Improv at the Hookah bar

It was another lovely Sunday afternoon. A Sunday afternoon which was made for lounging in the sun with a mason jar full of ice tea and a good book. At least that's what I was thinking as I was power scrubbing on my hands and knees. Who talked me into this rip off? What kind of sales pitch was so powerful as to get me to trade in my tea, book, and helmet in order to spend my time on hands and knees chasing evil dirt spots across the floor with a mop? My memory fails me. I guess it doesn't really matter which lies the pitch held since that Sunday is long gone. 

As I was scrubbing though, I received an offer to represent Ahava belly dance troupe at the local Hookah cafe. Hookah in Lawton? That's mighty progressive for these parts. It would be just me since other people seem to have lives on Memorial Day weekend. That's cool, I'm just over here scrubbing floors. I start rallying the troops via social networks to come support their crazy belly dancing friend (some may deny a relationship). The question of music had to be addressed. I would be in charge. Ohhh yeah! A CD? A thumb drive? How many songs should I take? A CD would require burning songs and the actual CD. That's beyond my simple computing abilities. My thumb drive is currently AWOL so that left the option of dragging along the laptop. Ah, my poor, sick laptop. Besides the fact that its dependency on electricity is unhealthy, and it can't go a millisecond without juice before turning off, it's making noises on par with screaming banshees. If that weren't enough, the screen is also decorated by six...or ten lines. I mean, screen dividers. But, like a true zombie, my laptop just keeps going and going and goi...no, wait that was a battery, wasn't it? Batteries die whereas my laptop keeps living the zombie life. I'm probably to blame. I mean, a laptop can only handle so much abuse. Two coffee spillages, one water flood swishing through the keyboard's streets, 9 crashes (and counting), it was only a matter of time until it turned over to the dark side.

After retiring my mop for the day, and getting my costume on, I stepped outside into the humid heat of Georgia...in Oklahoma. I don't really know what's been going on with this odd weather, but me thinks this humidity is not for me. Instead of dancing outside where there's always hope for a nice humid breeze, a tent had been set up decorated with veils and hookah pipes. My support team was early. Well, they were actually on time, but if I had been the support team I would have been late which makes them early. As I'm breaking out in sweat digging out my abused laptop, I really began to wish I weren't the only belly dancer dancing. Barbara Eden must have heard me because another dancer appeared right at that moment. Boy, was I relieved. With the sticky sauna effect Oklahoma has going on, I think I would have collapsed in the middle of the tent in the hazy smoke of various tobacco flavors had I danced those 3.5 hours by myself. I did, however, have the first half an hour all to my solo-self. Note to future self: 3 minutes of tent dancing in 98% humidity in 95 degrees is enough to shed 5lbs of water so bring extra H2O.

Picture by local photographer, Mrs. Evelyne Walls.

Improvisation belly dance gigs are the best. It's all about the music and the moment. There are no moves that "go together" or were put together by someone else. It's all about me. And, I like that. A lot. Plus, you can't mess up. It's dummy proof. And, I like that a lot, too. The songs I have are normal length 5-6 minutes. They're not unusually long (13 minutes), but if you're not used to dancing that long it can be a little challenging to keep improvising or keep going. The other dancer just looked at me and asked if the song would ever end. Then the thought came to her that all my songs may be the original length. Yup. No break for you. 

Picture by local photographer, Mrs. Evelyne Walls

Had the pleasure of meeting an interesting group of guys who were enjoying the hookah cafe. They'd been given a doumbek to enjoy for the duration of their stay by an employee. I've never been given a doumbek to play with at any establishment. It might have something to do with the fact that my eyelash batting looks a little like "the look" so feared in Home Improvement. These guys travel with guitars, apparently, and before the evening was over there was in improvised jam session with a singer, doumbek, beer cup drums, and all. That made all the sweat from dancing in the hot, breeze-less tent worth it. How many people get to be part of such randomness? It was definitely an evening to remember and it all started with the scrubbing of floors.
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!!

Another wonderful weekend gone by

Ah, April is passing me by way too fast. In between colds, paper stress, and odd weather, April hasn't seen a lot of riding. The weather gods were on my side a couple of weekends ago as I was able to ride over to Lake Lugert...or Lake Altus as I tend to call it. Yes, I will rename things, places, and people. I was also able to bless the Wichita Mountains with my presence. If that's not the recipe for an awesome weekend, then I don't know what is. 

On Saturday, a rider from OKC was planning on coming down to ride through the Wichita Mountains before heading to the Quartz Mountains. Perfect opportunity, I thought, to get my newbie rider, who bought the Harley a little while ago, an opportunity to feel what it really means to ride. This ties in with my strong belief that anything under 50 miles is not a ride. Granted, lately my rides are in the 50-70 mile range. Somewhat depressing, I agree. The meetup time was flexible and the location was set for Mt. Scott. My friend got off to a little later start in OKC. I found it a little tricky trying to figure out when to leave or tell the Lawton rider to meet-up since I didn't really know a time. When in doubt, just bombard; I played massive text message notification specialist keeping the Lawton rider up to date. After which I was told I did a better job on status update than Dallas/Fort Worth airport. Not sure if that was a compliment... When in doubt, always accept such comments as compliments. 

