff a few years back. Seriously, they were talking about a man who was lucky he was still alive in front of me? I tuned out as they continued to talk about crashes and rescues. Instead, I focused on the friendly, good-looking man that reminded me of my son.Handsome, humble, and kind. I found him very calming. (Yes, Zeb, I’m talking about you.) All I remember of the story are the visions I had of this unknown man going over the edge of a cliff. If I remember correctly, he was rescued or crawled up. He never rode again.

The story doesn’t end there. It got really animated when Bill mentioned he was the one who rescued the bike. Jennifer had heard the story from one of her friends. When they realized they had a friend in common, they shared stories for the next hour. Future plans to ride together were formed. Soon it was time for them to get back on the trail. We took a quick picture with Bill, Zeb, Kai, and Tobias and they were on their way.

They were in such a rush, Zeb left his cigarettes behind. Jennifer stuffed them in my backpack with the intention of smoking one when we got to our campsite. It was also suggested that I smoke one (or ten) to calm my nerves when the “slopes” got to be too much.

Because we were doing this trip our way with no timetable, we decided to camp for the night on Lake Chelan. i have no idea if that was the end of Section 4 or not. More like, Jen thought it was a good time for me to stop for the day. A quick stop at the city park to figure out where that would be….and, of course, some pictures.

We stayed on the other side of the lake at the state park. We got camp set up and had ourselves a Cliff bar…didn’t taste quite as good as the teriyaki chicken that our neighbors were cooking. My intention was to do some writing and capture the sunset. Once again, the sunset was not to be. I was sound asleep well before the sun dipped below the horizon. No worries. There would be other sunsets.

WABDR: Section 3

2019-07-15T14:19:00.002-04:00

SECTION 3: The Washout

“Do you ever just find yourself smiling real big because we are doing this?” I asked Jen.

“No, I randomly start laughing when I think of you doing this trip.”

We chuckled about it a bit before taking a quick sidetrip to check out an old working saloon and segregated cemetery in Roslyn Kevin told us about.

There was a bit of asphalt to ride before getting back on the route. Eight miles on the freeway with a little 250cc can be nerve-wracking to say the least. Add 18-wheelers and RVs to the equation, and it is downright daunting. The speed limit was 70. My bike went 55 before it would start shaking. Before too long, we were at our exit.

Back to country roads. Wind in my face, music in my ear, my sister behind me, I was in top of the world. Add the incredible scenery. Joy was pouring out my every pore.

We pulled over to get photos of the bouquet for our eyes. Unfortunately, smell was the sense being accosted. Something smelled bad. Really bad. Imagine a teenager’s room...dirty socks, moldy food, and a lack of discipline to wear deodorant. It was like that...but worse. With a little exploration, Jennifer found the source of our wizened nose. A dead deer. I plugged my nose and continued taking pictures. She went on ahead a bit.

Soon we were back on the WABDR. The first part of Section 3 was a lot of asphalt, which for some reason always makes me feel a bit more secure. Even through the crazy switchbacks.

Much of the route is cattle country. Meaning, one needs to be on the lookout for cows. That was not on my radar when I turned a corner and there was a cow standing in the road looking at me. I don’t think they know what to do when visitors come in their road. Honestly, I didn’t know what the cow would do. Would he charge us? Did I need to give him a smack on his rump to send him on his way? Were there other cows that would join him in sending us on our way? We looked at each other for a bit and I slowly rolled by. He looked around a bit before running off.

One of the consistent challenges on our trip was the load on the back of our bikes. We (and when I say “we”, I mean Jennifer) frequently stopped to adjust our stuff. We did not want a repeat of the tent. (For those who didn’t read that part, the tent was too close to the exhaust on my bike and burned holes in it our first day on the trail.)

We continued on, nature smiling down on us with her bright smile full of sunlight and warmth. Before long, the scenery changed. The grace of a time past offered tranquility. Her silver trees holding out branches to welcome us in as bright flowers danced at her feet.

Some might call the shadows of trees past eerie. To me, it brought the same peace and serenity the old cemetery did that morning.

Back on the bikes, I was in a state of reflection...for about 30 seconds. The cliffs. Excuse me, the SLOPES, were high! I was thinking about my imminent death were I to go off the side. There was no way I was going to ride on my side of the road with the 1000 foot drop-off only inches away. (I might be exaggerating the length of the drop-off, but I doubt it.) I invoked the best strategy I could think of, I pretended I was in Uganda where they ride on the opposite side of the road...and I prayed nothing was coming the other way. Me writing this is proof that my guardian angel was clearing a path for me.

We stopped for a break at the top of some mountain. It was so beautiful! Slopes were all around us. Per usual, I stayed back quite a ways while Jennifer dangled her feet over the side. Surprisingly, I had a great signal on my phone. Rather than eat or have some water, I went live on Facebook. I talked of doing things I never thought possible, ie. this trip, encouraging others to do the same.

I was on top of the world. Here I was, little ol’ scared of heights Me on top of a mountain. ON A DUALSPORT BIKE that I just started riding A WEEK AGO!! The 13 year old in me was giddy with power of self. The superpower in me emerging in the 55 year old me.

We continued on. With each roll of the wheels, I shed a bit more uncertainty and gained confidence in all that I can, no, WILL be.

I kept my head up, followed my line, and turned the throttle to go a bit faster. I avoided ruts. Rode standing up gravelly hills. Went confidently up a muddy hill. A sketchy hill lay ahead. Still confident, I rolled the throttle and chose my line….and went down toward the top of the hill.

Yes, that was the road. Doesn’t really look like one, does it? Enter my Superhero Sister. We got the bike up in no time. This fall was not like the others. I didn’t lose my confidence because of it. It was more like my Poet Lover went down to protect me from what was coming. I walked ahead a bit to check out what was coming. Upon seeing the road, or lack thereof, my response was, “Hell NO!” I didn’t even have a clue how to get over the next two small hills. It was apparent a washout had taken place.

We looked up in the ridge and saw a white pickup trip. Jennifer walked up to talk to him to find out what was ahead. (This is when I should have taken more pictures of the washout.) First thing she asked him is if he rode. She was hoping he would ride the bikes through it for us. No such luck. We were on our own.

Again, I will remind you of who is on this trip. Me. Brand new to riding off road and my sister who had been riding for about ten months. If gender or age makes a difference to you, we are women in our 50s. We had to figure this out!

Poet Lover is an extraordinary bike! He can get over anything - if the riders knows what they are doing. In that situation, I didn’t. My Superhero Sister rode my bike to safer ground. Then she went back to do the same with hers. In the meantime, the man in the truck told me to ride the bike up a bit further while waited to make sure she made it over. I did not like being out of radio range from Jennifer. I figured the best thing I could do was go park my bike up by the sign where he suggested.

I did. I put my kickstand down and glanced at the sign, “ROAD CLOSED: Unsafe for Travel”. My brain shut down and I climbed off the wrong side of the bike. Know what happens when you do that? The bike falls over.

Jennifer came into view. Bike still lying on the ground leaking gas. She is crying because she did something she didn’t think she could. My emotions are catching up with me. And she sees the bike on the ground. She didn’t even have time to revel in her accomplishment before she had to come to my rescue. Again.

She rode two bikes through the washout. One of them loaded down with the majority of our gear making it super heavy.

Me? I made it through about 1/10th of it.

Let’s recap what my sister, the Superhero just did. The road was closed. She rode not one, but two bikes through it. Overriding anxiety and doubt with a “gotta do it” and “I CAN do it. Successfully.” attitude. And then she helped me pick up my bike. Seriously, is my sister the best or what?!

As a mishap tends to do to me, I slowed down. I started walking up switchbacks that I would have ridden up the day before. “You were going 25 on roads like this yesterday.” Whatever. I just wanted to get to Wenatchee and stop for the day.

After the crazy washout, Jen made the decision it was a good night for a hotel. The evening brought assistance to find a room in the form of another rider, brick oven pizza, purchases at a super dope bookstore, a walk along the riverfront, and a walk in search of a charger cable.

We are owning our todays...and our tomorrows. We are living. Our Epic Adventure continues...

WABDR Section 2: Part 2

2019-07-13T22:54:00.001-04:00

SECTION 2: Part 2

“What is that smell?” Jennifer asked. She would have to remind me of our mishaps yesterday. However, when in the wilderness with no particular way to deal with it, one must apply the mantra to it. “F-it! We will be at Tinder Kevin’s by this afternoon. I bet he will let you use his shower.”

See what I did there? You forgot all about my pants and are wondering who Tinder Kevin is. I do the online dating thing from time to time. I have met some fun people and told Jennifer about it. She decided to give Tinder a try to see if she could find someone to “redneck” with. In the few hours she was on it, she met Kevin who lived outside Ellensburg. It was the perfect place for us to camp at the end of the day. (We will come back to that part of the story later.)

Goal in mind, we ate some more oatmeal, packed up camp, and headed on our way. Because every day we have to have a bit of a challenge, Jen’s bike did not start. She tried a few times before it finally caught. We were on our way once again.

The views were absolutely beautiful! This might be a good place to let you all know about my big fear. Heights. Heights cause me tremendous anxiety. Not only heights, but steep downhills as well. Come to find out, when bumpy roads are part of a steep hill on a mountain, it intensifies the effect the height has on me.

