As December days go in Vermont, it wasn’t too cold, but it was chilly. We’ve ridden in much colder weather, but always with a destination. One year, not too log ago, you and I jumped on the bike and took off from New York with snow on the ground. We were headed southbound as far south as we could ride. It was on this very day that we had finally broken free of Winter’s grip on the North East as we crossed into the Mid Atlantic states. A couple of days later, you and I would be sitting just 65 miles south of where I sit right now on Long Key Island enjoying Key West Florida.
Key West is where I found your High Visibility motorcycle boots. The very boots that made so much noise when you would run. The boots that people would find so much joy in seeing you wear. We only spent a week down here in the Keys, but we both enjoyed the weather as you laid out sun bathing with me by the pool. I’m not sure what you were thinking about as you napped, but I was thinking about how cold it was back home.
Perhaps I was inspired by that warm Key West breeze from the year before, perhaps not, but late in December 2012 during a snow storm, you and I moved to Vermont. I had sold my businesses back in New York and we were going to stay here at the lake house until spring when we’d be moving onto a sailboat. I’d be selling our bike too. While everyone knew you as the motorcycle riding Yorkie, few knew that before I ever met you, I planned on going sailing with you. Everything I taught you was for that purpose, including how to use a litter box, but you loved to ride and I loved riding with you.
Looking back now I feel selfish, we never did get on that sailboat the spring of 2013 and by summer I began looking at VW Buses and in October I bought the 1978 VW Bus in Nevada. You and I few out there to pick it up and we toured the rest of the country in that. While we had fun in the bus, you still have a love of bikes and I’d watch as you eagerly watched every bike that passed us whenever we were on the road. Still, we had fun cruising around in the bus and it was a lot easier on you as you always felt “at home” no matter where we went.
It was mid August 2014. We had spent the weekend in Terryville Connecticut at the Bug-A-Fair show where Sandy the bus won 2nd Place. We followed that up with some camping in Brattleboro Vermont and were then returning home after a fun few days when someone ran the stop sign. You and I survived the accident, but that would be the last time we ever got to camp in Sandy the Bus. For the rest of 2014, she’d spend it in a garage waiting to be repaired.
2015 came in with a bang. I got to fulfill a buck list item with Mommy; we went to Time Square for New Years Eve. It was something I always wanted to do and now that I did, I had no desire to ever do it again. I had also got into snowshoeing and like always, you were happy to tag along. At the end February I took you to a Susan G. Koman Romp to Stomp Out Breast Cancer event at a local ski slope. As always, people loved you with your little Motorcycle Boots to protect your little paws from the cold snow. We had a great day and returned home later that Saturday afternoon.
As I removed your gear that kept you warn, I immediately saw it. This little bump on your leg that we scheduled to have removed had grown 5 times its size in a matter of hours. The first call I made was to your Mom and the second was to the Vet. We’d be going in first thing Sunday morning to see him.
It was the beginning of March. You had Mast Cell Cancer and they told us you only had three months to live. When April arrived, Mommy and I took you to the Moonshine Lunch Run in Illinois as you had many fans there and lots of motorcycles. I had already made up my mind and had cleared it with your doctor that I was going to take you riding with whatever time we had left together. A couple of weeks after that trip to Moonshine and you and I were riding again and you were fighting the cancer hard. By mid May it was like old times and we’d ride every week if not daily. You were so proud to be back in your saddle and we were taking day trips all over.
They had told me you only had three months to live; December arrived marking ten and we were living large. The only thing I ever focused on was today. I didn’t allow myself to think of tomorrow.
December 12, 2015. As December days go in Vermont, it wasn’t too cold, but it was chilly. For some reason, winter had not arrived this year. Not a drop of snow had fallen and you and I were going to celebrate my birthday with a motorcycle ride. We took off from the house and headed north. We rode through some dirt roads, visited the site where Robert Frost would walk through the woods and get inspiration for his poetry. We visited a few small towns and even the state capitol, Montpelier before coming home. Tomorrow we’d be headed to New York for more Chemotherapy.
I struggle daily to find the happiness we both shared, but it continually eludes me. Joyous moments are simply moments that fade away. I regret every moment we were apart, every day we didn’t ride. You weren’t supposed to leave me this soon. We had years of adventure and happiness ahead…
but Twelve Tomorrows were all we had left.