The weather report stated something about temperatures in the upper 70s and lower 80s. I don't know why I'm still persuaded by such lies; nevertheless, I wore light layers and my summer Icon jacket with the lining. I did regret this choice once I realized that even lower 70s was not going to happen. I left a little earlier so I could continue my boycott of a specific gas station. Lawton rider pulled in to the parking lot shortly after I did. Sometimes life just works out that way when one doesn't stress over things. As we chatted and got ready to leave, the OKC Buell cruises by us. Perfect, I'm not going to be late for one. I figured we'd meet in the parking lot on Mount Scott, which is why I was surprised to find OKC digging through his millions of saddlebags right at the base and in a turn. After the surprise diminished and bugged-out eye to brake-hand reaction was implemented, full brakes were applied...and all went well. I do have a way with brakes.

To make the weather situation a tad bit worse, the wind picked up. I don't know what happened to my layering skills, but they seem to have done gone and left. OKC had his breakfast sitting on top of Mount Scott in good company might I add. I thought of doing the same; however, that seemed like a lot of unnecessary extra work. Laziness, eh? From Mount Scott we made out way to Roosevelt, OK (see Cold Springs...sort of). We took a short break to fuel up and have some coffee. Meanwhile the battery of the Buell was being sucked dry, lawnmowers were driven to the gas station to be fueled, and an Indian (the country) bus with tourists pulled in. All in a short  of time in a small Oklahoma town. I never expect small towns with nothing (no Main Street, or town square) to be so full of interesting things.Who would have thunk that one could hear four languages (German, Indian, English, and Oklahoman) in such a God forsaken town? Ah, to be proven wrong on a frequent basis...

Yup, all the juice was gone. There was none left to be had. How a battery can be so sick of life (or us), I do not know. How to rectify the situation? Brainstorming time. The guys thought while I watched. My forecast for thinking was mostly cloudy with 5% of brainstorming success, so I let it be. Two solutions presented themselves. We could try push starting the Buell or we could jump-start the Buell. I certainly didn't have any cables, and OKC with all his saddlebags, backpacks, and tank-packs didn't have any either. I guess he's not Mary Poppins after all. That was quite a shock to find out; I might need therapy. 

Push starting it was! Lawton and I watched once as OKC tried it himself. Maybe that was a little cruel (there's that hindsight again), but it was worth the amusement. We then decided to help. I didn't bother taking off any gear because I thought the benefit of the doubt might play in my favor. In all my blueness (blue helmet, blue jacket, blue jeans) and pink laces, OKC and I pushed and chased after the Buell in the gas station parking lot. We ran from one end to the other with little success and an out-of-breath blogger. As I was gasping for air, we opted to try once more. We pulled the Buell back to the other end of the parking lot for another try. OKC sitting on his dead steed, and Lawton and I fully clad in armor began the journey to the other end. Lawton has way longer legs than I do, and it was like an ant trying to keep up with a giant while trying to hold on to the Buell to avoid a face-pavement boxing match. My dragging along behind the machine probably didn't help. Then again, my deadweight dragging along couldn't have been worse than the saddlebags...the saddlebags! We should have unloaded the pack mule! I would have been a good sport and offered to try once more (that must be the stubbornness people keep referring to...), but the others saw no use. 

Plan B. It's always good to have back-up plans. Since none of us actually had jumper cables, we began asking everyone who came to the gas station for a set. It's either very shocking how no one carries a set of jumper cables (in a farm town, really?) or how unwilling small town folks are to help. Which was it? I don't know. It looked like more brainstorming was needed. I sat this one out, too. Turns out physical exertion decreases brainstorming success, so I stuck to watching all the pretty cars drive by. The guys went into the gas station and asked the clerk if she happened to have any jumper cables. They were back out so fast that I didn't need to ask what happened. She did, however, mention that we could buy a set. After 10 minutes of contemplating and not wanting to buy, our German Lawton rider disappeared back into the gas station. Five minutes later, the clerk came out of the glassy doors where she probably amusingly watched us desperately run from one end of the parking lot to the other closely followed by a grinning German. I don't know how he did it nor do I think I want to know (ignorance is bliss), but he managed to charm the clerk to check in her car to see if she did have her set of jumper cables with her. Something she hadn't been willing to do 5 minutes earlier... How d...Nope, don't wanna know. I have no idea how he did it, but can I get me some of that? As our luck would have it, she didn't have any jumper cables. Charmer that he is, he bought the jumper cables, we jumped the Buell off of Blueberry, and then he returned the cables. Those Germans do have some skills and Roosevelt was left with another unique impression (German charm) for the books.

We cruised through Blair on our way to the Quartz Mountains which is where we went our separate ways. Lawton and I checked out the beach and the resort. I was ecstatic to find a marble in the sand among the millions of rocks, bottle caps, and weird things close to the water. Since water levels have receded so much and with the thought 'who plays marbles these days?,' I've convinced myself that the marble dates back to the range of 1900s-1950s. The fact that the marble also looks much like the marbles we found on the farm dating from that time, only seals the deal. What does it mean when you find your marbles instead of losing them?

Click here for the WGR Facebook album.

And there went March pt II

If there's one thing I love, it's picking random places to go check out. Sure, I've been to a lot of the surrounding places so often they could be called Cheers and I could be called Norm(!), but I still enjoy every sip of adventure just as Norm enjoyed every sip of beer. If there's another thing I love, it's getting people to want to go explore with me. 

An afternoon in Nowhere


As luck would have it (what's with this lady streak Luck is on?), I had managed enticing a couple of people to go exploring. Because I was the only motorcyclist and the weather was pretty sucky, Blueberry had to stay home. I offered to drive, and off we eventually went. The idea was to make it up to Hinton, OK, but we were short on time and took one too many detours.

