Ride to Redemption

by D. J. Wilson

  “Come on, baby,” I said to Candi, as I helped her off the bike. Taking her hand in mine, with our day bag slung over my shoulder, I offered, “You can sip wine while I chug a few beers to celebrate our latest and greatest accomplishment. It’s already been a long day and I am mentally exhausted,” I continued, kissing her deftly on the cheek.

  Stopping by the front desk on the way to the taproom, I reserved us a room, much to my cohort’s approval, just in case. Especially, since I felt an overpowering hangover coming on.

  “Barkeep,” I said to the young man behind the long wooden, emblem, encrusted bar, “a bottle of Pinot Noir and two, Canadian Molson’s, please sir.” Numerous flat screens hung from the ceilings, showing ESPN, while the solid pine walls held the history of Glacier National Park in pictures over the past 75 years. Finding a four top, solid wood table in the back corner, I pulled my chair up next to Candi's. “All I want to do right now is drink and drink and drink. Then I want to make mad passionate love to you. I don’t want to think, I don’t want to reflect, I don’t want to know what’s on tomorrow’s horizon. Can we do that, baby?” I asked, while looking longingly into her eyes, gently caressing her soft, delicate hands.

  “Yes, baby, we can do that,” whispered Candi, as she nestled her left hand on the inside of my thigh. Taking my left hand, which was, up until now, holding hers, she relocated it under the table, to replicate mine. “You’re welcome to play, too, if you want,” as a devilish smile spread across her beautiful red and luscious lips.

  “I want, baby. I want.” My cinched jeans rose to meet the occasion as our drinks arrived. With two ice cold Molson’s down and one glass of wine consumed, I could feel the heat and moistness escaping from both our jeans. “If we keep this up, baby, we may never make it to the room,” I confessed, suddenly sensing that all the bar patrons had transfixed their gaze on us.

  Looking around the bar, Candi realized, as I had, all the eyes of the men were lustfully, looking upon her. Feeling totally uncomfortable, Candi abruptly asked, “Can we get out of here now?”

  I nodded affirmatively, while standing up, Candi smirked, “You could hang your helmet on that, big boy,” as she subtlety pointed to the tent, protruding from my jeans.

  Embarrassed, I picked up the daypack and carried it in front of me to hide my rather precarious predicament. “Ask the barkeep to put this tab on our room, and don’t forget to grab your wine and two more Molson’s please, while I go check us in.”

  Just as I retrieved the room key from the front desk, Candi appeared with her wine, two Molson’s and a frosty can of whipping cream.

  Looking at my puzzled expression, Candi bubbled, “What? ... I’m having dessert first.”

  “A woman after my own heart. I’m for all for that,” I said, realizing this could be slippery, sticky and fun.

  I had no more than closed the door to our room, when Candi demanded I take off my jeans. Following her orders to the tee, she led me to the bed, while pushing me backwards and onto the plush, down filled comforter.

  Looking around the room, while in a state of semi nakedness, the first thing I noticed was the rather bare décor. And no air conditioning! What’s up with that, I thought, just as Candi jumped on the bed and me?

  “Watch this, baby,” Candi exclaimed, consumed with the whipping cream, which she proceeded to spew all over the most erect part of me. “Yum,” mouthed Candi, as she enveloped me. “You taste wonderful. Your saltiness, mixing with the sweetness is making me so hot.”

  Licking, kissing, rubbing and rolling her tongue all over me was a sight worth watching twice. More whipped cream, lick off and repeat, continued until she was satisfied she had my utmost attention. Stripping off her top and bra, Candi orally took control of the situation, while the remnants of the whipped cream on me transferred to her, looking like flakes of snow, scattered across her chest.

  Time after time, Candi would bring me to the point of no return and stop, clamping her fingers around me to cut off the blood flow, stopping me from a much-needed release.

  “Do you like this, baby?” the woman that all married men dream of asked me. A woman whose willingness to please, along with her expertise in oral stimulation is joyfully out of this world.