I heard Jennifer’s voice through the intercom. “It is beautiful. You can see all the mountains.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I proclaimed and gave a nervous giggle.

“Find a place to stop. You have got to see this!”

I was not thinking at all of the beautiful views. I was dealing with bumpy roads and steep downhills. What is the best way to control one’s bike in that situation? Walk it, of course! That is exactly what I did. It wasn’t a big deal. They were short. I just put my feet on the ground and played with my front brake and clutch until I got to a place where I felt comfortable picking up speed again.

**No pictures here. We never did find a place to pull over on this portion.**

In the meantime, Jennifer was pretending to be Graham Jarvis. (For those of you who don’t know who he is, neither do I really. From what I understand he is a dualsport god. Apparently, “that boy can balance”.) My speed varied from walking it to maybe 13mph. She is used to riding at much higher speeds. Riding with me gave her the opportunity to balance in a variety of ways. Standing up. Sitting down. Going around a curve. Going downhill. Going over bumps. Shifting while standing. You get the idea. Graham Jarvis may be her dualsport god. She is mine.

Eventually, we got to better road. As in, I was more comfortable going faster than 15mph. The trail took us right to a gate. Opening gates to go through felt rather badass. We didn’t have to open one, but two!

We were back on tarmac! Any stress I had immediately dissipated even thought the mud on my mirror had not. Epic Adventure Playlist once again the soundtrack of our cruising.

I was pretty excited to think we would be on highway for the rest of the day. Silly me to think such a thing! We had asphalt for a few miles before it turned into a dirt thoroughfare. The difference with this one is that it was a state road which meant it was wide and smooth, which meant that I could look around and enjoy the scenery. And it was beautiful!

In no time we were back in civilization. Just in time for lunch! A sandwich at Jimmy John’s gave us the sustenance we needed. We chatted with the family next to us as we watched the clouds get darker. Again.

Before heading to Tinder Kevin’s house, Jennifer wanted to have my bike checked out to be sure it was safe. We found a Powersports store just as we felt a few drops of rain.

“Can I help you?” The salesman asked. Jennifer told him about my crash. They walked out together to check it. I wandered around checking at the bikes. Unlike the Team Powersports store back in NC, this one had mostly bikes meant for off-road. They made it back in just as the sky let go a downpour. We made ourselves comfortable and sat out the storm. Finally, the sun came back out and we were on our way once more.

In no time we pulled into Tinder Kevin’s. We parked our bikes in front of his RV, which was his current house while he was building a new house. When I thought I had been polite long enough, I asked to use his shower. This is what I had been waiting for all day!! It made no difference that we did not bring shampoo with us and a bald man had no need of. I washed away the crash of yesterday from my body and my pants. Feeling fresh and clean, I put on my shorts, long socks, and hoodie. Meanwhile, Jennifer was all about rinsing the mud off our bikes….and my riding pants before she jumped in the shower and enjoyed the luxury of soap and water.

Let’s talk about Kevin, host extraordinaire. We happened to arrive in time for a cookout with a few of his friends. Highlights of the evening included:

Opening a wine bottle with a screw and vice grips in the absence of a corkscrew

Elk burgers, deer sausage, and other yummy food

Patching the holes in the tent with duct tape

A group picture that only took ten minutes to take

Of course there were many more memories made that night, but you will need to get yourself a copy of the book to learn more about that. Kevin really was an incredible host. He insisted we sleep inside on his pullout couch rather than out in the cold tent. Jennifer was kind enough to remind me of the rules: 1) Wear clothes to bed and 2) No touching her. We slept well and woke up to Kevin cooking us breakfast. Soon we were headed to our next destination.

But first a side trip to an old segregated cemetery. (Yup, more on that in the book.)

As for Tinder, while neither one of us are still on it, Jennifer would still like someone to “redneck” with her. Me? I am looking for my next adventure.

WABDR, Section 2: Part 1

2019-07-12T15:36:00.002-04:00

WE GET ON THE TRAIL, finally

WABDR Section 2

It has taken forever to get to this part of the story, but we are finally here! The day we go off-road. But first, we go into Packwood in hopes of getting a first-aid kit that we realized we forgot the previous evening. No first-aid kit was to be found. Mostly because the one store that we figured would have one was closed. If you read the second installment of this story, you already know our response. (For those who didn’t read it, we dubbed this the F-it Trip.) We would figure it out as we went along. The way we handled it was to have a good breakfast and charge up our intercom system.

As we rode down the road to get to the trail with our music playing, I felt as if we were straight out of Easy Rider...except much more badass. After all, we were going off-road. Pretty sure the big, wide, bug-catching grin on my face didn’t look so tough though.

White Pass went on for awhile. The clouds looked a bit ominous. I paid it no mind. After all, we rode in rain before, albeit on street bikes. We stopped for a hot chocolate before realizing we didn’t want to waste time drinking, we wanted to be on the trail! After snapping a few pictures, we were on our way once again.

However, we stopped a few minutes later for another photo op at a waterfall.

Finally, we were on the trail! Any anxiety I had disappeared. My two days of practice prepared me for this! Section 2. The most difficult section of the WANDR! Once again, the bug-catching grin was back on my face. That was about the time we realized the tent was too close to the exhaust. A burn hole went right through the dry bag and burned a hole (actually a few) in the tent. Jen worked on the load while I took pictures of the beauty surrounding us.

I should note here that it was a brand new tent. We slept in it once...you already know our response. F-it! We dealt with it by putting the tent on Jen’s bike and putting the backpack with emergency supplies - minus the first aid kit on my bike. Pretty sure that made my bike a bit heavier. After all, the oil alone in the bag had to weigh more than the tent. No worries. Now that I had some miles under my belt, the extra weight was no big deal. Meanwhile, Jennifer enjoyed the few ounces less she carried.

Once again, we were on our way. Adrenaline still flowed even as we watched the clouds get darker and closer. Only a few miles to our gas stop and we would figure out our next move.

It had been awhile since I saw old school gas pumps. You know the kind where you have to go in and pay?

“They say there will be a storm at 3 and one at 4,” the lady at the register told Jen. As it was close to 3, we decided to hang there for a little bit. Sure enough, at 3:00 on the dot, the rain came. It was pretty steady for the next half hour. We used the time to eat a gourmet lunch of jerky and trail mix.

“The rain stopped. Ready to get back on the trail?” I honestly don’t recall who suggested it. Probably Jennifer. She is always ready to ride.

“The other rain storm hasn’t come yet. F-it! We’ll figure it out.”

My confidence continued to be fueled by the adrenaline of the excitement that I WAS REALLY DOING THIS!! ME!! We rode through puddles. I kept my line avoiding tire ruts. It started to rain again. Rain spots covered my goggles making it difficult to see. I continued to handle the slipperiness of the mud going at a good pace. (I should probably tell you all what a good pace means in my world of riding off-road. On this particular day, around 20mph. Although, Jen might tell you it was slower.) An uphill with big ruts was no issue for me….until it was. Close to the top of the hill, I slipped into the rut and went down. Hard.

You know when you get scared you pee your pants a little. Yah, that happened. I wasn’t too terribly concerned about it. After all, I had a panty liner on (remember, we are wearing them so we didn’t have to change our underwear as often) and I was sitting in a mud puddle.

“You okay?” Jen asked.

“I will be. My leg hurts. Give it a minute.” Even as I am saying this both of us are thinking it...WE HAVE NO FIRST AID KIT!

The rain continued to come down as we picked up the bike. While I worked my leg to get it working again, Jen checked out the bike. Tools out, she fixed the throttle. Mud had jammed it up somehow. Mountains with a jammed throttle would not be good! I stood covered in mud in awe of the woman she is.

Bike fixed, we got back on and continued on our way. I was much more cautious. Even walked through a few ruts. My confidence had taken a hit. I wasn’t feeling another crash.

Everybody talks about Baby Head Hill in Section 2. When Jennifer told experienced riders a brand new rider was going on this trip with her, it was recommended that we bypass it. She did ask if I wanted to give it a try. Ummmm….NO!

What they didn’t tell her is there are other similar, short hills. Think rocks the size of baby’s heads. The tires on the bike are not made to throw these rocks out. Instead, the bike bounces the rider all over. It is not uncommon for a bike to go down when riding these rocks. We came upon one of these hills. Still fresh from my crash, it took everything in me to even attempt it. After being bounced in a way that felt less like a lover leading the way (see part 2 for an explanation) and more like an abusive partner, tears welled.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Are you sure this isn’t Baby Head Hill?” I was talking more to myself than my sister.

Jennifer was talking to me. Attempting to give me instructions on how to get up the hill. I am not sure how I did it. Somehow, I made it about ¼ of the way up before stopping. I had nothing left. My reserve was gone. Emotions took over. The sliver of confidence was smothered. Frustration. Self-doubt. Hopeless. Failure. I was done. I stopped dead.

“You want me to ride it up for you?” She knew I had nothing left. The “yes please” I responded with was barely audible in an effort to hide my tears.

“Let me get my bike to somewhere more level so I can park it.”