We coasted through Apache and went up to Fort Cobb where we spotted a massive coyote. I say we, even though it was I who spotted the coyote, because it's somewhat bad to portray myself as always looking around when I should be watching the road...even if it may or may not be true. In Fort Cobb we stopped by the World War II memorial tree. Of which I have no picture. It was a pretty small tree planted next to the Fort Cobb history lesson plaque. Thank God for full braking power otherwise we might have missed it and needed to make a u-turn. I was somewhat surprised to see a small independent grocery store still thriving in Fort Cobb. Since we we really were short on time, there was no opportunity to check out the small tavern either. Next time. We stopped in Nowhere on our way to the Lake. As I was paying for my artificial flavoring and sugar loaded snack, I asked the proprietor of the store about Nowhere. Nowhere was established by a man from Los Angeles who brought his wife to Oklahoma. She must have been pretty shocked by the change in scenery and was mad at her husband for bringing her to the middle of nowhere. The middle of Nowhere might as well have an official name. The proprietor was very kind and gave each of us a "I've been to Nowhere, OK" bumper sticker. Once again, I did not purchase a shirt. However, one of my partners in crime did, so I lived vicariously through him on that purchase. Also, I think the population decreased by 2. I thought last time the Nowhere sign had said Pop. 5... That keeps up, we'll have a ghost town on our hands.

After checking out the lake and polishing off my 100 grams of sugar snack, I thought we might still have a chance to make it up to Binger, the childhood home of baseball MVP Johnny Bench. As we coasted up the road towards Albert, OK, (population maybe Nowhere x 2), a gigantic roadrunner ran across the road. I didn't hear a beep-beep, but that could have been from the sugar high. Of course, brakes were applied and I doubled back on the double so I could try to coax the bird back out of the trees, but it was long gone. After turning back around, we decided that Albert would be it for us. Have a letter to mail? Have no fear, Albert's post office is here. Yup, the great city of Albert has a small post office, its own zip code, a volunteer fire department, and a house or two next to the Future Farmers of America sign.I f that's the future of farmers in America, I think I'll stick with what I've got.

It's against my innate philosophy to take the same way back. Needless to say, we were back a lot later than planned and other plans had to be altered. Not that they were my plans- so it really didn't matter.

Museums, Norwegians, and Vegans
 
Weather wasn't an excuse for not riding today, but I still had two non-riders with me, and I don't have an active sticker on my bike to get on Fort Sill although that shouldn't matter anymore. This was the first time I strolled through the museums on base. They have an impressive set-up of all sorts of museums. If you actually plan on reading all the signs, I'd allot a day for this activity. We browsed through the Field Artillery Museum, the cannon walk, the Buffalo Soldier exhibit, and the Native American exhibit in an hour or three. The last Fort Sill stop was Geronimo's grave. Geronimo's skull is one of ten famous body parts which have been stolen. Whether or nor Yale's Skull and Bones society is actually in the possession of Geronimo's skull has never been proven even though a lawsuits still arise. Can't give something back if no one has proven you've stolen it. The skull was alledged to be stolen by the Yale's secret society in 1918 from the Fort Sill location. We could have car pooled, but for some reason we didn't. The boys had the map, so I just followed them. That was a mistake. We got pretty lost, and it certainly wasn't a 6 mile drive like it should have been. I think that's all I'll say about that. There were many offerings left at Geronimo's grave. I wonder if someone cleans up the perishables on a regular basis. People leave all sorts of things: money, tobacco, service pins, Native American jewelry, key chains, little figurines. The graveyard is one of the nicer ones in the area tucked away on Fort Sill.

We dropped off a car, and continued on our way. I should probably point out that Hinton was, once again, our final destination. We checked out the cobblestone church in Fletcher, drove through Cyril, and stopped in Cement. In Cement, we talked to the owner of the variety store gave some information about the Jesse James Museum. The museum's still open, but by appointment only. Who wants to make an appointment with me? The variety store is also the town library and accountant. Is that a one-stop shop or what? Not only can I buy a wedding-like dress, but I can get my farm taxes done while picking out some books to read. I was also corrected on the pronunciation of Keechi Hills. My memory fails me, but it's either Catch-I or Keech-I. The Keechi Hills are also home to a hill referred to as Saddle Mountain where local legend claims Jesse James may have buried some treasure. There are supposed to be carvings on the east side of this mountain which may date back to Jesse James' time. Who knows. The property housing this mountain was recently for sale for mere $250G...to live in Cement?!? Not that it's not...um nice or anything, but gee-whiz! 

We drove down some of the roads until we came to Lake Burtschi. Found a lot of bottles, but no messages. Of course, I left all my post-it notes at home. I explained our travel options to my companions. We could go to Norge, where the Norwegians live, or we could take the highway and get to Chickasha a little faster. Somewhere in the process of explaining ideas, they got misinterpreted  in translation, and I was told that it was cool that there was a place where just vegans lived, but it wasn't necessary to check it. Now I'm not sure if it was my German, my weird accent, or the driver was acting like most do:not listening to a word I was saying, so we opted against going where the vegans live. By the time we reached Chickasha, it was getting late which was going to make us late for our dinner invitations. We were slightly more late than fashionable, and Hinton was not graced with our presence yet again. I learned something new that day, when going into a liquor store, passports do not count as forms of identification. Could've just been that when you're from Mississippi, you don't know what a passport is. I'll have to ask my family...