  Filling her mouth with whipped cream, Candi brought me once again to the precipice, but this time she continued, taking me literally over the edge. Moving up my body with the whipped cream in her hand, she used her fingers to gently open my mouth, whereby she filled my mouth and hers once again with a blast from the can. Kissing me deeply, our tongues locked in playful exchange; the whipped cream, mixed with saliva, drizzled from our lips and ran down our chins.

  “Awesome, baby,” was all I could muster in between breaths, as I kissed and licked the cream away.

  Rolling her onto her back, I peeled the skinny jeans from her legs, leaving her satin thong intact. Taking my turn with the whipped cream, I applied a dollop to her protruding mound, whereby I began to lick it off her masterpiece, each time my lips passed across it.

  Teasing Candi, as she had teased me, I nibbled along the outer edges of her thong, never venturing into her depths or touching her sweet spot. Each time Candi’s hands moved to pull her thong aside, I playfully brushed them away.

  “Tease me, will you? This is payback 101.”

  “Do you want to see stars?” I asked, as her legs wriggled and thrashed on the top of the bed, while her fingers grasped the down comforter.

  “Now, baby! Now! Please now! I can’t take it anymore,” pleaded Candi, as my hands whisked away her thong, exposing her beautiful crevasse, drenched in the glistening, nectar of our own making.

  Pulling her BOA from my bag, I turned it on high. My instincts then took over.

  “Yes, baby! Baby, don’t stop! Yes! Yes! Yes!” Candi was screaming repeatedly, while the bed tossed forward and backward against the wall as if we were experiencing an 8.0 earthquake.

  Pushing me away away, as her sensitivity increased and her glow began to fade, Candi murmured, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. Oh my, D. I can’t move.”

  “You’re welcome, baby. Truly you are welcome. Any time you want dessert, I’m in. Especially if you show up with a can of whipping cream in hand!”

  Pulling back the lightweight, flannel sheets, we snuggled in the bed and finished our beer and wine while watching a movie of her choice on the Hallmark Channel. Spooning with her, my right hand resting on her tatas, we fell asleep and slept through the night. Eventually, the sound of my phone’s alarm announced it was once again 5 a.m.

  * * *

  “We missed dinner, baby,” Candi announced sleepily. “I’m hungry.”

  “Of course you are. Dining room opens at six. We have just enough time to have dessert again if you want, but I’m afraid the whipped cream may be warm.”

  “I like warm! Spray it on me, lick it off and repeat.”

  After a spontaneous 15-minute romp in the sack and a quick shower, I threw her a new set of silk thermals to wear.

  “Put these on, pumpkin. The elevation at Logan Pass is over 6500 feet. It will be cold when we cross over the mountain this morning.”

  Making our way downstairs, I asked Candi to get a table and order our breakfast while I repacked the bike. “Just surprise me. By now you know what I like,” I said, sporting an impish grin.

  A fresh spinach and Swiss cheese omelet with a side of crisp bacon, black and green tea and toasted English muffins greeted me on my return. “Good choice, Candi. Thank you.”

  “D, I’ve been thinking about last night while you were outside. I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I wanted you while we were in the bar. You make me feel so alive, so desirable, so wanted. I hope I never do anything to you that would change that.”

  “I hope you don’t,” I responded, thinking, If only I could honestly believe that. At this moment, I couldn't. Getting laid continually would have to do. PUTZ!

  We were checked out and on the road by 7 a.m. My hope was to find lots of wi
ldlife for Candi to see on this crisp, sun-drenched early morning ride.

  “Let me know if you start to get cold. I’ve got Polar fleece you can put on under your leathers. The temperature changes quickly as we wind through the canyons and across the mountains.”

  Making our way into the park, we noticed lots of tourists lined up for an excursion at the welcome center.

  “Look at the cool red buses, D!” exclaimed Candi. “They look like they’re out of a ’30s gangster movie.”

  “They are, baby. They’re called Jammers. They were built in the 1930s. Good call on that one, especially about the gangster movies and all. They’re used to tour people through Glacier who choose not to drive. Sometimes the roads are tricky.”

  I muttered, “I hope today is not going to be one of those days.” Which reminded me…

  Pulling up a weather forecast, before we got out of cell range was the last thing I wanted to do since we were driving this road, one way or the other. But, I had precious cargo on board and it’s best to be prepared.