She was riding up this Hill from Hell, but got a bit too close to the edge so she put her foot down to assist her with balance the rest of the way up. This is where I would like to tell you, she rode the rest do the way up like a champion. Unfortunately, that was not the case. Even superheroes have mishaps. Her boot got caught on the peg and she couldn’t get it unstuck quick enough to recover. You know where this is going. Her bike went down.

I had no choice but to tap into my inner strength and help her get the bike up. Take a moment to pause as you realize the following. We are two women in our 50s. Our adrenaline was tapped into not too long before. She is carrying the majority of weight on her bike. As in it is HEAVY! Like, REALLY heavy. It is on the middle of a hill. We tried several different ways to get it up. Not once did we think of taking anything off the bike. Sister power united and we got the bike up.

Remember, we are in our 50s? As tends to happen to women when they get older, strain and bladder control do not go together well. My panty liner did not give the protection I hoped for as we lifted the bike. If I had anything left in me to continue to the end of Section 2 that day, it was now gone.

As I walked up the Hill from Hell still wearing my helmet, backpack, and all my other gear, I no longer felt invincible. I began questioning my ability to complete this trip successfully.

We took a few minutes to enjoy our surroundings (or pull ourselves together as the case may be) before setting up camp at the top of the hill. I watched my superhero sister as she fixed my bike once again. (I think she was checking on the throttle again.) I set up the tent and pretty much turned into a zombie while she made the most delicious meal ever...instant oatmeal.

Hanging out on the side of a mountain in the middle of nature, we made a new rule when we realized I didn’t get pictures of the hill (the one you see, I took in the morning...from the top), anytime we feel emotional, we need to stop and take a picture.

I sit here in awe of that day. It was the beginning of the different ways our inner strength would be needed for this trip. I can’t imagine doing it with anyone else.

WABDR: Castle Rock to Packwood

2019-07-11T17:04:00.000-04:00

DAY 1: Castle Rock to Packwood

Bikes loaded. Pictures taken. Music playing. Finally, it was time to get on the road. Yes, I said road. While many people will trailer their bikes to get to the trail, we rode the two hours to get to the start of the BDR. We paid no attention to the darkening clouds off in the horizon. We were doing this! Our epic adventure had officially begun!

I don’t know how many of you have ridden a tiny bike with no windshield on the road going the speed limit. Let me just say, it is very different than riding a cruiser down the road. Not to mention the racing helmet I wore. Bike shaking. Head thrown back. Full on wind in my face even through the googles. Smile frozen on my face. Like really frozen. It was COLD! We watched the gray clouds roll in and laughed. A little rain wasn’t going to stop us! But, damn, it was cold! Another layer was needed.

We stopped in Mossy Rock at a gas station to add a layer. As we were adding more clothing, a car drove up to us. “Where you guys headed?”

“Packwood. Going to ride the BDR.”

“You might want to wait a bit. I just came from that way. A major storm hit. Parking lots are flooded. I ride also. Don’t want you to get caught in that.”

“Thanks! Do you know of any hotels or campgrounds in the area?” My sister asked.

We weren’t even at the beginning of the trail and here we were talking about stopping for the night. Ugh!

A man pumping gas spike up, “There is a campground nearby. I live there. You can follow me.”

Jennifer and I looked at each other, “Why not?”

We followed Omar back to his campsite, parked our bikes by the olive trees, and learned a little about Omar’s experiences riding through the world on a dualsport bike. All the while, we waited for the office to open so we could get a campsite. It didn’t. We grew impatient. Looked like the rain let up, so on we went after showing gratitude to Omar for his philosophy of spreading kindness when given the opportunity.

We arrived in Packwood in time for dinner, which meant the local saloon and conversation with some locals. We had a decision to make. Get on the trail or set up camp for the night.

We chose to camp at La Wis Wis Campground in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest. We set up camp right near the river. It was absolutely gorgeous!

Because the clouds still looked dark, we stowed our boots under the picnic table. We were in bed before the sun set...me in the tent, Jennifer all snuggled up in her hammock.

Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, it began to rain causing Jennifer to join me in the tent. I was back asleep in no time.

Unbeknownst to me, there was quite a storm in the middle of the night. I heard none of it. However, I experienced the effects in the morning...everything was wet. And by wet, I mean we dumped water out of Jennifer’s boot.

The only way to dry it was to ask our neighbors if we could use their fire for a bit. Not only did they get the boot dry, they gave us some blueberry cake as well, which was especially nice after we realized a rodent of some sort got into Jennifer’s trail mix.

Wet boots. Rodents and trail mix. Damp everything. It was time for this trip to start for real. A quick trip back to town for breakfast and finally, we were ready for the trail.

WABDR: Preparations

2019-07-10T15:28:00.000-04:00

PREPARATIONS AND PACKING

I know you are ready to hear about this epic adventure of ours. Believe me, I was ready to hop on my bike (I named her Hanaa, meaning “happiness, joy, and peace”) and go. But before one is ready to go into the Wild, preparations need to be made.

Before I get into the preparations, let’s talk about the importance of naming your bike. My Shadow back home is named, Layla. I can hear you singing along to the song right now. That is exactly where her name came from, she eases my worried mind. Therefore, it was important for me to find the perfect name for the machine I would be spending the next couple of weeks with. Jennifer, my sister, had been calling it Lil Ripper. That name was not going to work for me. I saw the peace sign on the key chain and immediately started researching names meaning “peace, love, and happiness” - all necessary for life in my opinion. And I didn’t want to die on this trip. My thinking was a bit of peace, love and happiness would make it all the better. Thus, Hanaa was born... Until it was suggested to me to think of my bike as my lover. Let him dance under me and move in rhythm with him. I am an open person. However, this was not the time for me to experiment with a female lover. One new experience at a time was quite enough. Hanaa transitioned into Poet Lover. (There is a poem in that for another time.)

Back to the preparations….the living room began to fill up with all that we would need for the trip. Shopping and to-do lists were written...and rewritten as we watched the mound of our supplies grow. I had no idea where it was all going to go. I had the utmost trust that Jennifer knew what she was doing.

To do:

Enroll in Life Flight insurance

I did this while sitting in a bookstore down the road from my sister’s house. That was about the time I started freaking out. I was in over my head! I had no business thinking I could ride a dirt bike (I know, a dual sport bike, but dirt bike is so much more familiar) through the mountains. Seriously! What what I thinking?!

Pick up the CRF

Jennifer was having a Trail Tech put on it. Whatever that meant. I just figured it was a fancy GPS.

Change the oil in the CRF

You would think if we were going to have somebody do it, it would have been done the same time as the Trail Tech. That is not how we operate. The plan was for Jen to change the oil herself. (She is really good like that with mechanical stuff. Not me!) The night before we were to leave come and brought rain with it. The desire to do it herself was no longer there. Back to the shop to get it changed.

Grocery Store

Trailmix - didn’t want to go hungry on the trail

Panty liners - don’t need to bring as much underwear

Top roast - to make our own jerky

Sportsman’s Warehouse

**It is important to note that we were at Sportsman’s Warehouse no less than 3 times in two days. Sam the Salesman saw us come in and immediately greeted us by name.

Knife - got to protect ourselves from wild animals

Yellow sunglasses for Jen - something about the shadows or some such thing. I wore goggles

Pocket Rocket - the first time I heard this term, I thought it was something dirty. Come to find out, it is a small, powerful propane heater used to make oatmeal and coffee on those cold mountain mornings. .

Hammocks and straps - just the thought of relaxing in a hammock had me super excited!

Sleeping bag - there was much talk about whether to get one or not. Finally, it was decided we would. The toughest part of the decision was what temperature range to focus on. We decided on 30 degrees.

Air wicking shirt - I have no idea if that is what it is called. The goal was to have a shirt that would keep me warm or cool depending on what my need was.

Lighter - It was doubtful we would use this as we did not want to be known for starting the forest fire of 2019.

WABDR Maps - You would think we would already have these, right? Jennifer had maps hanging on her wall for the past six months. She even studied them as she devised the plan for our epic adventure. It was only a couple days before we left that she noticed they were the wrong ones. Unfortunately, Amazon does not have immediate delivery service so we were dependent upon the postal service. Fingers crossed they came before we left.

Pack the first aid kit

Bahahahahaha! Somehow this was overlooked. More on that in a couple of days.

Bring tools, fix-a-flat stuff, etc…

Remember when I said I am not mechanically inclined? I really have no idea what she packed here.

Finally, we had everything we needed gathered up. Time to pack the bikes. On Jennifer’s bike was: the horseshoe dry bag (containing a personal bag for each of us, the food, and the hammocks), a backpack of emergency supplies - except for the first aid kit, and a full thing full of gas.

I carried the sleeping bags and tent.

About the time we left, Jennifer made the comment, “We really should have practiced with a full load. Whatever. Fuck it. We’ll figure it out.”

From that moment on, our epic adventure became known as the “Fuck it” trip.

Epic Adventure: Riding the Washington BDR

2019-07-09T23:52:00.003-04:00

PROLOGUE

“Hey Mandie, let’s ride the TAT (TransAmerican Trail) on dual sports bikes next year!” my sister, Jennifer, suggested.

“Sure!” I was quick to agree. She lives on the West coast, I live on the East. Any chance to spend together, I was going to take it.

This is a good place for me to mention I had no idea what a dual sports bike was. She has been riding a variety of motorcycles for about 40 years. Me? Me and my 750 Shadow, Layla, had put on about 40,000 miles in the five years I have been riding. She puts on that kind of mileage in a month.

