First Video Post Ever

Summer Lovin', 'cause winter blues just sounds sad

An ode to summer:

O, summer! How fair thee were,
Thy nights so fine
Sky starry lined.
Thy days so toasty warm
That sweat rolling in my eye
Did lest dull my love for thee.

Nor sweat drenched hair 
Which clung to my lid. 

Visor up, my steed and I
Would ride
Yonder fields sweet wildflowers bloom
Where buffalo charge
And longhorns chase
On long straight roads
The heat would rise 
And melt my toes
As we ride

The paths of travel
are empty
For
Few souls brave
Thy love
But those knights
in leather armor
Ah, and the pages
In their gear
Of Oakley shades
And flipper-floppers

The water pack
melted to my back 
I sip something weird
Which chemical is that?
Water line gone awry, my steed and I
are freshly bathed

Thy gusty gale dries us out
With a lovely coat
of good ol' red dirt.
Thy scorching heat simmers up
Thy heat waves drift about
Causing my steed
To get all hot and bothered
As it overheats

We arrive a detour later
In thy gracious presence
All disheveled
How you move us so
I touch my skin
It's aglow ten shades darker
Forty degrees warmer
I rip my lid from my head
It's been transformed;
A ten gallon cowboy hat 
Full of salty water
Evaporated before it graces
The sizzling pavement

Upon dismount
my riding boots are locked
in passion with the tar

Yet thee tease
My sweat drenched hair and gear
thee refuse to dry

Alas, then thou leaves!
After all we've had!
The sweet smiles and laughs,
The ten pounds lost in thy sauna
The tan lines no one understands
The kittens in my pack
And sweat stains on my back

You disappear into the night
Not a word nor a gusty hot gale
to kiss my cheek one last time
But, what's this I see?!?

SNOW!


O, summer! How I miss thee so
Please
Come back to me

--Truly Yours,
                                  Wanderings of a Girl Ryder
This blog is brought to you by the lovely (biased opinion, we know) Stone Turtle – Lodging, a small family owned and operated hotel / lodging business near Lawton, Oklahoma, Fort Sill,  the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge, Meers and Medicine Park. Yeah, that’s right we’re a small lodging business close to all the awesomeness Oklahoma has to offer!!

Rider Application: The Wisdom of a Picky Rider

The evening got off to a rocky start. No, not as in the town Rocky, but it was just as desolate. An evening could not be cheery and on the way to happiness when one is faced with such a critical decision. As I heaved my last bit of equipment out, I had to finally face the problem. In front of me stood two very appealing options. But, how can one choose? It really isn't fair. 

So I did what I do best; I procrastinated. I shoved the problem aside and continued with the task at hand. I followed the instructions to a T...well, as well as a person who despises reading instructions can follow instructions to a T. It was almost too simple. Maybe that's why my taste test tasted an awful lot like horse food. After shoving my latest cupcakes into the oven whilst praying for a miracle to turn my horse cupcakes into a mouth-watering culinary experience, I had to return to my problem. Procrastination was over.

Wine or coffee? The wine smelled refreshing and tart. And, the coffee smelled so comforting. It wasn't until the fire alarm startled me from my quandaries that I began to explore my options. As I was fanning the screaming smoke detector, I realized that I could have both. Problem solved, kitchen filled with smoke, and a happy coffee and wine drinking misplaced rider, it was another ordinary evening.I managed to veer from a Rocky destination to a Cookietown destination.

Twenty minutes of waiting time really does give a baker a chance to do fun things besides singing along to Frank Sinatra and Tom Waits. I browsed the lovely internet for motorcycle parts. I hate shopping. Unless I ran out of coffee, I'd rather shoot nails into my foot with a pneumatic nail gun than go shopping. But, when it comes to motorcycles, that dreading sense of doom which views nail guns as happy shopping alternatives doesn't hover above me. It gets even better when I'm actually able to order stuff for Blueberry. New visor and brakes all around ordered, kitchen aired out, and I still had 15 minutes to kill.

In my six years of riding, I've always had amazing luck running across a few decent riders on a regular basis. Living in a military town, riding buddies come and go. It's a fact of Lawton life. It's probably in the Universal Book of Lawton Law that awesome riding buddies are destined to move. I think it's just life's way of keeping me on my toes. How does one find a decent riding buddy? Honestly, all of my awesome partners in crime have been purely by chance. I mean who would have expected to find an awesome riding buddy just cruising through the refuge? Most would probably say that gas stations are always full of riders. True, but my luck with the gas station riders hasn't been so good, statistically speaking.And, I do love statistics...

