Ron (he say’s nobody but me calls him Ronnie) and Skip (I think other people still call him that) stopped by this morning in Ron’s truck this morning at around nine.

They had just dropped Skip’s truck off at the OxBow in Northampton.

We were going to try things differently on this kayak venture, mainly driving one truck all the way up to Sunderland’s “Blue Bridge”, kayaking downstream to the other vehicle, then loading the boats back into Skip’s truck for the drive back north.

This plan was casually formulated without any actual knowledge of just how far apart these two particular points were from eachother.

I’m still not certain of the total distance, but let’s just say it’s just a tad further than three out of shape 50ish human beings should have attempted on a 94 degree day.

I may be bitching prematurely here, but I’ll let tomorrow be the judge, when I see if I can get out of bed in the morning.

We embarked while the weather was still relatively warm and figured this trip would be a piece of cake, with the current helping us along and all.

Ron as usual, furnished us each with two bottles of a fruit flavored sports drink, kept well chilled in his portable cooler. (thank God !)

So under the Blue Bridge we did go and set forth down the river in search of eagles, fast water and who knows ? , maybe even a secret topless volleyball beach !

What we did encounter around one bend was rather interesting.

Off in the distance I started to hear voices singing………..and was that a Kazoo ?

Sure enough, gathered around the deck of a moored party pontoon boat, were about ten white haired elderly folk singing “You Are My Sunshine” .

They smiled and waved as we drifted by.

On the beach, just to the other side of the chorus boat, was a bare backed curvaceous lass of the age of about 25.

Talk about contrasting images.

The thing that sucks about being 50, is that you view a topless girl with the eyes of a 20 year old.

It’s not until she gives you that “What are you looking at old man” stare, that you remember the chronological reality of the situation at hand.

Just keep paddling buddy.

Things started to heat up now, and not just because of the bare backed beach bunny.

The sun climbed to it’s noon time position and the thought that we were not even close to half way toward the truck started to sink in.

I’d already finished my first drink and hit Ron up for the last one.

Along the way we saw a juvenile eagle perched in a dead tree.

I positioned my kayak right under it and tried to no avail to capture it with my Flip video cam, but with no usable zoom range on the unit, I might as well have been filming a hummingbird.

Now the power boats from the two marinas down south started to appear with more frequency, which made the trek a little more exciting.

Everything from jet skis to giant pontoons raced up and down the river, causing our boats to bob about haplessly when they passed by .

Skip, not having paddled the river as much as Ron and I, asked a few times how much further it was.

We just laughed and kept telling him, “Just around the next bend”.

After about 4 or 5 bends, we were finally telling the truth.

The big island came into view and with it, the channel that led us down to the Calvin Coolidge  Bridge.

Though it was still a little over another hours journey to the Oxbow, at least we had a clearer goal to work towards.

My last drink was just about toast and I sidled up to Ron’s boat and had him stick some ice from the cooler in my bottle to extend it’s life a bit longer.

The last noteworthy incident happened as we were getting ready to turn into the mouth of the channel that leads you to the boat ramp.

Ron was sitting right under a tree harboring yet another eagle.

While I was trying to get out my Flipcam with one hand and hold my oar with the other, a power boat took a mean turn ahead of us , causing a rather turbulent wave, that sent us both flailing about.

The eagle meanwhile, dove out of the tree and right over Ron’s head.

I of course, recorded nothing of this event onto my camera.

And so it goes…………………………..

Well, I went to see the orthopedic doctor yesterday and here’s what she said.

Not word for word mind you, my brain can only recall minute details if they happened over twenty years ago.

First off, let me fill you in on just how the day started.

It was a bright and sunny day, which when riding on two wheels, beats a dark and stormy night hands down.

I fixed a quick cup O’ Joe, fired up my scoot, and headed back into the house to gather up the things I didn’t want to find myself missing after I arrived at the doctor’s office.

There were my medical information paper’s that I had filled out the night before, xrays, my wallet, keys, cane, glasses etc…….

God, things must have just been so much easier when we were simple naked apes ! , but then again naked apes hadn’t invented the artificial leg or the 600cc maxi-scooter yet, so there you go.

Anyway, after packing up my things, I decided to head to the hospital via the back roads along the Connecticut river, I then hopped onto the highway (route 91) in Holyoke for a quick sprint over to exit 11 in Springfield.