A few months later, Jennifer decided the Washington BDR (Backcountry Discovery Route) would be a better fit as it was shorter and a bit easier. I was cool with it. I was in it to spend time with my sister. It was no big deal to me where we did it. Over the next few months, she purchased a bike for the both of us and outfitted it for our epic adventure. And then she practiced every weekend until I arrived.

I would tell people what I was doing. Nobody knew what a dual sports bike was. Neither did I, really. To me it was a dirt bike with lights and mirrors. Really, how different could it be from riding my bike? When I said that, people would look at me and shake their heads.

Finally, I boarded the plane from NC to WA, suitcase packed with the whole three outfits I would be wearing for the next three weeks.

TRAINING

It was three days before I even laid eyes on the bike I would be riding. All that anxiety I had about being too short to get my leg up over the bike disappeared as soon as I straddled her. Immediately, a smile lit up my face for the adventure that was to take place in just a few days.

Anybody who has done any kind of riding knows there is safety equipment you should always wear. The off-road variety is big and bulky. The only part I brought with me were the gloves. Luckily, Jennifer was able to outfit me with boots, a jacket, and a helmet. I was now ready to train.

My teacher was my sister Jennifer who has been riding dual sports for a little under a year. My first lesson consisted of doing figure eights in the church parking lot. They were a bit longer and wider than one would hope for. But, standing and riding?! I caught on quickly...when going straight.

I soon graduated to riding a big circle in the cemetery. “Ride in a loop. Don’t ride over any of the graves.”

The fact we were riding in a cemetery was not lost on me. In an instant, this trip became real. Were these tombstones a sign of my impending death? I kept my thoughts to myself as I continued to ride the loop avoiding riding over the final resting places of strangers. Feeling confident with my riding abilities, it was time for my next lesson. The river.

My first real experience with gravel. I avoid it at all costs on my Shadow. On the dual sports bike, it was fun! In no time I was going 25 and feeling the wind in my face.

“You’re doing great! Keep your head up and follow a line. Your bike will follow.”

Jennifer let me lead the way although, asking me to slow down from time to time. She kept saying something about clutch control. Whatever. I was having a ball! My only goal was to avoid going into the river. I am happy to say, I succeeded! The day’s lesson ended on a high note.

As most learning goes, the next day the lesson was leveled up. Enter the assistant teacher, my nephew Jeffery. Both he and my sister took me back to the river. This time, it was a different part. From gravel to sand. Let’s talk about riding in sand. There is no traction to be had.

“The best way to handle sand is to roll the throttle.” I was advised.

I have no idea how I didn’t go down in the sand, but somehow I made it. There was also some practice on tire ruts. At one point, I crushed my ankle when I got it too close to the side of the hill. I ignored the pain and kept riding. Apparently, I passed because it was time to level up once more.

Jennifer and Jeffery talked of a difficult hill. I paid little mind to it. After all, I nailed the river! The trail on the powerline was pleasant. It was suggested that I ride in the front. I passed on that. There is no way I wanted to feel the pressure of people behind me. Therefore, Jeffery took the front, I rode in the middle, and my sister took the rear. It was a beautiful ride. And then the hill came….

I had been warned that it was rocky and if I took it slow I would be okay. I was super proud when I got to the bottom of the hill...only to find out, it wasn’t THE hill. The next hill intimidated me right away. However, when one doesn’t know any better, one makes it happen, albeit slowly. The majority of the time, my legs were straddling the bike walking it down the hill while Jeffery waited at the bottom and Jennifer patiently followed behind me. A big sigh of relief could be heard as soon as I hit the bottom of the hill.

“Congratulations! You made it!” Jennifer told me.

The ride went into slow motion about that time. I gave it some gas. Immediately, the bike jerked. I remember telling my hand to turn the other way. But, no, I went right for the whiskey throttle with no idea in my head about how to stop the bike. I saw the tree approaching and knew ther was no way I was going to be able to avoid it. I proceeded to crash hard into a tree. The bike fell on my thigh making it impossible for me to get out from under it.

“Will somebody get this bike off of me?” I yelled to my teachers.

“Jamie, get the bike off Mandie!” My sister yelled.

It is important to note here that Jeffery, her son, was the one who was with us. My brother, Jamie, is who she was calling to. Jamie was no where near us. As a matter of fact, he was back home on the East coast.

“Jamie, get that bike off her! Hurry up!!”

“Call me by my right name. My name is not Jamie!”

Feeling the weight of the bike on my leg I yelled, “Can we figure out your name after you get it off my leg?”

Soon the bike was up and we were ready to get back to the lesson. We continued on our way. Gravel roads were the next part of our trip. We continued on them until we got to a beautiful viewpoint.

No more mishaps. We headed home by way of the bike park. I passed on the opportunity to ride around. I wasn’t going to push it. I was done for the day.

Because we were going to embark on a mountain adventure in a couple of days, Jen thought it would be prudent to take me on a ride around Mount St. Helens. It was on this ride that I realized heights might be an issue on this trip. Mainly, the anxiety I feel when I have to deal with them.

It was a beautiful day for a ride. A bit overcast, but the weather was nice. Until we started going uphill. It got cold quickly! I was handling it all rather well….until the freshly laid gravel came. Do you know why gravel does to a bike? It bounces it all over he place! So much so that I thought for sure I was going to fall off. So I did what one does when feeling out of control, I slowed down….waiting for the gravel to end. Five miles that gravel went on. Each gravel laden hill getting steeper and steeper.

“Do we come down this same way?” I asked Jen through the intercom system.

“Yup!”

Seriously?! I am going to have to ride DOWN those steep hills on gravel?! I dreaded it, but quickly put it out of my head to focus on my riding. Keeping my line so I would not see how close the edge was.

At the top, we relaxed for a bit and drank some water. We also practiced relieving ourselves on the side of the trail. I was thankful for all those squats I did before this trip!

As we know, what goes up, must come down. I was filled with dread and anxiety about going down. It might be important to note here that there is a fine line between the speed I pick up when going downhill and the sense of control I have. I slowed it down a bit until I became impatient. Even in the gravel, I found my line and rolled back the throttle. I was so proud of myself for hitting 25mph!

My first 80 mile day was in the bag! I was ready for the BDR!

An Easter Lesson

2018-04-01T20:43:00.001-04:00

I decided that this break I was going to stay home and spend the week doing things I have not done or haven't done in awhile. It all began Thursday night with Ballroom Dancing, which will continue on Monday and Thursday with lessons. Saturday, I bought a couple of new outfits. Today brought both something I hadn't done in awhile and something new.

Today, I went to church which was pretty cool in itself. I went with someone I just met the day before. (I am sure that is no surprise to any of you who know me.) We made plans to meet up at church. It was different from any church I had been in before. The chairs were set up "in the round." There was no piano or organ to accompany our singing. People were in and out throughout the 90 minute service. No surprise, the place was packed. The service was your typical protestant service, minus the organ, of course.

It had been awhile since my friend had been to church. Many in the congregation flocked to him at the end to give him a big hug and let him know how much he was missed. I was introduced to each one and greeted with a warm and welcoming smile and handshake. Several times we were invited to the transitions dinner. I had no idea what it was, but when my friend asked if I wanted to go, I was all for it. I have spent the last several holidays alone for the majority of the day. While Easter is not on the same "alone" caliber as Thanksgiving and Christmas, I was pretty excited to have the opportunity to spend it with other people.

The Church of Christ knows how to minister with its heart! The Transitions Dinner does not just happen on holidays. It happens every Sunday. All are welcome. However, the guests of honor are those from Healing Transitions, "a peer-driven long term residential home with the purpose of empowering people who are homeless and suffer from substance abuse transition to a fulfilling life." Where the dinner is rotates each week. Easter dinner for me included traditional Easter fixings of ham, green beans, and potato salad along with the opportunity to meet some amazing people. Doing activities with people I have never met before is nothing new to me. As it always does, it energized me in a great way.

What was new for me today was attending the AA meeting that followed dinner. Some had been in the program for several years, while others were still in the beginning stages. I was humbled as I listened to their stories focused around the theme of forgiveness. The most prevalent struggle was about the difficulty that comes with forgiving oneself. "The more you forgive others, the easier it becomes to forgive yourself."

I sat in contemplation, thinking about all the work I have done on myself the last six years. Wondering if there were people I still needed to forgive. All of a sudden, it hit me like a freight train. I survived sexual abuse. I continue to struggle with the ramifications of it in my relationships with men. I have read self-help books. Spent time in counseling. Shared my story. Filled several journals. The one thing I haven't done is forgiven the men who took advantage of me.

I often wonder why my man has not come along yet. Pretty sure there is one thing left to do before I will be ready. It took doing something new by attending an AA meeting for me to see the light. Just goes to show, if you are open to the lesson, it will come.

It happened again. 17 dead.

2018-02-15T19:05:00.003-05:00

It happened again. 17 dead.