In my six years, when it comes to riding buddies I really have experienced the good, the bad, and, unfortunately, the ugly. Over the years, I have joked about needing an application to allow people to apply to be a future riding buddy. A great way to help the riding buddy cause when Serendipity is mad at me. Others have joked that I need such an application since I'm so picky. Now, I'm not usually a picky person, but when it comes to the riding company I keep, I've gotten just a tad bit picky. In my smoke doused sugar high, there really wasn't a better time-filler than creating just such an application.

So in all its potentially offensive glory, here is my application:

And, lastly please note: I don't want to hear about all your modifications because I do not care.

No multiple choice here, yo. Which is a convenient way to test if people can read and write also.
This blog is brought to you by the lovely (biased opinion, we know) Stone Turtle – Lodging, a small family owned and operated hotel / lodging business near Lawton, Oklahoma, Fort Sill,  the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge, Meers and Medicine Park. Yeah, that’s right we’re a small lodging business close to all the awesomeness Oklahoma has to offer!!

There's no historical marker in Alfalfa

Some mornings I truly question my sanity. How is it that I'm here? Not just here physically, but mentally. I mean who in the world decides to get up at  0500 in the morning (who would have thunk one of those existed in the morning, too?!?) on a Sunday? Only to pound the keyboard with my head... I knew there was something missing. COFFEE!!!!!

Even with the amazing power of coffee, I wonder about my sanity. The tasty, black, cowboy energy juice which provides me with happy feelings, and thus happy thoughts, tells me to forget all this sanity jazz and get to work:

After getting off of work, I was in the need of some quality time with my baby. My poor neglected baby. I'm still waiting for the rebellion to kick in and for those teenage years to shine while keeping my fingers (and toes) crossed that they don't; I would hate to have a spat with Blueberry over attention issues. The Oklahoma summer was just getting into the swing of things, a warm (hot!!) breeze (gusty gale) swept over the plains as I pushed Blue out of the garage. I'll admit right now that I'm trying to pacify Blue with a little materialistic attention. Yessirriebob, more kitsch was added. It looks pretty damn spunky, if I do say myself. Biased opinion since I like spunky kitsch. The sky was blue with a little cloud coverage here and there. A ten percent chance of storms was predicted by our occasionally accurate meteorologists, but what's ten percent? A tiny piece of pie, that's what it is.

Not only is my sanity questioned on a regular basis, but the methodology I have for picking riding destinations. I'm pretty sure I decided on this ride's main stop while playing around on Google Maps. But, who could resist a town named Alfalfa? Not the girl who insists upon calling Lake Eufaula (did eu-faul-a down the rabbit hole?- hm, maybe I'll be able to remember the name now) Lake Eufalufa (like oompa-loompas). Sure, I planned a huge detour through Red Rock Canyon State Park and Hydro, but the highlight was to be Alfalfa.

Camelbaks are pretty awesome. No, I didn't happen to run into that evasive camel, but I did remember to pack some water in a camelbak which landed in my neon pink backpack. The standard camelbak harnesses are just too normal for my taste. The camelbak is actually pretty convenient, considering that I choose to wear a helmet, to be able to drink (...water) while riding. Yep, I'm not one of those cool cruiser riders who can chill out in their whatever rag whilst smoking a cigarette and reaching for the coffee in the coffee cup holder. Okay, so that coffee cup holder is more of a Goldwing thing.It makes those "Oh my God! I think I'm going to die of heatstroke" stops obsolete. At least in theory or until one of the lame non-camelbak bringing riders has to stop. How many times can camelbak be used in a paragraph? Let's find out. So all is good as we're cruising to detour stop numero uno, home of MVP Johnny Bench - not that I know who that is... As I'm casually sipping on my water, I ran into some technical difficulties with my camelbak. Leave it to me to find some way to get a free shower during the ride. Theoretically, turning off the water supply is easy. But, somewhere in the process something went wrong and I had the water hose in one hand and the spout in my mouth. None of which were connected. It wasn't until after my shirt and Blueberry's gas tank were soaked through, that I realized my H2O plan was quickly deflating. That makes seven. To pull over or not to pull over was almost the question as we ambled down a lonesome country road. Smarty that I am, my left hand ignored the clutch as it was occupied saving my water. How to get the mouth piece back on the water hose with one hand and no idea what's going on under my helmet? I would have thought I have a better chance riding that camel. With a little ingenuity and a whole lot of luck, I stopped the geyser which was my camelbak and saved my water stash. And, the camel is successfully elusive yet again. Who could have stopped at seven?

