by Jay Kerner
If you’ve been reading us for a while, you might remember how some friends and I get together every fall for a little Bacchanalia fest we call “Caveman Weekend.” Our motto: booze, bikes and bullets, but never more than 2 at a time.
Many of the attendees are… let’s call them gun aficionados. Rifles, hand guns, assault weapons. Let me tell you, this little patch of the
As word of Caveman Weekend expands from year to year, new arrivals compete for precious bed space. To settle minor disputes without the use of the assembled arsenal in anger, Cave came up with a shooting contest to assign sleeping arrangements. It took me four shots to knock the Mr. Peanut can from the stump, which got me the couch. Whatever!
I’m not a gun lover like my pals, but I’m not anti-gun or anything. I’ll shoot a few rounds with the boys then leave them to it while I drag the watercolors out. I enjoyed a couple of uninterrupted hours at the easel to the sounds of apocalypse outside. I wouldn’t say I’m super comfortable with firearms or anything, but I feel pretty confident that if I had to I could defend my family from any gourds or nut cans that tried to pull anything.
You never know what kind of weather you’ll get once you set the date and everybody arranges schedules like we must. This year we were a week late. We should have gone last weekend and enjoyed some of the last sunny, high-seventies temperatures but no, this year we got windy and cold. We still ride, but so padded and insulated that it’s a different experience entirely.
I’ve been riding a motorcycle for about eight years now. The queen laid down the law when the kids were younger and said no way was I killing myself and leaving the whole mess for her to clean up. Once they were grown and out of the house she said “Go ahead, you’re well insured.”
Riding the bike fills the place in my life that playing sports used to before the knees went. After I started riding, other friends used me in their own negotiations: “Come on baby, Kerner gets to have a motorcycle. Where’s my motorcycle?” Feel free to use me in your own domestic discussions, just be careful! I don’t want to be responsible for anybody’s misadventures but mine.
Our annual weekend ride is usually a big chunk of the annual mileage I put on my bike. I have to pop ibuprophen before during and after to deal with aching joints, but I wouldn’t miss it for anything less than violently inclement weather.
I use Caveman Weekend as a way to blow out the cobwebs. I couldn’t survive a regular diet of it. I don’t think any mere mortal could. But, I think once a year isn’t necessarily going to lead you down a path to ruin as long as you behave yourself pretty well the rest of the time.
It’s good to howl at the moon now and again. I hope you take your opportunities when they arise. Enjoy them, and do your best to come back safe and recharged.