I heard about the latest school shooting while at school. My stomach fell as I read the subject line of my email, unwilling to open it up and learn the particulars. The lock down drill we did at school the day before still fresh in my mind. "Ms. Robertson, what's going on?" Sixth graders don't often pay close attention to the words coming over the intercom. She just heard "lock down" and knew what she needed to do. I heard the fear in her voice. "It's just a drill," I told her. Immediately, her body relaxed. During the five minutes or so a drill takes, the scenario that goes through my mind is what would I do if it was not a drill.

Yesterday, at Stoneman Douglas High School, it was not a drill. I cannot even imagine the chaos that ensued once it was realized that the fire drill was more about killing than saving lives. 17 students and teachers combined lost their lives yesterday at the hands of a broken young man who just wanted to kill. I do not want to spend any time talking about him or the reasons behind it. Instead, I want to share my story. That of a teacher no longer wondering if something like this "could" happen at my school, but rather, "will" it happen.

I remember Columbine like it was yesterday. The video of the students fleeing the school are forever etched in my memory. I was a teacher for students in a behavioral classroom at the time. It was a horrendous event that was worlds away from my little classroom in rural Maine. I was no stranger to violent students. In only five years of teaching, I had experienced a knife being held to my throat, broken up fights between students twice my size, and endured profanities being slung my way. Even as I saw the memorials on television, it didn't seem real.

Fast forward to Sandy Hook. I learned about that school shooting at school when I walked into the teacher's room and saw one of my colleagues in tears. Her sobs still ring in my ears as she told me about the five and six year olds who were shot. I cried along with her even as I questioned why someone would kill innocent children. I later learned some of the stories behind the faces, like the teacher who sacrificed her life by telling the gunman her students were at gym.

There have been many school shootings in between the two. Yet, it is the two mentioned above that will be with me forever. Sitting here writing this, I realized I made connections with people from both schools after the tragedies. In 2008, I worked with Craig Scott, the sister of Rachel Scott killed at Columbine, on a short film he was making about bullying. I never did see the film. However, to be part of his healing process will stick with me forever. A couple of years ago at an Ultimate Life Summit, I met Jack Wellman, 2013 Sports Illustrated Kid of the Year, who used to mentor one of the kids that was killed at Sandy Hook.

I have no connections that I know of to anyone affected by yesterday's school shooting. And, yet, I have turned quiet and morose in a way I didn't for the other shootings. Tonight, on my walk, I sat by the lake. Still and silent as the sun set. Thinking of so many whose lives have been changed forever. Tears flowed.

Teaching has always been a passion of mine and continues to be so, but I have grown tired. It goes without saying that teachers are not treated as professionals the way many others with a degree are. I may not like it, but I accept it. What I do not accept is our children living in fear of if their school will be the next one targeted. Something needs to be done. I do not know what the answer is. I just know I will continue to love and comfort my students, even those who are not officially mine, but gravitate my way.

Forgiveness and Love

2018-01-22T21:37:00.000-05:00

I'm sorry.

Two little words that mean so much and can be so hard to say.

I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me.

I'm sorry I left our family.

I'm sorry my actions hurt you.

Oftentimes, I speak those two words waiting for "It's okay."

Even as they say it, I know it is not okay.

My actions caused hurt.

My actions created a chain reaction.

My actions caused you to want to hurt me.

Time passed.

"Hello"

A simple phone call changed everything.

We listened to each other.

A conversation of honesty.

A conversation of hurt.

A conversation of tears.

"I'm sorry."

Two simple words with a lifetime packed into them.

"I accept your apology.

I did not say it's okay because it wasn't.

I forgive you."

Her love poured directly into my heart

Even as the tears flowed.

I'm sorry.

Two little words that mean so much and can be so hard to say.

More time is needed to prepare the heart and ears of another I caused pain.

Until then, I will reach out in love.

#humpdaytext and Me

2018-01-17T19:28:00.002-05:00

Be true to you. It will bring joy to you and those in your presence. However, there will be times that putting your truth into action will bring inner turmoil. Do it anyway. Grow through it. Trust yourself. Do you and have a HUMPtastic day! 🐪🤔💞#humpdaytext

For the past two years, I have been writing Hump Day Texts every Wednesday. They began as a way to spread some sunshine to others. A way for me to stay positive in a difficult time in my life. In the beginning, I sent them out to about ten close friends. They now go out to over 100 people with plans to make it grow even more. I know some day they will reach over ten thousand people.

I am often asked if I write the texts or get them from somewhere. I write each and every one of them. Some weeks it is easier than others. When I sit down and listen to my truth, the words flow. You see, the texts have a tendency to mirror my world. Today's text was no different.

It is easy to live our truth when everything is going right. I don't think twice about being the only one on the dance floor or going out of my way to meet a stranger-no-more. The same can be said when the opportunity arises for a spontaneous adventure. It is when we go against our values, that the turmoil begins. That little voice inside of us asking, "What the hell do you think you are doing?" No matter how many times I tell it, "SHUT UP!" the argument continues. Turmoil takes over as my muscles tighten, my patience gets short, and the secrets get larger. Oh, did I mention the tears? Because there will be tears when one finally faces their truth.

The last few weeks have been tumultuous ones for me. Without going into details, I went against a rule I set for myself. In the beginning, it was a whisper, "Hey, you didn't want to do this, remember?" Whatever. I was having a good time. Shortly after the smiles, the turmoil started up again. A bit louder. Loud enough that I listened and walked away....for a little while. For, you see, there was such a draw to that good part, I just had to do it again. And so I did. Once again, the adrenaline coursed through my body. This time when I listened, there was a cacophony inside. In order to hear the message coming loud and clear, I had to speak my truth out loud to another person. Of course she said what I knew I had to do. After spending a few hours crying, I trusted me, knowing that just by letting it go, the woman I aspire to be was that much closer.

It has only been a couple of days since I listened to that voice and stopped the turmoil. Since then, I have questioned myself. I have cried. I have struggled with staying true to me. I know it will get easier in time. Until then, I will do me in such a way that I am a woman who embodies love and kindness. I will embrace all that is HUMPtastic that comes my way.

***

If you are interested in receiving #humpdaytext or know how I can get them out to more people, please email me at mandiev1@gmail.com,

The Christmas Ache

2017-12-26T20:25:00.000-05:00

Christmas. For many it is a joyful day filled with family and good food, for others it is a struggle to get through the day.

Yesterday was my final Christmas waking up in an empty house. I don't want to do it again. The 50 plus years of waking up super early to either sneak to the tree and open my stocking or hear my kids do the same has made the silence of Christmas morning unbearable. The last four years, I have been waking up to an empty house. I had invites this year from every member of my family. I declined them for a variety of reasons, which do not matter in this piece of writing. What matters is today I talked to people who also struggled through Christmas day.

When alone, one can get caught up in one's feelings and think they are the only one going through whatever it is. In this case, being alone on Christmas. The ache inside begins. The tears flow. It doesn't help that the Hallmark channel is playing the formulaic Christmas movies. You know the one. It takes place in a Christmas town somewhere with snow involved. The woman lives in the town running an inn, Christmas shop, or in charge of the Christmas parade. Man comes to town and is not ready to recognize her for the love of his life which she is sure to become by the end of the movie. Families are together dressed in their Christmas sweaters and drinking hot chocolate. Everyone is smiling and happy.

Yet in homes to those close to my heart, including my own, a different movie was playing. When I first woke up, I listened for the sound of my children opening their stockings. Silence. A couple of states over, a friend went through the motions knowing his mother would not be cooking their traditional Christmas dinner ever again. There would be no more buying the perfect present for her. Back in Raleigh, a woman my son's age found out her father has Stage 3 colon cancer and isn't expected to be alive for Christmas 2018. Her parents are from Romania. They celebrate Christmas on the old calendar. American Christmas is spent at her house around a tree she is proud to share with them. Only this year, she was robbed two days before Christmas. Not only was her house ransacked, her tree was taken. In Maine, the roads were impassable. Grandparents and grandchildren stayed safely cocooned at home. Presents left under the tree wrapped. The ache growing inside.

Similar stories are told all over. Military spouses hoping for a phone call from their loved one. Divorced parents waiting anxiously for it to be their turn to celebrate Christmas. The many who have lost homes this year due to hurricanes and wildfires. The homeless who may find some holiday spirit in the shelter. In a random home, where one has nowhere to go. We can find people sharing the ache in hospitals, on the battlefield, in prisons, at work, and many other places.

I wish I had been able to get out of my feelings and think clearly at around 3pm when my ache began in earnest. Had I just taken a minute to think about other people instead of shedding tears, I would have reached out. There were so many ways I could have made my day better, and in turn someone else's. We are quick to buy toys for the Angel Tree and donate food before the big day. How many of us take a few minutes to make a phone call to a loved one we know is spending the day alone? Go to the local police station with a plate filled with Christmas dinner? Spend some time in a nursing home showing our elders that they are loved?

It is not too late to end 2017 by letting someone know they are loved. To who will you reach out?

My students need YOU

2015-09-03T16:57:00.003-04:00

It is the end of the school day and here I sit in my classroom. My goal was to get caught up on grading and lesson plans. Instead, I am thinking about how to give my students the same opportunities as those in more affluent communities. More specifically, access to computers.