This exit ramp conveniently brought me and my scoot within a couple hundred feet from the clinic where my appointment was scheduled at.

I parked my scoot in one of the handicapped spaces , because I could, then proceeded into the building in search of my new doctor’s office.

After filling out some paper work, I’d only waited but a few minutes when my named was called. (and they got it right even)

The first nurse technician that I encountered informed me that I needed to have some Xrays taken.

I told her that I had some in my bag, just taken last week, but she would hear none of that.

They needed to have THEIR Xrays !

Right away my belligerence factor started to kick in and I asked her, “what’s wrong with the Xrays that I just had taken” ?

“No No’ , she said, “We need to have our own”.

I figured I shouldn’t start a big snit over the whole thing before I even got to see the Doc, so off we went to the xray room.

To my surprise, they did take THEIR xrays differently .

They had me stand up and leave my artificial limbs on .

Never underestimate the power of an xray machine, because that sucker peered right through anything standing between itself and my skeletal system with ease.

You could see the layers, graphite fiber leg, woolen sock, human flesh and then finally the rather worn knee joints that once carried my bulk around without complaint for close to 50 years .

From there I was shuttled to another room, where I sat alone, preoccupied with an exact scale working model of the human knee, complete with rubber tendons and a movable knee cap !

The film of my knee on the xray light box looked nowhere as perfect as the resin cast model I held in my hands.

Doctor Stacy came into the room while I was playing with the skele-toy and introduced herself.

I’m sure she had a last name, but as I’ve said before, I’d have to have met her twenty years ago if I was going to remember it .

She thanked me for pre-typing up a paper on my knee’s complete history, dating from my birth in 1958 to the present time. 

I was thinking that maybe they didn’t get a lot of double amputee patients here and that every little bit of information is a good thing.

She sat down, asked me to remove my leg and gently examined my residual limb (that’s medical jargon for stump) like she’d done it a hundred times before.

After that we both viewed the xray pictures and she pointed out where she believed things were going awry .

I told her that I wasn’t in any pain, unless of course my knee went out of joint and that I was glad that in spite of all the bone wear I was seeing, “at least I wasn’t suffering from arthritis”.

“But you are” she said.

Well , that caught me off guard !

“How could I have arthritis and not be in any pain” ? I asked.

“I don’t know” she said.

Oh great !, I thought, now that I know that I have degenerative arthritis, I’m probably going to start feeling it !

Using the skele-toy she also showed me that where a “normal knee” has a grooved surface for the knee cap to ride in, mine was pretty much flat.

This she said was probably the cause of my knee bones moving in and out of joint.

There was also signs of bone spurs and cartilage wear, all the good things about getting old. 

Oddly enough, my knee started to feel better a couple days before this visit.

(isn’t that always the case)

I was actually able to make it through most of the last two days without major assistance from my cane.

So here’s where things stand at the moment.

There was no discussion of performing any surgeries.

My knee as of this writing is pretty stable.

Doctor Stacy and I both agree that I should have my left artificial leg modified with a metal knee brace, to stabilize it better and then see what happens from there.

I’m game with that !

Tomorrow I will rise bright and early, shower vigorously with Dr. Bronner’s peppermint soap and dig out my most presentable pair of underwear (not an easy task), so as not to make a bad impression on my new orthopedic doctor.

If I’m lucky, the only thing I will need to doff is my artificial legs.

After all, it’s my knee that needs attention.

Having not had anything to do with anyone in the medical profession in over 25 years, this should be an interesting visit to say the least.

My last medical emergency was a series of eyelid sty’s in the eighties that required lancing, an affliction I might add that ceased and desisted when I entered my thirties.

I may have looked hideous for a week or so during these episodes, but at least it didn’t affect my mobility, well maybe a little, as I tried to avoid being viewed by the general public as much as possible.

It’s funny now that I think of it.

I’d walk the streets during the summertime wearing shorts, shiny plastic legs in full view and wonder if anyone was staring at my swollen red eyelid.

Tomorrow I will hopefully find out the cause and a possible cure of whatever is going on under my patella region, which causes my knee to fold like a house of cards without warning.

The weather is supposed to be hot and clear, temps in the high 80’s and no matter what the outcome, there will always be a ride to take somewhere afterwards. 

Hi,

After three nights of sleeping on other folk’s couches during my latest northern motorcycle excursion, it was nice to settle in for a well deserved repose on my own for a change.

