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July 31, 2009

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I haven't ridden a motorcycle more than a couple times in my life; but I've ridden in the basket of a dogsled, and on snow machines, and bicycles, and this piece brought back many memories. Cresting a hill on the dirt road back of where I grew up, I came upon a fox, as startled as I was by the encounter. Riding snow machines with my husband from Dawson City to Tok in -30 March cold, we rounded a bend and saw what looked like hundreds of snowballs bouncing on the road, until they took flight: a flock of winter-white ptarmigan. On one of my few motorcycle rides, behind my brother on an overburdened Honda 100, on yet another dirt trail, we came around a bend and a huge brown bear reared up on its hind legs, a giant beside us as we scrambled to restart the bike, which of course had stalled. Or the smells and sounds of camping--coffee brewing in fresh morning air.

What an evocative story, David. Very nice.

Right, Joan. Any time spent away from these wretched machines is potential yarn-making stuff.

But: TWO OF YOU on a Honda 100 in bear country? You'd have been safer on skateboards!

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Writing Boots readers will enjoy David Murray's memoir of his parents, who were real-life advertising Mad Men. Learn who these people really were, and how they raised us all.