I taught a class today where they needed to use the computer to analyze a few different types of media (an article, music video, and map). They were asked to synthesize the information and type a couple 10-12 sentence paragraphs answering two questions. There was no way the majority of them were going to finish it in class. Knowing that several do not have computers at home, I spent some time problem solving with them how to complete the assignment. I am not willing to accept it if it is handwritten. Why? Because if my students want to be able to compete in the academic world, they need to work through the challenges of accessing what they need. I will not dumb down an assignment because they do not have access to technology at home. Instead, I tell them I believe in them and start looking for options with them.

I think back to my time teaching at a charter school. The private school I taught at had a similar dynamics. The majority of students had more than one computer at home, along with internet, smart phones and a plethora of other technology. They knew they were going to succeed. Their parents would see to that. Now, I teach in a Title 1 school with a reputation of low performing students with bad behavior. I see so much more in my students. I see the desire to learn. The pride of a job well done. I see their eyes light up when told they are being held to high expectations and we know they can reach it.

Yet, the issue remains...they do not readily have access to the technology needed to compete in the world today. So, rather than grade my papers and plan lessons, I sit here pondering. How can we bring them the tools along with enriching experiences to succeed not only in school, but life? We are ALL in this together. These are OUR kids. We are connected. My students, the teachers I work with, and you, my reader. We need to act.

Thus, I am asking for the following:

15 minutes of your time - I would like to set up Skype interviews with people in as many different professions as I can. Let's give them a window into the possibilities of what is out there for them.

Adult Mentors - Are you willing to correspond with a student about your career? Let them know what it takes to be successful at it? Check in with them from time to time? Please consider mentoring a 7th grade student. (All correspondence, to and from, will need to go through me until you are approved by my principal.)

Laptops - Do you have an old laptop that you don't use any more? It doesn't need to go online. It will be used for typing papers. Students would have the opportunity to sign it out for a night to complete work if necessary.

Ideas - Do you have ideas on ways to level the playing field? Please comment below or email me at mandierobertson@fcschools.net.

As I was sitting here typing this, I was reminded of a goal I had about five years ago. I wanted to leave the charter school to teach in an at-risk school where I could impact a students life in a very real way. At the time, I was thinking inner-city. Today, I realized the universe made it happen. Just wait, our students are going to do amazing things!!

My Brave New Voice

2015-07-20T20:35:00.000-04:00

I fully believe the Universe gives us what we need when we don’t even know we need it. Last week, I had the privilege of attending the Ultimate Life Summit. I saw students embrace the concepts of the 7 Mindsets and begin to live them. Every day, I was more and more inspired both in education and in my life. And then the Ultimate Life Summit collided with Brave New Voices. We had the privilege to attend a couple of workshops at the BNV national convention. I went to the workshops expecting to learn how to be a better teacher. Instead, it was a life-altering personal experience. It was so powerful, I felt compelled to write for a few hours afterwards. Healing from the ugliness that remained after abuse so many years later. I share a piece of it with you.

Devin

We stood in the circle following the path of our eyes

It was him

The same young man I had seen three times in the last 24 hours

Over 20 workshops, and here he was in the same room

Ready to do some “Finding of the ‘ing in Thing”

Our eyes locked

I knew he was about to be a part of my –ing

“Follow the path of your eyes”

Over 50 people in the room and he stood in my eye path

I walked over

He was taller than I remembered

The partner process continued

As I meditated on the message from the 7Mindsets morning class

“lean into it” when uncomfortable,

be in the moment.

Sitting,

waiting,

standing.

“Use your partner as a mirror. What do you see?”

I looked into his eyes

I saw myself as a young, eager teacher ready to change the world,

Believing in the system that is education.

Superimposed with an educator who has grown tired

The spark gone from her eyes

Cynical about those who make the rules

Slowly the veteran faded away and the teacher became a

World Changer once again

Stepping closer he continues

Looking into my eyes, me

Resisting the urge to step back, the room around us

Disappearing as I continued

Gazing back into his eyes

Looking for more of what was

Connecting us

Tears filled his eyes

Causing me to want to draw closer, to comfort

In that moment, our souls united

“What did you always want to hear from your parents that you never did?”

Thoughts of protecting what was hiding within disappeared.

“We are doing the best we can.”

“I love you.”

Words escaped my mouth and caused me to pause

The 5 year old me

Speaking the words, “I love you.”

“We are doing the best we can.”

Looking deep within our souls through the eyes of the other

The fissure of self-realization continued to grow

Slowly a tear trickled down my cheek.

Seeing only him

He seeing only me

Alone in the room

“We are doing the best we can.”

“I love you.”

Growing stronger each time I heard myself speaking it

Time stood still

Eyes locked on the other’s inner being

Weaving our souls together

Vulnerable

In the moment

Being

Waiting

Loving

Leaning into the moment,

Hearing the message we needed to hear

“We are doing the best we can” I told him

“I love you,” he assured me.

Embracing the shadows of my past and speaking to the little girl within

“I love you”

Transforming love from a dangerous enemy

Reaching out to me with kindness and compassion

Sheltering me from all the ugliness that I have known it to be in the past

A peace settled over me.

I looked love in the eyes and it met me with a long, warm embrace.

Armor of fat

2015-07-02T09:26:00.000-04:00

I have an armor of fat.

It protects me from the effects of my past...

or so I think.

I shed it from time to time

only to put it back on,

this armor of mine.

Time for it to go

To be taken off for good.

I know it needs to go piece by piece

A little at a time.

Yet, knowing is not doing.

It weighs me down,

Hiding me from Me.

The zipper is stuck.

What will it take to finally get it off?

I am in need of the help of another

To get the zipper started

So I can take off the rest

And be armor-free, lighter Me.

The Power of Secrets

2015-06-18T20:53:00.002-04:00

I recently wrote about how sexual abuse I experienced as a child impacted me as an adult. I was surprised at the number of people who called me brave because I spoke about it. It got me thinking about how powerful and destructive secrets can be. We keep things to ourselves because we are ashamed of them. Yet, by protecting the secret, we harm ourselves more. It is when we acknowledge our imperfections that the healing begins.

The day I wrote about how the abuse affected me something in me cracked open. It was not an easy day. I spent the evening sobbing for my lost innocence. I felt the weight of my uncle on me all over again. I heard the neighbor boy telling me what to do in the closet. I saw the man who date raped me ignore me when I said I didn’t want to have sex. All very real feelings. Raw emotions came forth as I felt like I was breaking into a thousand tiny pieces. Yet, with each tear I shed came a fragment of peace and light. Once the secret was out, the power of the past no longer held me prisoner.

We all have secrets. Secrets are prevalent in our society. We keep them to ourselves for fear of what will happen if we share them. We keep them because we are afraid of what other people will think of us. The longer we keep the secret, the longer we lie to ourselves. Regardless of the secret, alcoholism, cheating, sexual orientation, mental illness, or a myriad of others, they hold us hostage to experiencing true happiness and peace.

It is scary to make oneself vulnerable and show people the darkest parts of who we are. One has to find strength deep down to make that first step. The courage to embrace the feeling of being alone that accompanies the truth brings. The determination to leave the negativity of the secret behind. That gut-wrenching acceptance that it has held you hostage. The physical pain is real. It can be debilitating. It can feel like a heart-attack. It can leave you in tears for days or in bed for hours.

Just as real as the pain is the peace that follows. It takes time for wounds to heal. Letting go of secrets leaves gaping wounds. The wounds begin to close in a variety of ways. Sometimes one has the strength to apply first aid on their own. Healing can come through exercise, riding, meditation, spirituality, and a variety of other means. If we try to go at it alone, we often pick up another secret. Thus, the importance of asking for help. We are told all the time that it is okay to ask for help, yet many of us have great difficulty heeding our own advice. Something as simple as contacting a friend has helped me get through some tough stuff many times. And sometimes, friends are not enough. There is such a stigma around mental health issues, people often avoid it even when it could quicken the healing. I have the best therapist in the world. I often go months without seeing her. Sometimes, I keep secrets about what is going on with me. It is when I am able to let her see all the ugliness that hides within me that the real work happens.

The Japanese art of kintsugi uses gold powder to fix broken pottery. The belief is breakage and history are part of the object, rather than something to disguise. I find it more beautiful than an unblemished piece. Just as I find the beauty of the human race in the scars that result from the varying degrees of ugliness we all have endured.

Sexual Abuse....45 Years Later

2015-06-14T11:43:00.000-04:00

One in five girls is sexually abused. I am the one. I know I am not alone. Sexual abuse has messed with me in ways I am just now beginning to understand. Sexual abuse brings with it shame. It brings secrets. It brings questions. Today, it brought tears as I wrote about coming to terms with yet another part of how it has impacted my life. I contemplated keeping this one private. Instead, I am choosing the vulnerability of bringing you along on my journey of becoming the Me I want to be. If it helps just one person, it was worth it.

When I was five years old, my innocence was taken from me when my uncle lifted up my nightgown, laid on top of me and said, “This is what people do when they are in love.”

Needless to say, love scares the hell out of me. In less time than it took Sonny and Cher to entertain their viewers, the way I saw myself as a female was changed for 45 years. It took me years to acknowledge it was sexual abuse. It has taken even longer to identify and accept the ways that one act impacted my relationship with men. More importantly, my beliefs about Me.