Last but not least, I find it amazing that March had so many memorable moments after the vicious attack school had in store for me this semester. March held nothing but ugly assignments, from intense exams to three 10-15 page papers. It's a miracle I still have my wits strung together. The Paper Rebellion of Spring 2013 was brutal, and brain cells lost in the battle will be remembered fondly.

And there went March pt1

Goodbye, March!

It's been ages since I've updated, I know, but [insert lame excuse here.] Actually, I have been staying pretty busy, and you can read all about it. Aren't you excited? To give you a taste of the delicatessen to follow, here's a slight preview of March: little red mite invasion on Quetone Point (those little buggers almost won), drooling over custom choppers, finding Nowhere (hard, since a lot of Oklahoma is nowhere), almost went to where the vegans live, and since you are reading this, I survived the paper rebellion of Spring 2013. Yup, it's been an interesting month with some awesome weather and fun adventures.

It's only fair to start at the beginning. After putting all bets on awesome weather over an upcoming weekend, I motivated a small group of brave souls to go hiking. Now, I hate gambling because Luck is never a lady for me; therefore, I had some concerns that the weather would suck. Luck must be toying with my emotions; it was a gorgeous Saturday morning. Blueberry and I pulled out the light summer Icon jacket, packed some water and were on our way to the curves of Meers. What a gorgeous morning! It was a fun, not too challenging hike. Probably the easiest Route anyone will go on with me. We started out at Parallel Forest where the trees are parallel; A place which is haunted by rumors of Satanic worshipers. Even without these legends floating around in my mind, the place still creeps me out. At least, I wouldn't want to be there at night to be run over by a buffalo ghost.What's worse, if that did happen, who would believe me? Yeah, that's what I thought.

We slowly but surely made our way over to Mount Scott. In the process, we found a lot of neat stuff and lost two hikers who have probably labeled me as crazy (not the first time and certainly not the last time). We saw a rock duck, a rock snail, an owl in a rock (owl shape that is), we found a nice rack (not mine), and found some neat places to explore even though we didn't make it as far as I had hoped. Somewhere along the way as I low-crawled through some trees, I picked up a couple of travelers. Millions, to be exact. I had been attacked by millions of miniscule little bugs. Chiggers? I don't know, but those little devils sure did like to bite. Unfortunately for me, I was the only one on the defensive. My hiking partners were not attacked. Is that one-sided or what? Talk about sexism. Okay, it could be that I was the only one who crawled through that one section of trees, but the others went through trees, too. Usually, bugs do not affect me, but when they're tiny, I'm way out numbered, and they bite then I have an issue with bugs. After a quick striptease (where's music and a tip jar when you need it?), I shook out all my clothes.Happy with the results of having made it into the hundreds on the mite count. Having a hundred little bugs is better than a million. I was itching all over. Once we maneuvered our way around an observant longhorn on our way back to the vehicles, we took our sunburned selves to Stone Turtle Ranch to enjoy some coffee and cake on the farm in the amazing weather. Itching is contagious, and some of the others began to look for little red bugs. If only I knew then that I would have the last laugh it may have made the itching more bearable. 

The next week... Still sunburned...

My enthusiasm for bikes tends to rub off on people. I'm so obsessed with motorcycles that if a person hangs out with me long enough, he or she will be browsing Craigslist in no time. I'll have just about anyone considering the idea of buying a bike. Of course, my motorcycle charm does not hold for mothers. Otherwise, I'd have been able to get mine on at least a scooter. Still working on that one. My mother's a tough nut to crack. Then again, it might be best if she didn't ride anything. I think I'd be worried to death every time she left the house.

One of the regular hikers has taken it upon himself to get a bike. I was invited to go browse local bike stores. I haven't turned down a chance to drool over bikes yet and I didn't intend on starting that day. I got the last laugh when I was informed that my friend's office was invaded during the week by the same little pests who had so unfairly targeted only me on the hike. He made it sound like he had not believed my plight with the bugs as though I had cried wolf. Thus, I had no pity for his mite infestation.

 Most of you know I'm strictly a sportbike kind of girl. You couldn't drag me onto a cruiser...now choppers are a little different. As we ambled through a custom bike shop, I seriously considered switching over to choppers. A chopper would be pretty nice. However, I might have issues getting around a corner because I do love to lean. I can't really see myself on a chopper...at all.

It's kind of amusing to note the differences between sales personnel at different shops. From "please leave your email address and number" requests, what are you doing here looks, "if you need anything let me know", to "would you like a beer?", we heard it all. Kind of sad when your pay is based on a quota and you need names and numbers to prove you were working. I really liked the family business atmosphere at Journey Custom Cycles in Duncan. I found it a bit disturbing that the mechanics at one of the other independent shops were consuming beer while working on motorcycles. Missing screws? No problem! Now I do love beer, but drinking while working on vehicles being sold is a no-no in my book. At the pushy shop, I was also called crazy for starting out on a 600cc bike. I wonder if they call guys who start out on a 600cc crazy. Probably not. As a matter of fact, while I was in there they were making a sale to a newbie rider. To him they also recommended a 1000cc bike. Who you calling crazy, yo? Found it unprofessional that our presence was not even acknowledged by the guys sitting in Yamaha. Not even a "Hey. How's it going?" Just an evil look that we wandered in a few minutes to closing. I'd say closing was the reason, but every time I've been in there, I'm never greeted - just stared at. Guess, quotas aren't an issue for them. Don't have any complaints about Yamaha's service department; they've always been very friendly and helpful. From one extreme of almost pushy and desperate (no pay for no sales) to another extreme of who cares about you(pay with no sales). Guess that fancy MBA is starting to pay off; I notice a lot of things when it comes to how a business is run. 

