Nerves and Nerve Food

It’s just a quick trip over to Vermont for a meeting about the balloon festival. And the weather forecast looks fine. So why not go over on the bike?

Because I’ve never done anything like this before and it’s 336 miles one way and I’ll be all by myself and quite a few of the roads got washed out last week and it might be cold and I got an owie in my back a couple days ago and if I take the car I can come back Tuesday and quilt all day Wednesday and there are hills and twisties all the way and no David or capable Ayres Adventures tour leaders to rely on if I get in a fix...

and most of all because I’m a wimp.

That’s the long and the short of it. And because it will be good for me, I will go. And I’ll probably have a great time on the road too.

Mom called yesterday for my birthday, and we laughed about the concept of age. “When your father died,” she told me, “I was only 52, and I thought I was old and that my life was over.” 

   “Yeah,” I replied, “I thought you were old, too, and I’m 55 today, and don’t feel old at all. In fact, I feel like I’m just getting started!” 

   “I don’t feel as old at 75 as I felt at 55,” she admitted.

So I can’t use my advanced age as an excuse. My hair is still red, and I’ve never been one to shy away from adventure either.

That leaves just plain nerves. Nerves are not new to me. I’ve felt them millions of times -- like I said, I'm a wimp. Looking back though, I find that every single time I’ve just gone ahead and done whatever made me nervous, I’ve been very, very happy I did. And when I wimped out I was mad at myself and embarrassed.

Fortunately, from birth I’ve been exposed to the secret weapon true Maineiacs use to vanquish nerves: Moxie Nerve Food. When people ask what it tastes like, I can only describe it as a yummy mixture of root beer, sarsaparilla and battery acid. And it packs enough of a jolt to make Red Bull seem like chamomile tea by comparison.

I take my Moxie seriously. Consider the following:

• My email address is moxielady@me.com (ME is the state code for Maine for those of you “from away”).

• Moxie is the official drink of Maine, and I’m a native, with the papers to prove it.

• I have consumed enough of the delectable drink to turn my insides to steel. People from away can rarely choke down a single swallow, let alone down it by the case.

• I have a Moxie-orange motorcycle, built by BMW to honor my father’s German heritage.

• Her license plate is MOX-E. (MOXIE was already taken, but close enough)

• There is plenty of room in my saddle bag for a can or two, diet these days.

So off I go in the morning. I may post from Stowe tomorrow or the next day, or maybe not. Depends on how my nerves hold up.