I wasn’t worth better.

he moment he climbed on top of me, the seed of not being worth good things was born. That belief has bore much fruit over the past 45 years. After I had my son and began life as a single mother, I went on welfare so I could go to school and do something more with my life than the McDonald’s management position I was in. The welfare system does a good job making a person believe they are worthless. Food stamps. WIC. Section 8. Aid for Families with Dependent Children (AFDC). I accepted it all so I could reach my goal of graduating. (And I did. With honors.) For years, I believed my feelings of “I am not worth it” were born during that time. For years I did not acknowledge my uncle laying on top of me as sexual abuse. The more I accept the ramifications that happen as a result of sexual abuse, the more I understand that my feelings of not being worth nice things, a higher salary, being in love, etc. were ripped apart while Sonny and Cher played in the background.

Give a boy/man what he wants and he will like me.

I was a junior in high school when I had my first real boyfriend. He was a senior and had a car. Every day he would pick me up at the bus stop and take me to school. We held hands in the hall. I wore his class ring. We often did things together outside of school. However, I only remember one date. We went swimming at the local indoor pool. I was never big into swimming, but that day I wanted to swim. Instead, I was in the corner of the pool making out with him. There was an older couple in the pool looking at us. I could feel their eyes burning into me. I felt dirty; yet I did not know how to pull away. This feeling and behavior continued for years. I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted to be liked.

Love is dangerous.

I have had no less than five men propose to me in my lifetime, not counting the three when I was teaching in Uganda. I turned down all of them but one. I didn’t allow myself to fully love any of them. Walls only came down for those who could not love me back. And even then, it was only partial. I “loved” on my terms. That way I could protect the essence of Me. Yet, it didn’t protect me. It hurt me further as I had trouble believing in my self-worth. I settled for men who did not treat me as their number one.

Altering my body changes perceptions of me

Boobs

In high school I wore a 36DD and weighed 125 pounds. The sweater I wore in cheerleading was named the Mandie Sweater. For years after I left, the girl with the biggest breasts would get awarded the sweater. At the age of 21, I had a breast reduction. Six pounds of boobs gone just like that. At the time, I saw it as a way to get my back to stop hurting. I know now it was more. Since the time my breasts developed, they attracted males to me. My nickname in high school was Headlights. Boys would find reasons to rub up against me. The list goes on. The day before I got my reduction, I was waiting on a table at Friendly’s. The guy looked at my breasts as he said, “I will have a glass of milk….from you.” (I proceeded to spill said milk all over him. Oops.) After my operation, my breasts were no longer a focal point as often.

Fat

A year and a half ago I ran a marathon. As a result of all the training, I was at the lowest weight since I gave birth to my son 25 years previously. I felt good. I met the challenge of running 26.2 miles in less than five hours. And then I stopped running. The weight began to pile on. Here I am 20 months later. 25 pounds heavier. My armor is back on. I hide under a layer of fat. Back when I was training, I had lots of attention from men. Today, not so much. At least in my mind.

I spoke of all of the above in past tense. While it is in the past, I still struggle to overcome the beliefs that I held for the past 45 years. This I know to be true: I AM WORTH IT!

"Mom, slow down!"

2015-06-05T18:38:00.001-04:00

As Patti’s healing continues, it is sometimes not so easy to continue to find blessings in it. She is frustrated by her limp. A limp which slows her down and has people frequently asking her if she is okay. Yet, it is in her limp, that my blessing comes.

I tend to walk fast everywhere I go. Growing up, I often had the shortest legs in my group of friends. I learned how to take two strides in the time it took them to take one. At school, I speed walk through the halls to get to where I am going. I leave school right at 3:30 and usually go right home. I frequently stop to experience what is around me, but rarely slow down. I enjoy having my children along with me when doing things. In the past they have asked me to slow down. I had a tendency to get where we were going quickly and wait for them there. My feet just felt the need to move. And then Patti got hit by a car. The blessing of life and the ability to walk continue to be easy to identify. In the month since she has been hit, she has had many doctor’s appointments. With each one, I get out of the car and start for the door thinking she is right beside me, only to hear, “Mom, slow down. I can’t walk as fast as you.” I slow down and we walk in together.

The other night we went for a walk. Going for a walk usually means some sort of exercise to me. Thus, it is necessary to get my heartrate up. I stepped out of the house with her thinking we were heading on a short walk. Almost two miles later, we were back home. It took us an hour to walk the walk. Throughout the walk, I was reminded to slow down.

I have been thinking a lot about what it means to slow down lately. As with anything else, some days it is easier than others. Today, I found myself turning around on my way home in order to slow down and check out some botanical gardens I have been driving by for the past four months. I was expecting a ten minute walk around some gardens. Instead what I got was a beautiful hike and some time for me. 1.8 miles later I finished the Waterfall Trail only to discover there is another trail. (I believe that is the one where the flowers are.) I know I will be back next week to slow down and do some hiking.

I took a risk...

2015-06-03T21:47:00.001-04:00

It is funny how life has a way of bringing people into our life when we need them most. Even more so when we don’t know how much a random person we meet can have an impact on us. I have been thinking about her all night wondering about the next part of her story. A series of unplanned events lead me to her.

It had been one of those days at school when the contracted time to leave could not come soon enough. State testing, 7^th graders off the wall, and not enough time in the day to get done what needed to get done left me drained. Rather than run out to the nearest bar for a drink when the bell rang, I sat with a friend and colleague and chatted. Before we knew it, an hour had passed. We said our goodbyes and headed toward home for some relaxation.

The only thing I had to eat all day was a banana. I figured I would stop at Burger King on the way home for something to take the edge off the hunger pangs. I am not sure why Burger King was the chosen fast food joint. I had never stopped there before today. I ordered my Whopper Jr. meal and headed to the window. “We are waiting on your fries. It will be about two minutes. Can you pull up please?” Seriously? My father was coming in from Maine. I was hoping to be home before he got there. No biggie. It would give him time with the girls.

I sat playing on my phone with my window still open waiting for my fry delivery when I heard a voice say hello. I looked up to see a woman in disheveled clothing sipping on a super-sized soda. I gave her a smile and asked about her day.

“I am working to get back up and make my life something good.”

That is totally my thing! Disheveled, homeless, poor, whatever, I didn’t care. There was something about her that drew me in. I wanted to have a conversation with her. She talked about all the evil people that she had been around. Drug dealers, murderers, and child molesters among others. She talked of terrorists and the evil in the world. Where was the getting back up she mentioned earlier?

“What made you smile today?” My all-time favorite question to ask. I enjoy hearing people talk about what makes them happy. I figured the question was a good way to get her back on track of getting back up.

“Nothing. There are so many terrorists out there.”

“Lucky for you, we met! Meeting new people is a great reason to smile.”

She told me about her need to get to a doctor and get an upper GI test done. Maybe a lower GI test. Something was wrong. People had been shooting her up and she didn’t know what was in the needles. She just felt wrong. I began to realize that she was a bit was a bit off. Through our entire conversation, I keep looking at what appeared to be a piece of gauze hanging from below her shirt, as if the rest of it was wrapped around her abdomen.

“Is that what the bandage on your stomach is from?”

She lifted up her shirt to show me it was a belt. “No. This is my white belt. I am starting back at the beginning again.”

“Nothing wrong with starting at the beginning again.” I assured her.

The BK lady finally came out with my food. I was sad for our conversation to end, but I needed to get home to welcome my father. I started saying goodbye and wishing her well.

“Do you think you could help me?”

“What kind of help do you need?”

“Could you maybe give me a ride to a doctor? I think I need to go to Raleigh. That’s where the good ones are. I really thinking I need an upper GI test.”

For those of you who don’t know, I work in Louisburg. Raleigh is 30 miles down the road. I heard the voices of many of you in my head. Don’t let her in your car. She might have a weapon and she could kill you. Other voices chimed in. You need to get back and see your father. He has been traveling all day. Raleigh? Why Raleigh? She is mentally ill. God knows what she could do. You don’t have the time. What if she sucks you dry? The conversation in my head seemed to last an eternity. It became noisy. Negative. Fear began seeping in. And then I began listen to my soul. That part of me that leads with love.

“Sure.”

She got in the car. I reminded her to wear her seatbelt. As we continued our conversation, there was no doubt in my mind that she was mentally ill. I asked her if anyone would wonder where she was like family or friends. “I had a family, but I don’t know what happened to them.” She alluded to the fact that they might be dead. Later in the conversation, she became nostalgic and mentioned that her daughter would be 35. (She first clarified that it was 2016. I let her know it was 2015.)

“My name is Mandie. What’s your name?”

“I would rather not say it out loud. The terrorists might hear it and that would not be good.”

The conversation went on to everyday things. Hearing that I was an English teacher, she told me that she majored in English in college. Of course, any time English comes up in conversation, a discussion of books is not too far behind. I asked her about her favorite books. Withering Heights and Nancy Drew books. I loved Nancy Drew when I was a kid! We talked about the chances she took and the trouble she got into.

“I don’t know which of my government identities to use with the doctor.”

“Why don’t you use them all? That way, they can compile all the information and treat you in the best possible way to get you better. I am going to take you to an Urgent Care in Youngsville.” This woman was growing on me. I wanted her safe from the harm she believed was heading her way.

“Do you know them? Can I trust them? Will they take me away in a straight-jacket and put me in a padded room like they did my father?”

