As I lay peacefully checking my eyelids for holes on my 4 inch air mattress in my 5 degree bag, I hear music not strange to my ears. I'm thinking -

"What in the world are Tater and Sweetie (our two cats) doing fighting at this hour? (for they do love to fight)"

Then it hits me - Old boy, you're in the woods a bit of distance from home - so unless they took a limousine, it ain't them. Once my brain kicks into conscious gear, there's no wallowing in the bed for me. I get dressed and begin packing up, since I have a few things to pack on the old RedBird. It doesn't take too long and as I do, I decide today I will break out the Widder stuff since we are heading farther north. It will be a good test of how the portable biscuit warmer works. As we head further northward, we pass through the town of Sturgis - no relationship to the motorcycle mecca in South Dakota. I can't decide which is the prettier sight - the US flags flying everywhere or the multi-hued leaves waving from the trees. As a former Marine, I have a great respect for our flag and am flying one from my antenna proudly. As we pass the Michigan border, I pull up short and snap the picture.

Town after town passes by as quickly as the leaves whirl around our tires. As we move through Ionia with Guy leading, I hear Coop yell -

"Hey, we just missed a turn."

I nod, and we continue to follow Guy. I figure we are headed in the generally right direction and can straighten it out later. I notice that I have a distinct advantage over Coop and Guy since I am more heavily loaded and weight more than both of them. The wind blows, but I'm ridding steady as a rock. It's getting warm and I am beginning to wonder about why on put on the heated gear. I am abruptly roused from my reverie as Betty Boop, my ever faithful radar detector informs me

"Be careful, X alert."

A local constabulary has just beamed us, looking for some easy out of state revenue. Then it happens - I see Guy pull off the road like he's having some sort of attack. Coop takes one look as says -

"Whew, what happened to you?"

"Don't know, something must have hit me" Guy responds.

I take a look and figure it out pretty quickly. Seems as if he had his visor up and a not so friendly bee decided to get a piece of the action. A bit of blood trickles down his cheek and I can already see it beginning to swell. I wish I had a little chewing tobacco cause that's what the old timers put on stings to draw the poison out. But the problem would have been finding someone to chew the nasty stuff. Sometimes the cure can be worse than the disease.

"Hang on bro" I tell him. "I've got something for that in my bag of tricks."

I dig a little bit and come up with some ointment that should do the trick. As I always say -

"Prepare for the worst, hope for the best."

The stuff starts working and Guy gets some much needed relief. We come to the end of the road and stop for a map check. We have not veered too far off and can turn right to get where we need to be. I pull into the lead and we are off again. Somewhere in the nice hills of Michigan I am nicely cranking the wick a bit and happen to look back. No Guy and no Coop. Well, we either had a get-off or I missed something interesting. I decided to ride back a bit to see what's up. I see them coming so I turn around and we are off again. The farther north we go, the happier I am that I have the Widder gear. I'm as warm as a day-old biscuit laying in a sunny window. I mentally thank Ron Wayden in absentia for his help in wiring the plugs and picking the gear. We approach the Mackinaw with some concerns. I'm thinking again -

"With me and my size, my ST, and my gear - only a tornado would blow me around."

I am thankful for this unintentional benefit as I ride across the bridge. I see a LANE CLOSED sign and shift to the left lane. Then the pucker comes - it's wet grated steel with the wind howling. Talk about a muscle tightening experience. I make a very quick executive decision to move back to the right lane and take my chances. Safe on the paved side, I enjoy the view as we meander across - the hillbilly in me enjoying the view from a high spot. We decide to head to St. Ignace and check into the Driftwood.

No computers for these folks - they still use the old hand ledger method. Coop and I have a good laugh about that one and are glad they do have a credit card machine. We get pitched in the room and head for the restaurant. As my usual, a piece of dead cow is in order.

The waitress asks me - "You need anything?"

"Yes ma'am, I'd like some ketchup" I tell her.

"Your're going to put ketchup on that steak?" she exclaims loudly.

"Yes ma'am I reckon that I am if you'd be so kind as to bring me some" I reply..

As she disappears to retrieve the desecrating fluid, I think of what I told a waitress once in Connecticut when faced with the same reaction -

"I bought it so I reckon I'll put whatever I want to on it."

We have good food and great conversation, happy to be out of the blow and wet. We head back to the room where I warn Coop and Guy again that my snoring usually peels paint from the ceilings and causes seismic disturbances. Lights go out and I prepare for what ever the day holds - knowing there will be a parting in the morning from a new friend and brother.