That’s right, my bed is a couch……………..but it’s a very comfortable couch………really !

I have a futon model, which is internally sprung and much firmer than the old style, cotton batted hippie beds of the 70’s.

My mom bought me a sheepskin cover for it.

The label claimed that it would keep me cooler in the summer and warmer in the winter. 

I’ve never seen a sheep either shivering in the cold or breaking into a heat induced sweat , so this statement must be  based in fact.

I sold my giant wooden platformosaurus bed, with it’s “Posturpedic” mattress and many built in drawers to my neighbor when the housing authority informed me that everything in my kitchen/living room area needed to be packed up and moved out for a renovation project.

This project has yet to happen, due to a situation that turned “FUBAR”.

(google that if you’re not familiar with the term)

I moved my living room furniture and any sentimental items into what was once my bedroom.

Selling off all of my “collectibles” to a flea market dealer for about a third of their actual worth, I now had streamlined my apartment’s contents back to it’s original status, before I had the funds to fill it with seventeen years worth of junk.

I found out shortly after establishing my new combination bed/living room, that my futon couch was more than suitable sleeping arrangements for a lonely bachelor.

Even though it was designed to open up into a full sized bed, I choose to just throw a sheet over the thing and sleep on it as is.

This move seems to have cured me from my tossing and turning all night.

In my now much reduced sleeping area, I can still sneak in a turn, but a toss will land me, with a dull thud onto the oriental rug below.

Making the “bed” is as simple as removing the linens that drape loosely over my couch frame, rolling everything into a big wad and stuffing it all into the closet.

Smooth out the wrinkles, toss the decorative throw pillows back in place and no one is the wiser. 

After spending a very humid final night in New Hampshire, sleeping on a sagging couch, pungent with a wet dog aroma……….my futon last night was pure heaven !

I’ve been home for a month now and feel the need for another road trip, even if it’s only a three day event.

My destination is Bethel Maine, home of my forefathers .

There have been Annis folk in and around the town of Bethel for about 250 years.

I found this and other unknown facts about my ancestors online back in the late 1990’s.

My introduction to the internet came via a now pretty much defunct machine called “WEB TV” .

This unit was designed especially for computer challenged people like myself and allowed one to surf the net via their TV set.

The keyboard was wireless and beamed it’s commands across the room to a modem sitting on top of the TV.

Although it was painfully slow processing picture files , the concept was never the less in my opinion brilliant.

One could sit comfortably in their recliner across the room and view a much larger than normal computer screen.

It never did catch on and became the red headed stepchild of the computer world.

I used it primarily for chatting in a GENEALOGY forum, where I taught myself to type relatively fast with two fingers, doing my best to keep with the flow of whatever topic was going on at the time.

Occasionally folks would stop the idle chat and talk on topic.

It was here that I learned of a site called “genforum.com”.

This is the site where I would meet Michael Annis, who would soon fill me in on all I needed to know about the Maine Annis lineage.

I in turn helped him find a missing link to his nation wide search of all things Annis.

It seems my family was flying under the radar, probably for a good reason I imagine.

So, tomorrow I will set out as early as possible to visit my uncle Ellis, who appropriately enough, lives on “Annis Road”.

He is my late dad’s younger brother and one heck of a nice man, one of those people that when you mention his name to anyone that’s met him, you’ll get nothing but a smile and kind words in return .

He’s been a widower for some time now, living alone in a big old farmhouse filled with a thousand and one memories.

I’ll be adding a few more of those when I arrive tomorrow.

My sister Sheila and I have bought our uncle one of those new electronic picture frames.

We filled it with his old family pictures that I had digitally cleaned up and stored on disc a few years ago.

I hope he likes it.

I headed out early in the morning to meet my friend Ronnie for a kayak venture on the Connecticut River yesterday.

For those not familiar with our neck of the woods, this river flows in a southerly direction from the New Hampshire/Vermont state borders, straight through Massachusetts and down into Connecticut to the south.

It divides the western third of the state from the more heavily populated eastern sector. 

Ronnie and I have put our boats in at many different points along the river over the last few years, between the towns of Turner’s Falls and Agawam, where the river flows into Connecticut.

There are public boat ramps along the way, such as Barton’s Cove, home to nesting eagles and The Oxbow down in Northampton that has it’s own bird sanctuary.

Today however we were launching our boats from Bondi’s Island .

