Road Trippin in 1973
Estimated reading time: 14 minutes, 26 seconds
German Shepheard at Bushkill Falls
It was early afternoon on a hot, sweltering day as I parked the van in front of what appeared to be the kitchen and main lodge for our sixth bike trip. “Hey guys, how does this hostel look,” I asked the seven boys in the van. “Let’s check it out and see if we can unpack.”
A middle-aged woman greeted us as we got out of the blue church van.
“Are you the hostel manager,” I inquired?
“No, I am a guest as well. My name is Joan.”
I introduced myself and asked the boys to do the same. Each did but reluctantly.
“The manager will be here later as she works offsite. The kitchen is open if you have food to unpack. The second and third cabins are empty as well.
“Wonderful! Let’s unpack the food and label it and then we can check out the cabins and take the bikes off the roof.”
We worked quickly to unpack and claim a cabin for ourselves. Finally, six weeks of bike trips enabled us to work together with the appearance of esprit de corps.
I climbed on top of the van, unhooked the bikes, and handed them down to the boys.
I climbed from the van and saw a Nissan drive into the hostel. The driver lowered the window.
“Did you just arrive?”
Yes, I responded.
“I am Cathy, the hostel manager. Meet me at the bottom of the hill, and I will get you registered.”
I walked down the gravel path she had directed me to take. The hill was steeper than I had expected. It was at a 45-degree angle.
About a third of the way down, a German Shepherd started barking.
“He is friendly.”
With her reassuring words, I continued on the gravel path.
The dog was on a chain but began to run up the hill. I tried to stop, but I had no traction. I turned to walk uphill. I slipped as the dog reached me.
The dog had bitten my right abdomen and thigh. Fortunately, the German Shepard could not get any closer as he was as far as the chair would let him go.
“Are you OK,” Cathy asked as she pulled the dog away?
I did not know what to say.
“Let me get the dog down to the house, and I will come back with some Band-Aids.”
Lying on my left side, I saw blood and gaping holes in my right abdomen and thigh.
When Cathy returned, I said, “I need to go to the hospital. Can you drive me?”
“I can clean you up and bandage you.”
I insisted I needed to go to the hospital.
“I will get the car. Can you climb back up the hill?”
“I will try.”
I pulled crawled up the hill as it was too painful to stand. I stood up and walked the last few yards when I got close to the top.
Everyone was shocked to see what had happened. All seven boys rushed over to help me get to the car.
“Joan, I am going to the hospital. Can you help ensure they are OK while I am gone?”
She said yes, and Cathy started to drive to the hospital.
After almost 48 years, I recently lost my wife, Jan Lilien. Like The Little Prince, Jan and I believed that “The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or touched, they are felt with the heart.” This blog is a collection of my random thoughts on love, grief, life, and all things considered.
The book Never Forget Our People Were Always Free is told through parables. It features intimate glimpses of political and faith leaders such as Jack Kemp, Stacey Abrams, and the late Archbishop Desmond Tutu. The book also highlights unlikely heroes such as a retired constable, a female pirate from Madagascar, a long-lost Irishman, a death row inmate, and a man with a Confederate flag over his heart.
