Hawaiian Dreams

Part Three of Three

I could cancel the trip altogether and let down a very dear friend who had never been to Hawaii, or I could take matters into my own hands.

Two months before my scheduled departure, I decided to use my savings to purchase airline tickets, and I put the hotel reservations on my credit card. Yes, I’d have to make payments on this trip of a lifetime, but it would be worth it. I would make it worth it.




I extended the trip by three days and bought tickets for an island hopper. We’d visit BOTH temples and the Polynesian Cultural Center, too. We would have a ball!


Five weeks before we were to leave, I finally met Mr. Right. Yes, it’s true. Hard to fathom, but factual. This development nearly sent my parents into cardiac arrest. They were quite sure they were stuck in a dream because no way was this ever going to happen in real life. Their beloved old maid wasn’t going to be a spinster after all.

The Lord likely knew exactly what He was doing when He made me scrounge for a female traveling companion. Novels and blockbuster movies have been written and filmed detailing the results of man plus woman plus beautiful tropical island. Yet still, leaving the love of my life behind for an entire week seemed like torture!


A week before departure, I took my final training ride. If I could successfully ride from my metro apartment to the top of the nation’s highest paved road, I would be able to do Mauna Kea. At home, I would have only 8,000 feet of elevation gain, but the mileage would be much further. And the weather would be much hotter. Mauna Kea doesn't have a brown cloud.


I successfully climbed more than 30 miles and made it to 10,000 feet, but I couldn’t go another inch. My bad knee stopped me cold. Actually, I was sweating by the bucket and not chilled at all. If I pushed any harder, maybe I could be the first to climb Mauna Kea in a wheelchair.

The next day, I cancelled my bike rental. I kept the moonlight tour because I thought it would be joyful.


It wasn’t. I mean, it was a great trip. Not just great, but fantastic. I loved hearing the history of the area and all about the native culture. I hiked atop a cinder cone and could see the summits of both Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea, as well as the ocean. The full moon rose in the shadow of Hawaii’s tallest mountain as the sun set. I hiked to the true summit of Mauna Kea. After dusk, I viewed planets and solar systems not visible to the naked eye via multiple telescopes set up especially for tour guests.






During the van ride the entire tour, all I could think of was taking a mountain bike up that long and winding dirt road. Looking back now, I'm not sure I would have been able to ride to the top, due to volcanic fumes I didn't realize I had inhaled during my brief hikes until the next day. Pretty nasty stuff!!!


The botanic gardens, fabric shops, temples and flowers everywhere somewhat made up for the disappointment. But every time I saw a bike, oh, how I wished I had at least tried.






That is, until I got back home. That’s when Mr. Right suggested a repeat trip might be the perfect honeymoon. Would I be willing to go through this again? Would I be willing to get married???


We haven't been to Hawaii. Yet. Our day will come. I promise.

Most couples romantically fantasize about beaches, shopping, diving and sightseeing in Hawaii. Not us. No. Not even Mauna Kea would be enough to hold our interest now that we’ve pedaled up the highest paved road in North America together and halfway across Colorado multiple time to boot. We want to ride around the entire Big Island. On our own bikes, not rentals.


Oh, and now he wants to ride all the way around the other islands, too. Plus, he's seen films of mountain biking in Hawaii. He gets as excited about single track as I do about flowers and photography.

I wonder what fishbowl I can drop a couple more tickets into to win yet another trip of a lifetime? Naaa. We’d probably end up having to pay for the trip ourselves.

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Hawaiian Dreams

Part Two of Three

I was still dazed as I made my way across the cultural hall to the stage, where the MC was now on third and final call. I raised my hand and waved so I wouldn’t lose my coveted prize. One gentleman tugged lightly on my arm as I passed.

“Aren’t you excited?” he quizzed. “You look like you’re going to a funeral.”

I felt as if I had been to a funeral, but his point was well taken. Not only had I won a trip to Hawaii, but I could now leave this wretched place just the way I came… Alone. Maybe I should wave my arms in the air and scream. No, the younger set could have the honors.


A parade of excited cries echoed through the cultural hall as the remaining winners were announced. I filled out my required paperwork while other trip recipients did headstands, end zone dances and Olympic cheers, injecting a good dose of enthusiasm back into the event. I snuck out the side door and into the dark parking lot when the music began again.


Hawaii. Four days and three nights. Airfare for two. Visions of plumeria, sea turtles and volcanoes didn’t immediately dance through my head as I walked like a zombie through the crisp Colorado air toward my car. All I could think was who would occupy that second seat.