It was a successful outing. A little Harley Davidson was bought, a new rider was awfully happy, and I got to go on a small roadtrip on someone else's dime.

Pictures can be found on WGR Facebook page. Look for part II!

Getting Back into the Shimmy of Things Part II

What a wonderful weekend it was! The day... I mean the DAY was finally here. I took it as a sign that the weather wasn't too pleasing. It was a rainy, dreary day which knocked that little hope to ride right out of my noggin. Riding when I should be practicing my belly dance songs probably wouldn't have been the best idea, but would have been completely inline with my standard operating procedures. The day included an extra cardio session...not like that would help me wiggle into my costume- but, at least I was all stretched and ready to go. Yup, yup, I'm ready. Let's go,let's go!

Of course, when I'm finally ready to do something time goes by slowly. Not ready to do something and time's gone like water in a waterfall. Swoosh! Gone! Not ready to take a test, why, "Hello test day. Where did you come from?!?" I'm ready, and time is gone like dripping out of a water faucet where the water supply has been shut off. Dri.........P................................................ddddddddddddddddrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...iP. Since I had decided that eating after a certain time would be a bad idea (doing belly rolls on a full stomach isn't pleasant), it made the dri..........P process torturous.

I did my make-up early since I had a dream that I didn't have time to put on my make-up before leaving for the gig and that made my mask look a little silly. Mr. Beer baseball cap and some Sophia Loren style sunglasses in place so the rain wouldn't ruin my 5 minutes of eye shadow work while feeding horses and running from a mad rooster. Who gave that guy the Godzilla video?

Our designated driver came to pick us up scratching his head when I greeted him in a thick bath robe and a beach bag. No questions were asked, but I answered the quizzical look with "I'm going casual." To our surprise we found a great parking spot right out front of the establishment where the Fasching party was hosted. I put on the rest of my costume in the car before entering. Pulling my robe extra tight. I don't believe I really gave an idea of what Fasching is in my last post. Fasching is the German version of Mardi Gras. Before I go any further, I'd like to say that the ladies who took time out of their busy schedules and organized this event did a stellar job! All the people who participated also did an amazing job. It was fun all around, and I'm so happy to have been a part of it. Thank you!

The skits were a hoot! We had a few ladies do verbal skits typical for the main Fasching areas in Germany. One of them was fine tuned for Lawton specifically. Basically babbling/ranting combined. Very well done. We also had our own Dancing with the Stars skit. It was a tango...pig style. The pig costumes were super cute. It was almost my time to get up on stage so I went to the back, put on my mask and when my intro music came. I jiggled out where everyone could see me in all my bathrobe glory and dismantled. Like BAM! Watch me shimmy. I think the ladies who had to watch me fool around in my pink-laced combat shoes let out a sigh of relief. All those hip figure eights on Blueberry paid off. Yes, I incorporated figure eights into my swerving/tire warm ups. It's all in the hips, baby. After 8 minutes of shimmying, I shimmied off the super hot stage sweat dripping down my hard make-up work. 5 minutes of make-up work in my world is a LONG time. And, a test of my patience. There was another verbal skit of simple Gisela, a farmer's wife. And, then came the crown jewel of the event.

Heavy metal music came blaring, and six men came in wearing trench coats, combat boots, beanie caps,...and pink bandanas. With their backs to the audience, the music changed. As Joe Cocker's You Can Leave Your Hat On came out of the speakers, the shoes came off. The bandanas dropped to the floor. The hats came off (contrary to the song, I know). Hips were wiggled, and the trench coats started coming off. The hysteria in the audience was high. All the ladies were excited. The men probably uncomfortable. And then... there were six brave men standing on stage in white tights and tutus. Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake started playing and off they were -the men, not the fluffy pink tutus. They went up in white-socked tiptoes and scooted forward and scooted back. They twirled, they smiled, and they continued on. The audience went wild with laughter. Pandemonium was near. The guy who was lifted had the cutest, most appropriate tutu matching little wings glued to his shirt. The fanned butt slap, first one way then the other, had quite the impact. Literally. The guys did an AMAZING job with their skit! After seeing rehearsals so many times and spending the first one doing nothing but laughing for an hour, you'd think the skit would lose a little of its amusement. Nope, not one ounce was lost. The music changed again, and oriental music floated out of the speakers. Shirts were rolled up and bellies popped out. I shimmied back out and we did a little impromptu belly dance session. I had told the guys in advance not to worry and just follow my lead. Awesome, helpful instructions, no? Those guys probably wondered how they'd been wrangled into the skit by some crazy German ladies. We're that awesome. We can convince anyone that they want to do something a little unconventional.Then again, they probably wondered that during rehearsals when we went through plies, spins, graceful arms, lifts, leaps, and spirit fingers. Not to mention the "open leg" issues we had. "Offene Beine, Jungs!" which was often shouted by the choreographer ("Open legs, boys!").  That alone produced 10 minutes of laughter from the rest of the Fasching crew. Ballet is all about open legs...or so we were told.  