Sounds quaint doesn’t it ?

Actually it’s a waste treatment plant that sits on the river bank just outside of Springfield.

Imagine an aroma something between that of spoiled fish and rotten eggs wafting up into your nostrils on a hot humid day and there you have Bondi’s Island.

I don’t know who Bondi was, but I bet he’d want his name identified with something a bit more pleasing to the senses.

I’m nitpicking here though, because in spite of the obvious smell, once you’re launched from the cement boat ramp and into the water, then paddle down wind of the place, it really is quite nice. 

 The weatherman gave his word that the morning haze would burn off , so I rode the scoot over to meet Ronnie at his place in Agawam.

I started out the door wearing my riding leathers, but quickly retreated back into the apartment and ditched the jacket for a much cooler vest.

Oh the humidity !

Common sense tells a biker that he should always wear protective outer garments in case of a crash. Having been downed a couple times already, I should know better, but sometimes it’s just too damn uncomfortable to heed common sence .

Anyway, I have my lucky tinkle bell to protect me.

With the help of a plastic zip tie, it chimes in the breeze underneath my bikes faring, a gift from my niece.

The box this road charm came in stated that it would ward of the “Evil road spirits”.

I’ve been hit by cars twice since owning the bell, but I’m still alive , so take it for what it’s worth.

The ride over to Ronnie’s was the usual, “me vs. the rest of the world’s incompetent drivers out there”.

My charm was in top form though, as I made it over to his place unscathed.

Normally we make a point of incorporating a meal of some sort into any of our get togethers.

It used to be alcohol, but we grew older and wiser and decided that it was better to be just fat instead of fat and hung over.

Once our boats were in the water, we decided at the last moment to head up the Westfield River branch, who’s mouth empties into the much larger Connecticut river just south of where we put in at Bondi’s.

The water seemed clearer than usual and flowed at a much faster clip too.

On the way up we spotted a fawn, which I’ve never seen on this river bank before.

The eagles that normally perch on the overhead power lines were noticeably absent.

We did however herd three grey herons up the river.

They’d fly upstream for a hundred yards at a time and then wait for us to get close enough to spook them further.

Somehow it’s beyond their mental grasp to just fly over our heads and behind us to a relatively safe distance .

Bird brains !

The water’s depth alternated between five or six feet deep to less than a foot.

I felt my boat scrape bottom more than once and wondered if we’d get stranded on the sandbars and have to walk our way out, something I may add that would be a little difficult for me to do, seeing that my artificial legs were stuffed up into the front of my kayak .

The current picked up quite a bit as we neared the bridge that spans between Agawam and West Springfield.

We’d paddle like madmen and achieve little headway in the process.

Any stops to sip the ice cold, flavored water drinks that Ronnie graciously provided and our boats would quickly lose ground.

(or water in this case)

There was a small amount of white water on the other side of the bridge pylons, just swift enough to foil the advances of two wary fat men .

Ronnie beached his kayak and scouted the possibilities of maybe making portage around the bridge, but we decided to just turn around and take advantage of a swift water retreat .

After all, “He who Yaks and runs away, lives to Yak another day”.

Of coarse I ended my day with an extended scooter ride home, which just happened to take me by the “Sugarloaf Frostie” ice cream stand.

I awoke this morning for the second time at around 8:30 a.m. , my first bout with consiousness occurring four hours previous .

There was a hint of sun poking through the gray haziness, which gave me some hope that I might get out on the scoot today .

The rent was past due, my check lay uncashed on the counter and with the bank now outside my safe walking parameters, motorized transport seemed the only alternative.

I so wanted to try my hand (or knee) at riding my bicycle downtown to complete my errands , but thought better of it.

My last attempt at pedaling was painfully short lived, and created an even more unstable knee joint.

It’s times like this lately that I try and console myself with thoughts like, “Well, at least I don’t have terminal flatulence ” or some other ungodly affliction.

Please excuse my constant bitching over my present condition.

I’m really not all that depressed over the whole ordeal, I just complain a lot and those who have known me for any length of time understand that this is my normal state of grace.

My years of being a patient at the Shriner’s Hospital for Crippled Children, (actually, I think they dropped the crippled thing……not PC you know) taught me that my so called handicap was trivial in comparison to some of the kids I met on the inside there.

Every two years or so, while my bones were still actively growing, I needed to get what they called a “stump revision” on my left limb, to allieve a painful pressure point inside my artificial leg socket. 