For a moment, I thought of going back into the church to see if I could find a willing co-traveler. Maybe even one of those young college girls. She’d probably be plugged into an MP3 player the whole time, and I’d be taking pictures all four days, so it wasn’t like we actually had to be friends or crave the same things.


Three or four years earlier, it would have been such a simple dilemma. I could buy an extra ticket and take both my kids. We would have had a grand time. They would have spent all their time collecting seashells, building sandcastles, burying each other and getting wet. They likely would have been arrested for repeatedly sneaking into aquarium pools. Meanwhile, I would be taking pictures. The perfect vacation. Something I could not afford to give my children when they were fun. I mean, young.

But that was a different lifetime. I tried to let my mind wander.


I have plentiful friends. There were many people I could thank in a most eloquent way for their emotional support as I went through my darkest days. Almost all of them were married. Maybe I could just give the tickets to one of the couples who had made sure I didn’t spend a single holiday alone unless I wanted to. I glanced down at the voucher in my hand.

Non-transferable. Of course.


My brothers all had wives and kids. My sister was in a long-term relationship. Maybe my mom would go, and she’d definitely cater to my whims. But would she have fun? Would she want to do something like that without my dad?

Probably not. And Dad isn’t the traveling type. Back to the drawing board.

Who would put up with me in paradise for four days?


My tropical dream was never something to which normal people might aspire. Most tourists dream of spending four days in Hawaii on the beach, shopping, diving or seeing the sights. Not me. One of my lifetime dreams is to bike up Mauna Kea from Hilo. Sea level to 13,796 feet in 44 miles. Nearly 14,000 feet of elevation gain in a day. At the time, only one female had successfully done it. I wanted to be the second.


I commenced training immediately, even though it was the middle of winter in the Rocky Mountains. This might be my only chance to visit the Big Island, and I was determined to make it the best trip ever. I also found a single friend willing to drive a SAG (support and gear) wagon up Mauna Kea just in case I couldn’t make it or needed extra water or food. Hip, hip, hooray! I'm going to Hawaii!!!!!!!!!!


I soon came to the realization I should have used my two-wheeled steed to take that second seat. Not only would I have to dismantle my bike and then put it back together once I arrived in Hawaii, but the cost to transport it and the forms I’d have to sign to absolve the airline from responsibility for shipping my favorite mode of transportation nearly put me in my grave. I am not capable of adjusting the seat on my bike, much less dismantling the entire contraption and putting it back together in ride-worthy condition.


So I lined up a rental bike in Hilo. I researched my route. I rented a four-wheel drive vehicle we could use as a SAG mobile. I booked a moonlight tour up the peak for entertainment and reconnoiter purposes. I told all my friends what I was going to do, and my adrenaline level was off the charts.


Meanwhile, negotiations with the company theoretically providing this fantasy weren’t what I expected. The closer I got to my actual travel date, the more I began to suspect the trip was but a sham. I inquired via the singles group if anyone else was having trouble collecting their prizes, and sure enough, too many strings were attached. This trip was not by any means free.


Part Three will be published next week. Link won't work until the post is published.

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Hawaiian Dreams

Part One of Three

If it sounds too good to be true, beware. It probably comes with the power to muddle all kinds of things.

Miserable for many valid reasons and enduring yet another Christmas holiday season alone (back in 2003), I decided to attempt to boost my mood and self-confidence by giving the singles scene one more try. I attended a regional singles dance sponsored by my church. Alone.


It had been way too many years. Most of the music played was not something I can dance to, much less enjoy. Even though the event was designated for a target age group (30-45) and I fit nicely into that category, most attendees were far younger than me. Popular forms of socializing such as “speed mingling” didn’t particularly interest me. I preferred the outdated methods of “pick and choose” conversation partners and unlimited spontaneous dialogue without having to yell over noise confused with music. Fear crawled through my veins as I realized what this meant.

I was getting old!


I wanted to leave. But there was this tiny detail from which I just couldn’t walk away. Four roundtrips for two to Hawaii were to be given away. I had deposited my ticket in the fishbowl. It would serve me right if I walked out and my name was drawn.

The trips supposedly were donated by someone who allegedly had met their eternal companion through the church singles program and wanted to do something to improve participation and the chance for other singles to meet that special someone. Yes, all that legal disclosure language bugs me, too, but I wouldn’t want anyone to think my church is responsible for the hairballs we creative and benevolent beings sometimes spew.