After the skits were over, the beer continued to flow and the music kept going. There was dancing and just good conversation. Even I danced; the person who is creeped out by partner dancing. I'm not even good for a waltz, and don't even get me started on that bump-and-grind junk they do at some clubs. I danced with one of the ballerinas. I've never danced with a ballerina before. I also did the wobble for the first time ever...It'd be nice if I could push that on alcohol consumption. I ended up driving our designated driver home. I don't think that's how the DD job usually goes.

After a couple hours of sleep, I enjoyed my coffee and got ready for a ride/hike. The weather was amazing. Absolutely perfect for a ride and hike. Other than buffalo tracks in odd places and signs of wild hogs we didn't see any wildlife. I once again heard the comments of "not being able to, in my right mind, call what we are doing hiking." They'll have to take that up with the complaint department which works ungodly hours, so actually getting that complaint taken care of may be a little tricky. By the time I got home, the weekend had caught up with me and I was cooked like stick a fork in me done.

Of course, of all nights I had issues with my camera, it was Fasching night. A few pictures can be found on WGR Facebook album and I will also try to post an excerpt of my skit. Going to start choreographing a couple of songs for next year's Fasching. Helauuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!

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...

Hiking Bootcamp

Since the weathermen predicted a gorgeous weekend, I pulled out my best salesperson skills and pitched the awesomeness Oklahoma's hiking adventures has to offer. A couple people showed interested in going on Saturday; the same guys who probably thought I was trying to kill them on the last hike (Eagle Mountain). It turns out that when most people hear "hike," they understand something different from what I consider a hike. I've learned this early on, so to make the decoding process easier and more accurate, I usually offer the explanation that hiking means no trails, lots of climbing, and potentially some low-crawling. Oh yeah, and amazing views! They bailed on me. On Friday, I was able to convince some others to go on Sunday. After the Sunday plans were made, I even managed to sweet-talk the bailees into going. Plus two unsuspecting victims. They later suggested that I should add blisters and muscle soreness into my decoding help. But, I just don't think that's a great way to convince people to go.

Sunday rolls around, and, wouldn't you know it, the weathermen had actually predicted accurately. I guess that is possible once in a while, or maybe it was just a lucky chance happening. Either way, I pulled my Ballistic pants over my hiking jeans and rode out to the visitor center on the Wildlife Refuge. I have to say that the ride all the way to the hiking spot was one of the best rides through the refuge in a long time. On the way to the visitor center I passed through many herds of longhorn. Everyone and everything seemed to be enjoying an awesome chillaxin' Sunday morning. Arriving early, I seriously thought about getting gas since I was really starting to run low. Laziness won, and Blueberry and I stayed put. Eventually, I wasn't waiting alone; four of the guys had shown up. Just before we decided to leave, one rider pulls in. After turning on the road heading to headquarters, the last rider joins us. Impeccable timing, if I do say so myself. We saw all kinds of coolness. Buffalo were chilling on the road in many spots. I slowly cruised through as quietly as I could. Had an elk run out in front of me, too. I slowed down because I figured there were more. A few seconds later, a huge elk with a gigantic rack runs out to join the others on the side of the road. He was an amazing sight. Saw some deer on the side of the road, too. I was surprised that they didn't run out over the road. The only animal we didn't see on the road that morning was turkey.

The hike was a blast. We didn't do a big round, but enough for the suggestion that I should offer a hiking bootcamp. Now, there's an awesome idea! I think it was meant more as a dig and came from a decoding process gone haywire.

Victim Hiker #1:"I thought we were going on an easy hike!" 
Me: "This is an easy hike."
Hiker #1:"My foot!"
Hiker #2:" On a scale of 1 to 5, 5 being the hardest, how would you rate this hike?"
Me:" A solid 2."
Hiker #2:" The hike the other guys went on last time?"
Me:"Three. It would have been a 3.5 if we'd scurried up the other side of the Narrows."
Hiker #1 and #2:"You're crazy!"
Me:"I have yet to be diagnosed."
  
Our group divided into three groups. One group stayed back, and the other two split up half-way up the mountain to take different routes to the top. We ran into a buffalo half-way up (and half-way down), I managed to get stuck in a little opening (I was,however, determined to get out the way I wanted), we didn't run into any hiding serial killers or angry wild hogs, didn't run into any treasure hunters looking for Jesse James' loot or the Spanish Gold (people are so unadventurous these days),and I had a porcupine scare the living daylights out of me. Yes, I saw a porcupine! Those who made it to the top ended up saying that the hell I put them through was worth it just for the view. I even got asked when we'd be going again. Who'da thunk that?

After a greasy cheese burger, Blueberry and I actually made it home with the little fuel we had left. Figured we'd baby it to a gas station another day. Pictures can be found on Facebook 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!!

An Impromptu Ride

On Friday I met up with a rider who's always nice enough to let me know when he's riding. He even has this habit of asking if I want to join (imagine that). So after the "Are we riding?" question, we decided to meet up in an hour. When I get there, his friend's already there waiting. Eventually after getting gas, lunch, and bs-ing with his friend, the other rider rolls in. First time I've not adhered to my 5 minute wait policy in years. If you're not there in 5 minutes, I won't be there either.

