Memories of outdoor fun

The week has flown by and here it is Friday evening. Time is slipping away so fast. I can hardly believe that the weekend is here again. The most activity I have undertaken lately is going to the pool and walking in the water for 45 minutes and potting plants on my deck.

I am not adventurous anymore. I never was one to take risks. I like to know how deep the water is before I step into it. I was married to an adventurous man, and I loved that about him. He and I would climb into his Jeep Wrangler and drive all over the mountains, down roads that were barely there, checking out places that looked forgotten. Driving up trails just to see the scenery from the top of a mountain was fun. I was never afraid because I had such trust in Barry. I knew he would get us back home safely.

When we were both in our twenties, he taught me to ride a motorcycle. We didn't have Harleys and both his and mine were second-hand. My first one was a red Honda that was very heavy. I dropped it on my foot and broke my toe. 

The broad part in front of the seat was where my little black poodle, Brandy, sat and rode with me. He would lean into turns and his long black ears flew with the wind.

Barry liked the Japanese models, Kawaski and Suzuki dirt bikes. He would speed down into a lime sink on the farm, circle around the sides a few times, and burst out over the top.  Once while taking daring chances in an area called the sand dunes in Albany, Georgia, he and his friend, John, jumped over a tall dune and Barry's bike slid out from under him. He came home with a broken collar bone.

A dirt bike similar to the ones Barry rode in the 70s.

One summer, in the seventies, we went on vacation to a place called Seven Devils in Boone, NC. The little ski resort was nothing but a lodge and a rundown ski lift at that time. We rented a tiny little rustic cabin. It was the first time we had ever taken our bikes with us. At that time I was uneasy on the mountain curves. We rode our bikes up and down the paved roads and I loved it. That was how I stopped being afraid of the curvy roads. One day Barry, looking for adventure, suggested we ride down the mountainside on a fire road. It was overgrown, had limbs laying across it, and was difficult riding, but I stayed right with him, wrestling that bike all the way down to the bottom. He was so proud of me that he couldn't stop telling folks how well I had ridden on that awful trail. 

I am grateful that I met and married a man who pushed me to try new and difficult things. For a number of years, we trailered our bikes down to St. Joe Paper Company and rode their land near Panama City, Florida. On one of those trips our friend, Helen broke her arm. We were miles from civilization, but she managed to get her bike back to the trailer. That ended our ride for that day. Her husband, Graydon, who loved to ride with Barry, took her to the hospital. Helen and Graydon developed a love for bikes because of us and we all rode together when we could.

The early years of our marriage were filled with outdoor activities. We fished, rode dirt bikes, and rode horses. So long ago, but in my memories, it was only yesterday.

Are you a daredevil, adventurous? Do you like to take risks? Tell me about them here.