It was a little amusing that Binger is currently undergoing road improvements when there ain't much road to be had. Not that they don't deserve paved roads, but what used to be such a charming little town to curve into is now just about as dull as some other places. They even removed that Caution steep decline sign...and the steep decline. Unless I blinked and missed the treey, steep decline into Binger. It is Oklahoma, after all. Or maybe someone just realized that the decline really wasn't all that steep to justify a caution sign.Eventually, I'm going to have to find a different cover story to get some folks to ride with me. My definition of cool town compared to theirs seems to be a tad bit different. Some might argue a couple galaxies apart. As my bored companions chilled out infront of Binger's (hopefully) abandoned medical clinic, I walked the streets. After all, it was the home of Johnny Bench...whoever that is. Maybe I ought to Google him. As we took that non-camelbak wearing rider water break, the sky began to change in the direction of detour stop#2. It really didn't look all too bad, but as we packed our stuff together and left, the chills of the old funeral home sent us into the eye of the tiger. The closer we got to Red Rock Canyon, the worse the sky looked. As much as I love rain, I'm over riding in it. Been there, done that. No need to repeat. I'm no dog; after repeating the same lesson 32 times, I've finally had it. I'd consider this lesson learned. Until it's forgotten, of course. With six miles left and a nasty looking wall cloud awaiting our arrival, I pulled over to confer with my caravan. Now, I don't know a whole lot about weather. God knows, I've driven in some awful stuff, but to just ride right into an avoidable storm sounded slightly daft even to me. How helpful they were. We follow you, they said. So if everyone jumped off a cliff, would you? If it looked like fun... It's kind of disturbing when I'm the sensible one. Speaking of dogs, the bright side would seem to be that the members of my caravan are as loyal as dogs. Flip a B, we did. And, we curved right back through Binger. An elevation change was not to be found.


It looks Binger was the talk of some other towns recently. And, no it wasn't about what's his face(?). It seems that high noon in Binger ended up on Facebook and the news. Looks like some teenagers need to find some productive hobby, other than fighting that is, to replace their boredom. Well, and some mothers apparently. It's kind of sad that no one steps up to the plate when something like that happens. It's a small town, you'd think someone would step in. Well, I guess you thought wrong. Speaking of plates, it's time to move on to the next one. Johnny Bench. Bench played two seasons in the Minors before moving on to a 16 year home-slide home run in the Major Leagues (baseball) with the Cincinnati Reds. Did you know they have sites on baseball vernacular? I do now. And, to think this baseball legend started in Binger, OK; He was valedictorian of his graduating class at Binger High School. Exactly how he made the jump from high school to the minors, I do not know. I guess in the land where sports are worshipped, the impossible really is possible. Playing in the major leagues, according to Wikipedia (professors just love that source), was the childhood dream of this small-town boy. Daddy's advice helped make it happen. Hm, maybe it was daddy's childhood dream, too... Binger was settled in 1901. That year was an exciting year as they also got a post office. Binger is supposedly the home of close to 30 businesses... All of which are closed on Sundays. Back in the good old days, Binger was also the home of a hotel and Deer Head Saloon (don't want to know how it got its name). Nowadays, it's got a museum dedicated to that one guy. Personally, I'd rather have that saloon with the deer head. Binger even has some ghosts to call its own. Some hauntings have been reported in Binger (homes and old high school); I'd make some connection to the funeral home, but I just don't have it in me. That and I'm pretty sure the funeral home isn't as abandoned as it looks...
 
It turns out Google Maps isn't as accurate as I keep hoping it is.From the map I looked at earlier, I would have thought that hwy 58 is a straight shot down from Hydro to Carnegie. It turns out it is not so. As I try turning into a field expecting hwy 58 to miraculously appear and take me to Alfalfa, it was obvious that the little Google car had not been on this stretch of road. As we got closer to the main stop, a historical marker warning sign was posted on the side of the highway. Location of alleged marker was Alfalfa. What could it possibly be for? I didn't know, but I planned on finding out. Having the tendency to keep the eyes moving, I spotted an abandoned barn tucked away behind a forest of undergrowth and trees. Of course, the caravan had to turn around and park in front of a redneck looking house so I could walk the fence line back to the barn. I half expected someone to come out with a shotgun to investigate where that loud muffler noise was coming from. Guess it was just too hot to open the door. Not that I'm complaining. I've learned my lesson when it comes to barns and pictures. On the way to Hobart there used to be this gorgeous three-story red barn. I always wanted to stop to get a picture of it; It's something one doesn't see very often. One day as I was preparing to stop (it happens occasionally) for this barn, I noticed there wasn't a barn to stop for anymore. Therefore, the risk of an angry redneck was worth it. 