Awesome weather for a ride...if you were wearing synthetic gear. I was quite cozy in my Ballistic 5.0 pants with long underwear. That and winter riding gloves (how did I ever live without them!?!), and it's like riding in Florida sunshine even with the gusty gale common in Oklahoma. The windy city sure ain't got nothin' on us. We did a general 100-mile loop starting out in Meers to ride HWY 115 north. We did it just before they closed off HWY 115 to do whatever construction they're now doing. There goes my Meers and Saddle Mountain cemetery plans. 

I don't think my riding buddies had ever been on that road (not really explorers those two, but not everyone can have a job as an explorer like me). First corner comes up; I look in my mirror to see one of guys take it too wide. He reacted fast, straightened out his Harley, and did a little off-roading before rejoining us on the paved street. I'll admit, it was a pretty sweet save.We continued on- enjoying the weather, the scenery, and the ride. I love riding with people who ride to ride not to do moronic stuff. That last curve by Saddle Mountain is a doozy. It has an odd inclination and usually has grit or water on half of a lane. Creeped around that very slowly. Also, that last section (and I fear all of Hwy 115 may have the same fate) is only tightly packed gravel. I wouldn't be doing any track-style riding on it.

As we headed to Apache, I saw a lot of old barns I want to get on film. Some I've ridden by but were always hidden by trees. I love riding because I always notice something new. The Mobetta (mobetta than what, I always ask) building has long been transformed into a tanning salon in Apache. Because here in Oklahoma, we never see the sun... I think I'd rather get skin cancer from the sun than from whatever chemical reaction goes on in one of those weird booths. 

After Apache we went to Medicine Park because I had to go to the Post Office. Don't know why I didn't go in Apache. It's got to be that detour problem I have. While in Medicine Park I managed to convince the guys that they wanted to go hiking with me on Sunday since the others had bailed for the Saturday plans. I think I need to take some classes in guilt-tripping. 

The Day Before

My first ride in 2013 was not on January 1, 2013. Traditionally, I can be found cruising around on the first day of January every year; this year, however, it just did not work out. Many  factors pulled together to work against me. I guess beggars just can't be choosers. 

It was a gorgeous sunny day, and I had the opportunity to meet up with some climbers in the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge. Who could resist to ride on a 39 degree windchill day? Not this rider who was suffering from major withdrawals. I had it timed perfectly. Or, so I thought. But it turns out that my gear/prep checklist took a tad longer than I thought. Mainly due to my brain being on standby. When I remembered I needed keys and went to go get them, I forgot what I wanted by the time I got to where I thought my keys had been. This happened a lot while getting my stuff together.

Checklist:

• backpack
• camera
• cell phone
• wallet
• hot tea
• water
• notebook
• book to read should I get there first
• upper body layer #1
• upper body layer #2
• upper body layer #3
• upper body layer #4
• upper body layer #5
• long underwear
• synthetic wind resistant pants
• jacket
• winter gloves
• 2 pairs of socks
• boots
• keys 
• scarf
• helmet 
• music player
• glasses so I can see stuff

Yes, I make winter riding complicated. But, at least I'm warm and hydrated. I think what I love most about motorcycles is that every ride is an adventure. Cars are my fire breathing dragons.  Undecided squirrels are my strategy changing enemies. Perception really is everything. I love every moment, road, and tree I see while riding. 
So I got off to a later start than I thought. Since it had snowed, the road from Meers into the Refuge was covered in dirt, gravel, and other nasty stuff. Good thing my music was playing. Otherwise the cussing echoing in my helmet may have turned my ears red. I lost a little bit of time making my way down yucky gravely hell since my tires were cold.

I saw a lot of buffalo along the road in the Wichita Mountains. They have a whole 59,000 acre refuge to chill out on, and they pick the area along the road. As I approached the prairie dog town, there was this one buffalo rubbing his neck on an open gate onto the restricted area. He was slightly surprised when Blueberry's exhaust caught up with him. So surprised that he freaked out and stormed off to the other buffalo who then proceeded to freakout. Yes, Blueberry and I actually started a small stampede. I was very tempted to get off my bike and dig out the camera, but I thought stopping in the middle of a buffalo stampede might not be such a good idea. I would like to avoid using the phrase "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

I, therefore, continued on my way. Shortly before the turnoff to the Sunset picnic area, I came across a flock of turkey. I turned around, put Blue in neutral, pulled the gloves off my frozen fingers, shimmied the backpack off my heavily layered upper body and dug for my camera. The Refuge cop probably thought I was having a fit of insanity as I was prancing around trying to get the feeling back in my toes and fingers. 

They were a pretty cool bunch. Didn't have a lot to say, though.

 When I finally made it to the parking lot, the car I was looking for was already there. I hadn't been to this parking lot in years since, next to Mt. Scott, it's a tourist trap. There was still one parking spot left. Now, I had no idea where Echo Dome was (and still do not know) other than it can be found in Charon's Garden. I assumed it was to be reached from the trail going around on the west side of Elk Mountain. I packed my stuff and started on the trail. It wasn't long before I came across a huge longhorn on the trail. Usually, I'm not worried about large animals on trails, but not being properly dressed to run from a longhorn kept me at bay. I decided I'd turn around and get some more miles under my belt. 

When I got back to the parking lot, I pulled out my notebook and wrote a note for the climbers. As I was looking for a place to stash it, I found the note they had left for me. Figures that I'd see it too late.

On my way over to Little Baldy, I saw some buffalo playing or fighting. I was brave enough to pull over and watch them for a bit. They calmed down and then started up again which is when I thought it best to leave. I do believe a buffalo would win in a buffalo vs. bike battle. Especially when the rider still has to put up a camera and pull on gloves.

