Just in case you think I'm some kind of woodsy gal who beds down with the mountain goats atop Beartooth Pass or something, don't give me too much credit!
Welcome to Our Archive
Author: Tamela Rich
The 2010 calling of my soul was "You need to learn to ride a motorcycle, then you need to ride it to Oregon and back." Your mileage may vary.
Imagine yourself flying along Interstate 40 and seeing a billboard advertising a hot dog stand. How un-compelling is that? Now, same scenario with a Muffler Man holding a hot dog--irresistible!
We think of the Mississippi as an awesome force, which it is...eventually. Here's what I learned about life by visiting its headwaters.
I was tempted to put down my tent at a rest stop before I got to Childress, but the big sign saying "Watch for rattlesnakes" convinced me otherwise.
But I took a wrong turn. By the time I got re-oriented my fuel light appeared. I was down to one gallon of gas, which would carry me about 60 miles.
At first I thought, Oh no, is this a meth lab motel? Then I quieted my mind and tuned in.
Motorcycling is pretty straightforward: Oh, here's water, so I'll take it slow an easy; uh oh, here's a patch of gravel, so I'll get it and go. But life doesn't always present itself in such an easy-to-figure-out way.
Carter dug Denbeigh's grave in the back yard with a little moral support from a neighbor. The old Corgi was the only dog either of my boys had ever known as a family member.
If you had to introduce yourself to a dozen strangers every day, with no naysayers or fact checkers weighing in, what would you say?