Before I knew it, we were in Alfalfa. Alfalfa is a town consisting of an old school and three houses if you count the abandoned farm house. We found alfalfa bales in Alfalfa, but nothing else. There was no historical marker to be found. After some research, it's not a registered historic marker. At least not a marker important enough to register. Maybe it was just a misplaced warning sign to tease people to stop in Alfalfa. Or to get them to enter the old school never to return to the light of day and buildings which don't smell of hay. Apparently, there once was an old store, fire department, and a gas station. The fire department is still there, if my memory serves me right. But, the old store must have been torn down a ways back. And, that my dear readers, was Alfalfa. After all the excitement of camelbaks, creepy still-in-business funeral homes, storms, and missing historical markers, the day called for some coffee topped with ice cream. Being as there was no store or long lost diner in Alfalfa, a gas station would have to do. One of these days I hope to find an awesome little diner in one of the ghost towns I ride through. This hope also seems to be as evasive as that camel. 

Totally off topic: Perry, OK used to publish a weekly German newspaper in the early 1900s (like 1912ish). How cool is that? Perry certainly didn't have a banner displaying that info when I cruised through there in April. Wouldn't you know it, but I clicked on a volume which mentioned the Apache prisoners on Fort Sill. 

Click here for the Facebook photo album.

This blog is brought to you by the lovely (biased opinion, we know) Stone Turtle – Lodging, a small family owned and operated hotel / lodging business near Lawton, Oklahoma, Fort Sill,  the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge, Meers and Medicine Park. Yeah, that’s right we’re a small lodging business close to all the awesomeness Oklahoma has to offer!!

Getting Back into the Shimmy of Things Part I

Some crazy person volunteered to do a belly dance skit at an event known to the Germans as Fasching. Some of my friends got together, sat down, and did an amazing job organizing this event. I mean, it's about time! Lawton, OK has over 5,000 Germans of which I am one...halfsie.

So it's been a couple years, nine years to be exact, since I've belly danced for an audience. In my years of being a solo artist (lazy may be a more accurate description), I mainly focused on doing drills of all the basic moves so my foundation is solid. However, playing around and choreographing some songs would have been a great idea. Hind sight, right? I forgot just how much work is behind pulling off a well-danced song. 

As I figured out how to finally get my belly dance cds loaded onto my computer (rip cd, go figure- it only took 9 years...), I realized just how much belly dance music I had. Jeez, and I used to complain that I had nothing. After picking two songs for the event two weeks prior to my performance, I had no choice but to go in belly dance overdrive. I shimmied my way through the halls of school, rib-slid at traffic lights on Blueberry (where's a tip jar when ya need one?), and snake-armed in the barn. I've now listened to my planned songs so often that it feels like someone welded them into my head with a blowtorch. I was tempted a day before music drop-off to change my songs. Very tempted. But, I thought that money-ransom picker-uppers are usually not happy when money isn't delivered. Who knows how German music picker-uppers are when no music is dropped off? Personally, I didn't want to find out through experience.

I was also undecided about the costume I should wear. I got a mask thinking I wouldn't have to worry about makeup. I assumed wrong. I, surprisingly, still fit into all of my costumes from many moons ago which didn't help eliminate choices. Okay, barely fit, but that's not the point. Cabaret or Tribal? Mix and match? It's Fasching, after all; it's supposed to be a little off the rocker. What to do, what to do?

Music drop-off came and went. I stuck to my songs wondering about my choices. The DJ then got a hold of me to tell me that even with his awesome system he could not for the life of him get one of my songs to play. I had even gone through the unnatural (for me) step of testing the cd to make sure it worked. If that wasn't a sign falling in my lap, then I wouldn't recognize a mountain landing on my head. Yup, my opportunity to switch songs just floated by and you can bet your cotton that I grabbed it.

The only thing really missing from my preparation was choreography. Good thing I've always been a firm believer in a wing-it philosophy. 

Six days 'til the event. It was the fourth and final preparation for the event. It was almost a gorgeous day, so I wore my summer jacket with light layers underneath. Turned out to be a not so gorgeous day five miles into my ride. Oh well, a baseball bat couldn't have knocked the smile from my face. Boy, do I get a joy out of riding. Hugging Blueberry the best I could, I arrived at the semi-dress rehearsal semi-luke warm. I did not bring my costume, and I did not really belly dance. Those poor women probably regretted assigning me a skit after my kind of belly dance performance in jeans and pink-laced combat boots.My plan at that moment (besides laziness) was to have the element of surprise in my favor. To be continued...