The dance may not have been the romantic or even platonic breeding grounds I hoped, but I could hardly walk out without giving the free trip of a lifetime my best shot.


I attempted to politely ward off the advances of a boy – yes, a BOY – who insisted I would make the perfect girlfriend, while simultaneously dodging the white-haired Romeo who appeared to be chasing the Guinness record for most dances with strangers in two hours since the last singles dance I’d attended nearly a decade earlier. Yes, he was doing the same thing at that dance, too.

No one would allow me to be a wallflower, and yet I didn’t really want to dance with the group of 18 or so teenyboppers bouncing in the middle of the dance floor together to avoid “the vultures,” either. The refreshments were interesting. Not completely palpable, but full of intrigue.


Finally, it was time for the drawing. Ten minutes, and I’d be out of there. I could grin and bear ten more minutes.

Just as that hormone-charged boy still looking for a skateboard partner took a seat next to me, the first winner’s name was announced. I sat stunned for what seemed like 10 or 15 minutes, and the boy misinterpreted my response.

“I was thinking that since you like bikes so much, maybe we could go for a ride sometime,” he was saying. “Do you have a bike I can borrow? I don’t mind if it’s a girl’s bike. I sure hope you’re not one of those fanatics who likes to be on their bike all the time and rides 25 miles a week.”


I reached over to pat his hand, more to move it from my shoulder back to the table than an act of genuine affection.

“No, I’m the type who likes to do 50 miles a day,” I replied as I stood. “And that was my name they just called, so I have to go collect my airline tickets now. Thank you so much for keeping me company.”


Part Two will be published next week. Link won't work until the post is published.

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Hawaiian Dreams

I've been promising to tell the tale behind my Hawaiian WIP (Work In Progress) for as long as I've been in the quarterly quilt completion challenge. Now that I'm finally serious about finishing the Hawaiian Punch project, I thought this is the best time to share what I hope you will find to be a humorous story that also happens to be completely true, no embellishment whatsoever.

I won a trip to Hawaii back in 2003, and I took the trip of a lifetime with a very dear friend in June of 2004. I did this instead of doing my annual Elephant Rock bicycle ride and the 2004 Ride the Rockies week-long bicycle tour because my knee was still showing signs of over-training and enthusiastic participation in my first Ride the Rockies in June of 2003.

Nevertheless, I still had BIG bicycle plans for Hawaii, which I will detail in the next three weeks.

One of the now-laughable experiences during my trip of a lifetime didn't make it into the official story because it was not funny at all to me back then. I shot 1,600 photos during the trip. You would expect no less of me, right?

This was back in 2004, when memory cards were not a dime a dozen and not easily available even in grocery stores. They also didn't have a whole lot of space. I think I could get maybe 200 photos on a card back then.

One of the cards crashed before I could get it backed up at home. I wasn't about to lose 200 photos of my dream vacation!!! I went through the Yellow Pages... that was back before we could look up everything on the internet. I found a business that would attempt to save what they could from the tiny little memory card for $100. They saved 96 of the photos.

Now, it's hilarious to me, but back then, it was grounds for ulcers. I can't wait to go back with my Lizard one day and reshoot the photos I lost. Perhaps even live out my Mauna Kea cycling dream with my Cycling Partner!


Aside from what I think is an incredibly funny story, my trip of a lifetime also introduced me to Hawaiian quilting. I bought a pillow kit at the Polynesian Cultural Center, finished it when I got back home, and then purchased my first ever fat quarter collection so I could make a whole quilt.

Of course, between "winning" the trip and actually going, I'd met Lizard and fallen completely in love. Although I had tons of time to quilt while he still lived in Grand Junction and I was in the Denver metro area 250 miles away, a combination of trying to learn how to make a perfect mariner's compass for the center of the quilt, my 2004 emergency back surgery and marriage in 2005 put most quilting projects on hold.

That's why my Hawaiian Punch quilt joined the WIP list, which became so overwhelming, I joined the quarterly challenge to attempt to shrink the list. I'm hoping to take Hawaiian Punch off my WIP list by the end of this quarter.

While I hopefully work toward that goal, I'll share my Hawaiian adventure through the next three Tuesdays because the story is too long to fit in one blog post, according to experts. I would love to keep it all together in one post, but people who supposedly know more than me tell writers like me our readers don't like to read online material longer than two scrolls. Thankfully, I do not fit into that mold. Do you?

The comical account of my trip to paradise - complete with some of my most awesome photos - will begin next week. Hope to see you then!

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