 As I headed towards Cache, I eventually realized that I was singing off key in my helmet which is also when I realized that my music had disappeared and my mp3 player had turned itself off. By the time I reached Lawton, the resistant part of my pants decided to stop working and it got very cold very fast. So I headed back to Meers. It really was a great day to ride, but the cold kept all but four riders (including myself) from enjoying it. I was surprised that I only saw one cruiser out and about since usually they're always out riding.

Cold Springs...sort of.

It was a cold, dreary January day. Not even the sun felt like making an appearance. It was a day to spend on the couch next to a warm fire while reading a book and sipping coffee out of a 44oz cup. That's the kind of day it was. Of course, one can spend a day reading any day. The opportunity to go out on a small adventure presented itself (and with a partner in crime, at that) so I thanked Serendipity and took it.

It's funny how when there's no rush and no specific plan that things just tend to work better than when a lot of planning is put into a trip. We left Stone Turtle Ranch at leisure and no designated time. Blueberry, unfortunately, was left in the warm garage. I can't expect Blueberry to always want to go ride when I do. Vain of me, isn't it?

I thought it couldn't hurt to swing over to the Narrows in the Wichita Mountains Wildlife refuge since I had a hunch the climbers I missed yesterday may try their luck there if they hadn't frozen to their sleeping bags the night before. I, of course, had to stop (yes, again) to take some pictures of some buffalo relaxing along the side of the road into the Narrows. As we approach the parking area, I spot the bright yellow car I left a note on yesterday. Was my hunch dead-on or what? I think I've still got some intuitions to gain before I apply to a sleuthing school. And, wouldn't you know, Serendipity was still with me because just as we got closer to the car, one of the climbers came back to his car. We had managed to catch them just as they started out to find the trail.

Since Serendipity had been so kind to me today, I had absolutely no concerns about being able to take the time to share the beauty of my stomping grounds with the climbers. Since my adventurous partner in crime had no qualms with taking a short spontaneous walk into the Narrows, off we went. I was a little surprised to find the water in West Cache Creek was still frozen. Had I known, I could have brought some ice skates since Lawton is not up to speed when it comes to winter activities.We let the climbers start climbing and started on our way back to the car. Not much was seen on the way out of the refuge, just the three buffalo who I captured on film. Because captured on SD card just doesn't  sound as good.

The general idea was to find a little abandoned mining town called Cold Springs. But, since Roosevelt and Mountain Park were in that area, we were in a car, and Serendipity was being so good to us, we cruised the streets/junk yards.  Roosevelt is filled with junk yards. If you have a project vehicle and need parts, try going there. I'm sure you'll find what you need. The old Arts and Crafts building is crammed with bumpers, hoods, doors, etc. The old high school (built in 1930) across the street from the Arts and Crafts building is surprisingly big for a rural school built in 1930. Found the old, old school house, too. We found a small cafe which was currently open and closed. Both signs were hanging in the window. Since there were no lights, we figured it was currently using the closed sign. I thought I had a post with some Roosevelt/Mt. Park history, but I couldn't find anything. So look back for another post soon!

Found at Roosevelt's bar.

After checking out Roosevelt's Cemetery and driving by a haunted house (or so it was labeled), we made our way south. I was very excited to go looking for Cold Springs along the north shore of Tom Steed Reservoir. Now, I'll admit some of my appeal for Cold Springs comes from the legend that the stolen loot of a stage coach headed to Fort Sill circa 1885 is rumored to be buried on the banks of Otter Creek. I counted county roads utterly confused when 1530 came after 2320 only to find out that Cold Springs has a gigantic sign along the highway. We turned onto the dirt road and started driving towards the reservoir. There's a tiny community back there and no more signs to be found. There was a road crossing over the railroad in two spots, but since someone forgot to bring a map, we weren't sure if that was a good idea since two locals had just ambled back over the tracks. I always think that in places like Roosevelt and the country surrounding it, they'd never find the bodies. Keeps me from places I probably shouldn't be exploring...sometimes. Since we were running out of daylight hours, we called it good for the day, and started looking for the Gold Belle Mine. 

The remnants of the old mine are right off the highway and easy to find if you're driving north on HWY 183. As far as I was able to find, this smelter was part of an illegal miner camp, Wildman, established in 1901 which was destroyed by Fort Sill's soldiers. The only things left to see of the cyanide ore mill (which never processed ore) are the cooling tower and the concrete foundations. It looks to be the local hangout judging by the trash at the bottom of the old cooling tower. 

After efficiently braking for the first historical marker once I had the notion I wanted to see the marker, I had my buddy holding on to the handle next to the passenger seat for the rest of the ride along with the comment "Jesus! You need a bumper sticker that reads I brake for historical markers." Well, I think I need a bumper sticker that reads I randomly decide to brake for weird things whenever I please.

Before turning around, we cruised through the six or so streets that make up Mountain Park. They have a post office, a bank, a small park, and a closed cafe (surprise, surprise). Mountain Park never experienced the glory it could have since the guy who was supposed to sell his land to the railroad back in the day thought he could get more than $6,000 and demanded more money. The railroad altered its plans, left Mountain Park in the dust, and made Snyder fit into the plan instead. All but seven of the businesses which had been established in Mountain Park then moved to Snyder. A lesson about the effects of greed.

For pictures from this adventure please check out the Facebook 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!!