Yesterday was one of those days. We had recently moved to BC from Manitoba, and in countless musings during the last few years about what life would be like here, I frequently fantasized about this kind of a day. Indeed, this was one of those.

It was my day off. That's a good way to start any day. Dianne and I woke at 6:00; she had an all day seminar in downtown Vancouver. From our eastern view bedroom window, we can get the weather from our pillow, looking at the reflection of the mountains through our dresser mirror. A quick check of Weather.com confirmed that all points to the east within a days putt would remain clear and sunny with light winds, and temps of 25 degrees.

By 8:00 the bike was gassed up, my lunch was in the tourpak, and with a coffee and muffin at Tim Hortons to fortify me, I headed east 50 km to Hope. Venturing beyond Hope, through beautiful Manning Park, I couldn't suppress the ear to ear grin on my face, even the odd holler as I rolled from side to side through the tight esses on the Crowsnest Highway.

Stopping to read narratives at points of interest along the way, and idling through a provincial campground surrounded by a meandering mountain stream, slowed me down enough to remind me that hurrying was not part of this day. By 11:00 I arrived in Princeton, and after idling though their boutique lined restored business section, I enjoyed a coffee on the patio of a local favourite spot.

Sitting at the next table with a friend, a woman said just loud enough for me to hear, that she had a mind to forget herself for the rest of the day and ride on the back of that Harley to wherever it's going. She and her friends confirmed that Highway #5A to the north was indeed one made for a motorcycle. Good pavement, twisties, and all kinds of scenery. "Watch out for deer". I was ready, and set off - with the back seat still empty, I might add.

Sure enough, soon I waved to a doe and her two fawns standing still by the side of the road. The road took me around Allison Lake with emerald water so clear I could see the clear definition of sand bars, and the final resting place of a rowboat buried six feet under, all from my scooter as I toodled by. Another deer, this time a young buck with stubby velvety horns standing motionless by the road.

The throaty melodious tunes emanating from the big Twin were my constant companion, comforting tunes to be sure. Who needs brute power when you got those tunes and torque a plenty to pull you through the sweeps and turns? There's that grin again, even dare I say, a few orgasmic grunts, as I revelled in the sheer delight of doing exactly what I was doing and being exactly where I wanted to be at that moment in time.

I rolled into Merrit around noon, found a picnic table at a wayside park, and surprised even myself with the delectable flavours of my own creation of a ham sandwich, a hunk of cheese, and a soft drink. Exchanging pleasantries with an elderly couple at the next table, then over to another table where a rider had her horse tethered while she took a break from a long ride. The horse got my attention much more than her spilling halter top. I 'lit the switch' on the Harley and rolled along.

On to the Coquihalla Highway, finally a wrist twist to 120 kph for speed induced exhilaration up the gradual climb to the summit - snow level - and down on the southbound side through a tunnel and long, gentle sweepers. Remembering my earlier passion of flying, I was reminded of the "two minute turn" in which it takes exactly two minutes to turn 360 degrees in flight with a precise bank of 10 degrees. And oh, the tunes from those pipes, reverberating back and forth through those tunnels. Sounds that metric riders can only dream of.

Digressing about four kilometers from the general direction of my sights, I wound along a very narrow twisty lane (DH44TE-A) alongside a river to end up at the historic Othello Tunnels. Restored tunnels and trestle bridges, constructed back in time for the Kettle Valley railroad. Cameras rolled here back in 1982 for the shooting of Sly Stallone and "First Blood."

At 3:00 and some 450 kliks later, I got off my iron hog but only because my front tire nudged the garage door and I couldn't go any further. A good thing though, that was not the end of the day. Dianne got home at 5:00 and after a quick barbeque of farmer sausage, we both got on the bike this time and headed for our weekly ride with the local CMA (Christian Motorcyclists Association) chapter out of Abbotsford. About a dozen of us then rode another 180 kliks through a literal maze of back country roads to end up at the shores of Pitt Lake near Maple Ridge. Then on to Home Family Restaurant for some of their famous homemade pies, and finally we rolled into our garage at 11:15.

The only thing left to complete this awesome day was a deep massage by my pretty blue eyed blonde as we pulled back the covers. What a day! And you know what, there will be many more of these. -- Art Enns