Once I remember being placed in a bed next to this boy who had a device called a “Halo” screwed into his skull and stainless steel pins protruding through his lower legs.

Attached to both ends of this body hardware were heavy weights that kept him suspended in mid-air over his hospital bed.

Embedded in his back were steel rods that were screwed in place to help straighten his spine.

He was a really brave kid in my eyes.

I asked him how long he needed to remain this way and I do believe he said something like six months !

After that I adopted the creed that, “Any morning you can get out of bed is a good one” and if you can get out of bed and onto your motorcycle for an extended ride on a sunny day……………….well that folks is a great day ! 

There’s a graph located in the dashboard management sector of this blog space that shows how many folks have come to view my self centered ramblings since this blogs inception.

Mine looks pathetic ! 

It started out with a healthy upward spike, fueled by a combination of interested friends, relatives and curious people sent here by a combination of the afore mentioned .

During my trip, the thin black line dipped a little, then climbed back to a healthy stat level, depending on whether or not I had become dormant for any significant period or not .

After my return things took a nose dive .

I tried to shock the graph from it’s prolonged flat lined status by posting a fluffed up rehash of hastily scribbled notes written during my very first cross country ride in 2004.

No Dice.

You can’t polish a turd.

 It’s not like I haven’t had a lot of spare time to record my recent inner most thoughts.

Between my injured knee and the horrible New England weather we’ve been having, I could have written an “autoblogography” by now.

So what does a blogger do ?

I suppose that I could make something up, like a new love interest maybe…………….nope, better stick with something more believable like, George W. called today and said he was sorry for being such a lame ass greedy fuck up these last eight years and was swinging his support to Barrack Obama for the next presidential election.

I need a HOBBY !

Maybe I can find one on the internet………………………

Not long after returning from my “Big Adventure” I decided to post transcripts from my past scooter trips.

Don’t ask me why , but when I awoke this morning, I found that I’d lost all desire to continue doing just that and deleted anything pertaining to my first cross country jaunt. 

To be honest with you, although I’ll always cherish the memories of my earlier trips, I don’t think that they were (A.) all that well documented and (B.) just not interesting enough to keep one coming back for more .

Unlike my recent scoot to the mid-western states and back, those first three trips were accomplished without a computer or video camera in tow, my not so careful notes, hastily scribbled on a paper pads just prior to my passing out from exhaustion.

This is not the first time that I’ve abandoned a writing project and probably won’t be the last.

 So now, with a clean electronic slate in hand , I think I’ll just post something different for a change and let my fingers do the talking.

I received a comment today from Ed and his dog Gus, though I suppose that it was Ed doing all the commenting.

It sounds like they had a heck of a time ! (see comment)

Go Gus !

Well , I made a call to a local clinic and their secretary told me that the “practitioner nurse” had an opening in 20 minutes or so .

I said I’d be right down on my motorcycle without even knowing what a practitioner nurse was, because in spite of my fear of all things hospital oriented, I really want to know what was going on inside my knee joint.

It was a 100 degrees out today, so I made the trip dressed in my shorts and a t-shirt, my cane bungee’d on the back of my bike .

I figured that some disassembly would be required for her to check out my knee and with my wearing shorts, I could unhook my prosthesis without have to drop my trousers for anyone .

She was a very pleasant and reassuring nurse and after examining my knee , immediately set me up with an x-ray clinic appointment right down the street !

I jumped back on the scoot and headed on over for some gamma rays to go with the intense solar rays that were all too prevalent today .

The x-ray tech was also nice, if not a bit too overprotective .

She worried incessantly that I might bump my head on the overhead camera and kept asking me if I needed help rolling over on the table for my side shots .

Hell, I know that I’m fat, grey and walk with a limp now, but I hope I don’t look that feeble yet !

After all was said and done, I decided to gas the bike up and headed up to the hill towns for a cooler place to ride .

Rounding a bend, I had a close encounter with either a large spotted hawk , or possibly a juvenile eagle, that leaped upward from the pavement and flew across the roadway, right in front of my bike !

I calmed myself with a trip to the “Sugar Loaf Frostie” for my favorite Kraut Dog, followed by an ice cream flurrie treat, because I was such a good boy at the doctors office.

There’s an intense thunderstorm approaching now and I’m not one of those writers who is willing to die for a better story, so I’ll see you later !