Blog 3

***What I would like commentary on is organization/how to segment it, and what the heck is the point of telling this story?***

The time I hung out with Harley dudes.

Early June. Warm. Heat and hills. Rodeo's. McKinley and I stopped for the day in Cambridge, Idaho, to get my chain fixed - it had been rattling through the front derailleur and it was driving me crazy. The only joint in town to get food was a dimly lit, smoky, dive bar. As we sat there drinking our beers and talking about our day, two surly-looking Harley dudes smoking cigarettes and swearing like sailors asked us what the hell we were doing.

"Biking across the country," we said.

They thought we were insane, and said they wouldn't even want to do that on their motorcycles. I thought that was insane, because at that moment I could have killed for an engine.

Many conversations and inappropriate jokes later, we realized some things that cyclists and motorcyclists have in common. I learned that a motorcyclist knows all the contours of the road, just like a cyclist; motorists never know the roads well, thought they think they might.

Bob and Bob, or "The Bob's" invited us to their 25th annual Harley picnic, which was on our route and an appropriate distance away to not have to bike epic long days.

McKinley and I said we'd see them in three days, wondering if it would be safe to go to this picnic full of Harley dudes. The next day as we crossed a bridge, we stopped because we heard music. Down in the valley on a huge piece of land was a rodeo! Neither of us had ever been to one, so we decided to cut the day short to be spectators. Barrel racing and cow-milking were some of the events. We cheered. The crowd started at the only two girls in spandex. We felt so out of place while everyone was in full cowboy and cowgirl attire.

The next day we headed for the Harley picnic. After cutting the previous day short for the rodeo, we now had 80 miles to get there, with a steep 10 mile climb. Exhaustion. Hunger. Hills. Heat. Headwinds. We were going to be damned if we didn't make it to the picnic, the promise land. We knew there'd be so much food.

We climbed and climbed and climbed and fought the heat and headwinds. McKinley and I were incredibly exhausted by the time we reached the turn-off to the campground where the picnic was. Five more miles, off route, and we'd be there.

As we rolled in, someone yelled, "Hey Bob, your girls are here!" And a crowd of 100 cheered. This was the first time in 25 years they ever had someone other than Harley friends at their picnic. We were honored to be their guests.

Were they scary people? Nope. It was a bunch of people in leather, smoking pot, drinking beer, and talking about their grandkids and families. They fed us to death and were some of the most generous people I spent time with on that trip.

The next morning we rolled out of there with a little extra oomph, probably from all of the food we ate to fuel us up those big hills.

Blog 2

I am not sure what topic I'd like to write on, but I have some stories inside of me.

Biking across the country - The time I biked 80 miles with a 10 mile climb at the end of the day after eating breakfast with cowboys from the previous nights rodeo to get to the motorcycle gathering where I was so hungry I ate 2 cheeseburgers...as a vegetarian. Or, the time I hitchhiked halfway across Kansas because it was 110 degrees with 90% humidity and not a single tree in sight so I thought I'd die. Sometimes I hated my bike and wanted to kick it, sometimes it felt like an extension of my body, but it was always a ticket to freedom. 

Hiking the Appalachian Trail - How it changed my life and led me back to school. One of the lessons I learned is what you need always comes to you. Always. My time in the woods made me become incredibly sensitive to noise and smells. The longer I was out there, the more sensitive my nose became. I could smell a day hiker from a half mile away, and could continue smelling their cleanliness for up to another mile after passing them. For a long time I couldn't drive with my windows down because the noise from other cars was too much to handle. 

All of the wierdos and wonderful people I met while hitchhiking. And the time I thought I'd get adult-napped in someones car.

Or the time I went sailing across pavement at 20 mph and shredded all of my clothes and tore open my knee. Or when I went urban sledding on the sidewalk and gashed open my chin and had to get stitches. 

The recent adventures in teaching myself how to play the mandolin. I grew up playing the piano, and also dabbled with the clarinet, saxophone, guitar, harmonica, violin, drums a handful of times, and now, the mandolin. My father went to school for music and has played professionally for decades, so music is in my blood. I don't, however, consider myself to be a musician or to be great at any instrument. I can't comprehend sheet music, so I have always played by ear, and learned the piano playing by number. 

Most of the stories I feel that I need to get out have to do with my adventures, as they have all greatly impacted my life. Being pushed to my absolute physical and emotional limits and experiencing the highest of highs has brought out the best and worst in me. 

Blog 1

There are several features of CNF. A parallel I notice throughout all of the essay's, is that they all possess descriptive language, some more vivid than others. The shorter narrative essays have a very fast pace, where the long essays are more drawn out and wordy.

Both of the shorter essays are told sequentially, but maybe that's because of the nature of each story–they both tell of a singular, raw experience, where the longer essays tell about Ebert's experiences with language loss and a very detailed description of Lopate's body.

In Beard's essay, I felt like I was in the car with her being chased by the crazy guy; I could imagine what he looked like, and what Beard must have felt like. The language was vivid and sentences were short, so the essay moved at a rapid pace. I felt myself reading at a faster pace too, and I felt very much a part of her experience.

Marquet wrote a very provocative piece on her experience with abortion. The sentences were short and to the point, moving the reader quickly through the piece. She opened the essay with a description that leaves the reader wondering what she's talking about, so that is what hooked me in immediately, craving more.

The first sentence or two of a piece always set the tone, and I'll know immediately if I'm hooked in. Beard and Marquet do an incredible job of hooking the reader, where Lopate and Ebert do not have the same effect.