  “Candi, according to Weather Underground, the weather today is projected to be 59 degrees and sunny, with lows in the 30s. My guess is when we cross the pass it will be in the 40s. I’m giving you a heads up. Wouldn’t want your ta-tas to freeze.”

  “Me either, D. If they did, what would you hold onto at night?”

  “Good point. … Let’s make sure we protect them. Here, darlin’,” I countered, while reaching in to the right side bag. “Put this Polar fleece jacket on and trade gloves with me. You can’t enjoy the scenery if you’re freezing to death. And you sure can’t take decent pictures with your teeth chattering.”

  Chapter 29

  Leaving Hwy.2, we turned north on Route 1, following Lake McDonald on our left. Ten minutes into our ride, I felt a tapping on my shoulder. “Yes?”

  “D, why is this lake so ice blue? It’s surreal.”

  “Its Glacier melt, baby,” I answered, slowing almost to a crawl. “Want me to pull off so you can have a photo op?”

  “No, baby. I can do it from here as long as you’re driving slowly.”

  “Just tap me on the shoulder again when you want to get a picture and I’ll slow down.” Reaching the upper side of the lake after about 10 miles, I found a scenic view pull off. “Let’s stop here. I want a picture of you with the lake in the background. You are hot in your leathers, baby. Add the ice blue lake, some whipped cream,” I offered with a wink, “and we’ve got a masterpiece.”

  “Thank you, D. Now we need one of you.”

  “Good thought, baby. But, the least footprint I leave behind, the better off we are, at least for now. Why do you think I’m always paying with cash and why I’m constantly using a burner phone?”

  “Really, D, I never thought about it. It’s sad, isn’t it? For all the good you’re doing, you’re always going to have to watch your back.”

  “Sad, but true Candi. It is what it is. At least until all the potential threats are gone or neutralized,” I replied somberly, while looking straight into her eyes. I don't think she got it.

  Back on the highway, we left the low country and started into the cedar and hemlock forests before we broke out into nothing but sky. Absolutely, stunning landscape, no matter how many times I pass this way. Panoramic views of snow capped mountains and stream filled valleys as far as the eye can see.

  “It’s so beautiful, D. Thank you for sharing Glacier with me. Never in a million years would I have ever imagined anything so beautiful.”

  Feeling the temp drop almost immediately, I knew we were nearing the pass. Stopping at the Visitor Center, I persuaded Candi to hike to Hidden Lake, just a short 10-minute walk from the parking area.

  “Look, Candi, over there, just to the left of the water. See the big horn sheep grazing. Oh,” I said excitedly, while adjusting my gaze, “look up on the hill on the right — mountain goats. Do you see them? Here, take the camera and zoom in.”

  “Incredible, D! I’ve never seen either before. Even in pictures. They’re beautiful. Have you ever caught ... uh, hunted for any of these?”

  “Nope. Not that I haven’t wanted to, but these types of hunts are hit and miss and far too expensive. Furthermore, as I’ve grown older, I’d much rather shoot them with a camera.”

  “Good for you! I’m all for that,” she said as she snapped multiple pictures.

  “This, alone, was worth the trip. Thank you again. Thank you, D. I mean it.”

  Back on the road with an appreciative, yet secretive woman behind me, we made our way down the mountain, before stopping at the Jackson Glacier turnout.

  “Hop off and join me. I want to show you something,” I said, as I climbed off the bike. “Way off in the distance is the Jackson Glacier. I read somewhere that it’s only one quarter the size it was in the 1800s. Scientists are projecting that in the next ten years it, as well as, the other 25 glaciers in the park will be gone. I wanted you to see and remember this one before it goes away. The good news is, once we get north of Banff, I’ll take you to a Glacier you can walk on. The Icefields Parkway still has numerous healthy glaciers, many more than there are here in the park.”

  Heading east, we made our way to St. Mary’s Falls, where we parked and hiked the almost one mile trek to the falls. The air was clean, the skies were clear, and the scent of pine lingered in the air.

  “Photo op, baby,” I announced. “Walk down to the footbridge right below the third waterfall. I’ll capture you in your element, wrapped in the great out-of-doors.”