“I do know them. They will help you.” I hoped with all my heart what I said was true.

A few minutes later, I looked over to see her head down on her chest. She was sound asleep. Too soon, we were at the Urgent Care. She thanked me for my kindness as she got out of the car. We walked into the office together. I wanted her to know she was loved. That she mattered. She told the receptionist about needing the Upper GI test done. When she was told they could refer her to a specialist, I encouraged her to sit down and relax. I would tell them about the other symptoms she told me about. I told the receptionist about my observations.

“This is Angelica. She is going to take care of you.”

I gave her a hug and thanked her for being the wonderful person she was. I asked for her picture. I want to remember her. “Let’s take one together.” After taking our picture together, I gave her a big hug and headed home.

Sometimes it is the people we least expect who have a lasting effect on us.

Brain Injuries and Anxiety Attacks

2015-05-29T23:42:00.001-04:00

“I can’t close my eyes. I will die.” She told me as her breathing grew shallow.

“I can’t breathe. I am dying. Please tell my friends what happened.”

“Look at me. Breathe with me. In through your nose. Out your mouth.” I attempted to calm her by speaking quietly and rhythmically. Slowly her breathing became deeper.

“I just know I am going to die. What if I have a disease that is from another country and the cure is not in America yet? I don’t travel to other countries so I will die.” Again, I talked rationally to her hoping to ease her worry.

She continued to tell me she was going to die. No matter the rationale I used, she continued to be convinced that come morning, she would be dead. No matter the number of times I told her I would keep her safe, she was adamant that she was dying. No matter what I did or said, she knew she was going to die.

I would like to tell you that this is the beginning of a story I am writing. A piece of fiction. This is no piece of fiction. The anxiety attack taking place in my living room this evening was very real. I am told a brain injury can cause anxiety, along with other emotions, to be magnified. It has been a long evening. What did it take for her to be able to finally sleep? Holding hands and transferring my “healing love energy” to her. I will let our dialogue give you a peek into what it is like to observe a panic/anxiety attack and the helpless feeling that goes along with it.

“What makes you think you are going to die?” I asked her hoping to get a glimpse into what was going on for her physically in order to come up with a way to ease her suffering.

“I don’t know,” she cried. “My whole body hurts.”

The conviction that she was going to die continued as her voice grew more and more frantic. “You are having an anxiety attack. You will make it through this. Stick with me. Listen to me. We will get through it together.”

“I am dying.” She cried.

I casually gave her a pain pill hoping she would take it. Often she will put up with the pain to avoid taking medicine. Thankfully, she took the pill when I gave it to her.

“Come sit beside me. I want to hold your hand.” Her voice was reminiscent of when she was eight. The mothering instinct in me knew I had to give her what she needed. I sat down at the end of the couch as her hand reached for mine. “I hurt. I am going to die.” She perseverated on dying. What is a mother to say? Nothing would change her mind.

“I’m sorry you had to cancel your party tonight.”

“There is nothing that would keep me from being with you when you need me. I love you.”

“What does that feel like? I have never felt love.” I continued to hear the eight year old of long ago.

“Focus on your head. I am going to send love and healing through my hands to your body.” (In the last couple of years as I have been going through my transformation, I have begun to feel energy coursing through my body. I know it is a positive energy. A healing energy filled with love. An energy meant to be passed on.)

As I held her hand, I focused on transferring love and healing to her. We sat in silence for a few minutes.

“I have never been this afraid. If I die, give Stacey Marvel. I know she loves snakes and will take care of her.”

“OK. Right now, I want you to focus on the feel of my hand in yours. The energy coming from me and going to where you need it.”

“Why do I feel tingly all over?”

“Probably the medicine you took.”

“No, medicine doesn’t work on me.”

“You are feeling my love energy being transferred to you. There is so much of it that it causes your body to tingle so you know it’s there.”

“Is that what love feels like?”

“It is what your mother’s love feels like.”

“Have you always loved me? Did you love me when I was a baby? How did you know?”

I took the time to answer each of her questions. I was honest with her. “I have always loved you, but I didn’t always show it very well.” She accepted that and squeezed my hand a bit tighter.

Other conversation happened that I will keep private. Conversation about love, forgiveness, the fear of people leaving. I stuck with her through the ebbs and flows of her anxiety during the attack. She finally began to relax giving me an opportunity to get some dinner. It was a short-lived.

“Mom, are you almost done? I think I need more of that love energy from your hand.”

See you should never stop writing. You're so good.

2015-05-28T21:33:00.003-04:00

It has been too long. Too long since I have written. Too long since I have run consistently. Too long since I have gone riding by myself. Too long since I have listened to that little voice inside of me. Throughout the last few months that little voice inside has been screaming at me. I turned up the noise in my head in response. “Personal things are going on. Things I don’t want to share. Things other people wouldn’t understand.” Instead, I ignored the urge to write, sat on the couch, and joined friends on ride. Tonight, I open the laptop and type out the whispers of my soul as I continue to transform into the woman I want to be. (Thank you, Cassidy, for the encouragement to start up again.)
\Changes abound since my last blog post. It has been over a year since I have written on a consistent basis. Why did I stop writing? Was it because of the Hell a divorce brings? Was it when I stopped running and lost track of a part of me? Maybe it had something to do with falling for a separated man and the grieving that took place when he went back to his wife. Regardless of the reason, I am claiming that part of me back. The writer.

Writing has always helped me process and brought about peace. Yet the through all the turmoil and transition in the past year, I have not written. Thus, this is bound to be a long entry. Whether you, the reader, stick with me to the end matters not. This entry is for me. You are welcome along on the journey.

I never wrote about my divorce. The ugliness of it all. The feelings of inadequacy that filled me on a daily basis. Inadequacy as a mother. I believed all the nastiness that spewed from his mouth and that of his fiancé. I did not fight for my children. I did not fight for the things that filled what was once my home. I passively accepted whatever was told of me. I dutifully paid my child support and alimony on time while hoping that he would stick to the agreement and let me know what was going on in our daughter’s life. I counted the days until she came to visit me on the weekends even though I didn’t always give her the attention she deserved. There were rough times and we went through a spell where she chose not to come over. I welcomed my older daughter into my one bedroom apartment over the garage and turned it into “our” home. At some point, I was blocked from his phone. I was out of the loop in regards to the life of my youngest. And then I got the phone call. That 2am wake-up call that no one wants to get. My daughter had been hit by a car.

All the ugliness no longer mattered. I was going to be there for my daughter. While she got to be with both her mother and her father on her 18^th birthday, albeit in the ICU ward, my fantasy of congeniality was short-lived when I was told any correspondence with my ex-husband, the father of our children, would need to go through his fiancé. The trauma of the situation mattered not. It was then that I knew. I was dead to him. I hurt him when I walked away from our marriage. No matter how many times I took responsibility or asked for forgiveness, there was to be no relationship between us at all. Old voices started to get loud in my head once again. Voices that took me a long time to quiet with the language of love.

I stayed with her in the hospital the entire time she was there with the exception of the couple of hours I left each day to get a shower and a nap. I took more time off from school than I ever have in my entire career. I trusted my colleagues to figure out lesson plans for my students. Having a sub for four days and not making my own lesson plans is completely out of character for me. Oftentimes in the past, I put school before my children. Too many times, my students took priority. Sitting in the ICU looking over at my daughter all drugged up and in a neck brace, I had one of those “I wish I made different choices” moments. At night when all her visitors left, it was just her and I. She slept. I was alone. I wanted nothing more than the comfort of being held in the arms of a man. There was no man to call upon. As the feeling of being alone overtook me, I cried silent tears until there were no more. Looking back on that night, I am grateful there was not a man to comfort me in my time of need. I learned I can find strength in myself and I can make it through the tough stuff without being in the arms of a man.

Throughout the past couple of years, there have been times that my daughter has expressed an interest in coming to live with me. For one reason or another, her move never happened. Until a couple of weeks ago. Due to the nature of her head injury, she was advised that she could not live by herself, which was the plan for when her father married. Moving in with him and his new wife was not an option, so I had the privilege of having her come live with me. My heart smiles as she now calls Raleigh home.

The first time she was hit by a car last year, the hospital took a quick look at her and released her within the hour. This time she was not so fortunate. Four days in the hospital did not put her back to the way she was before the accident. The healing continues and is a challenge at times. There are many doctor’s appointments of which I have taken every day off to take her. She can only attend school half-days. Meaning I need to arrange transportation to get her to and from school. The nausea, dizziness, and headaches continue. As does the pain in her side. She continues to limp to get around, but no longer needs the walker. As sometimes happens with brain injuries, depression and anxiety are affecting her. On top of it all, she has some sort of bronchitis.

While all this has been going on with my younger daughter, my older daughter received a phone message from her father saying he was cutting her out of his life. None of my children went to his wedding. Regardless of the reasons for any of it, that is theirs to work out. I am here to show them love as they work through the tough stuff relationships can bring. That mothering instinct which I often thought was barely there, has come out in full bloom.

It has taken me a few years to get here, but there is no doubt in my mind that I am a great mother. I love my children unconditionally and will support them in being true to the women (and man) they are.

With this piece of writing, I leave all the hurt and ugliness from the divorce in the past with forgiveness and love. The marriage is over while my family grows stronger.