  “It’s cold standing here!” exclaimed Candi, as I watched the mist from the falls envelope her in a silvery fog.

  “I got a wonderful picture of you, Candi. We may need to Photoshop it to frame it, but it will make for good memories.”

  “D, I’m glad we stopped and walked to these awe-inspiring places. My family always just drove by anything that required any form of physical exertion. I can only imagine all the beautiful places I missed growing up.”

  “You’re not alone. I don’t think I ever walked anywhere off the road with my mom and dad, either. You and I have a lot of making up to do, don’t we?”

  The temperature leveled out in the 50s as we made our way through the valley along St. Mary Lake. Reaching the visitor center, I remembered from my last adventure that this would be the last best place to stop before the border.

  “It’s potty break time, Candi. This is our last stop in Montana. Give me your passport when you come back, please. Let’s hope we can get across the border with our clothes on.”

  “Really, D? They could strip search us?” asked Candi, somewhat surprised.

  “They could and would, given probable cause,” I told her. “Having everything ready at the crossing might make it easier than it was on my last trip north. Don’t even ask,” I said, shaking my head as if to say, you would not believe it.

  Making our way north on Highway 89, we made it to the border within an hour and crossed without a hitch. Riding across prairie much like Montana, my desire was to make Lethbridge, Alberta for a very late lunch.

  “Canada is beautiful this time of year, D,” announced Candi, as we made our way into downtown. “Where are you taking me to eat? I’m starving.”

  “Of course you are. We’re going to the Backstreet Pub. It’s a hole-in-the-wall restaurant and bar if I remember correctly. I had their famous Jamie Sandwich and French onion soup the last time I was through here, and both were outstanding.”

  “Yum,” bellowed Candi, over the engine’s roar. “That sounds good to me. Of course, right now shoe leather sounds good to me.”

  Fortunately, my GPS led us right to the door. Candi followed my lead and ordered the same thing I did. We were not disappointed. Everything was as I remembered it, though the place showed signs of age.

  Who doesn’t after all we’ve been through?

  “Come on, baby. We need to make Calgary before dark.”

  “Can’t we stay here?” pleaded Candi. “This town seems lik
e a beautiful place to explore.”

  “Maybe next time through. I made reservations for us at an Irish bed and breakfast where the innkeeper makes you feel like royalty. I even remember her name — Josie — though I doubt she’ll remember me after all these years.”

  “She would if you had slept with her, D,” said Candi. “Remember, no matter how many redeeming qualities others may see in you, myself included, when it comes to beautiful women, I still think you’re a slut.”

  “Who, me?” I asked innocently, as I brought the bike to life and headed northwest. On the outskirts of town, after passing a Canadian Mountie in the median, I realized we should be using kilometers per hour, not miles per hour. The U.S. is so far behind the times, I mused. We’re only one of three countries that has yet to covert to the metric system. Go figure, if I get caught speeding blindly through Canada, I wonder if I can blame it on that?

  Candi and I arrived at the familiar-looking B&B shortly before 7 p.m. and were warmly greeted by Josie, our host and the long time owner of the Inn.

  “Welcome,” announced Josie, whose youthful appearance reminded me that the years could be ever so kind to some of us. “You, sir, look familiar. Have you stayed with me before?”

  “I have,” I said, briefly looking away from her gaze, “but it was a lifetime ago. Everything seems to have aged extremely well, including you, I might add. “

  “Thank you,” replied Josie, genuinely appreciative that I remembered her inn, whoever I was.

  “Josie, may I present my friend, Candi. I’ve briefed her on your royal pampering, so please keep it to a minimum or I may never get her to leave here,” I conveyed in all honesty.

  “Nice to meet you, Candi,” Josie said, extending her hand. “Ice-cold Molson's are available in the guest lounge, Mr. D. Please make yourself at home, while I show your lovely young lady friend to your room.”

  Not one to turn down free beer, I made my way to the lounge. The entire exterior wall of the lounge was composed of glass panels that looking out onto the well-maintained gardens and golf course. Josie’s a woman after my own heart, I thought, realizing I might have influenced her about these windows on my last visit.