Oh, Deer!

Our weekend started perfectly, with a noon visit on Friday from one of Ben’s former caregivers. Ben face times Amy a lot, and I’m amazed by how well she has maintained her friendship with him. Ben doesn’t like it when I bust in and chat with Amy, but I overhear them talking quite often, and it warms my heart. Amy is amazing. They have the give and take that is the essence of true friendship. When Amy’s friend, who also took care of Ben, found out they were talking nearly daily, she said, “What? There’s a call list? How do I get on?”

Friday evening we had a lovely time at Barrel 135, eating and visiting with friends we hadn’t spent time with for ages. No photos, just a really, really nice time. For the record, Ben highly recommends the chicken torta sliders!

Saturday could not have been more perfect for a scenic ride in the Triumph. It was sunny and warm, but not hot. It even got a little chilly in the higher elevations. 

Our route took us to The Barn outside Eagles Mere, where Ben had an exceptional bacon cheeseburger. He was moved to comment to the waitress that he found his meal delightful, and that he loves that place. Next, he introduced himself to her, shook her hand, and introduced us as Phil and Liz. I’m not sure that knowing our names was integral to her day, but Ben felt so triumphant in his social networking role, that he went ahead and did the same to the staff at the Eagles Mere Air Museum.

I can’t believe we have lived in Williamsport for 28 years and we had never visited this museum before! Of course, we were disappointed that the antique car section was closed for repairs, but we had a wonderful time seeing all the antique planes and watching some flying demonstrations. We even saw some pictures of a distant relative of mine, Lincoln Beachey, who was an early daredevil stunt aviator.

As we meandered back on Route 220, I pondered what we should cook this week, and what I could write about, and then it suddenly struck me. Rather, we struck it. A deer bolted right in front of the car without warning. Phil, with the reaction time of a man nine-tenths his age, and with no gratuitous swerving, slammed on the brakes, but we still bonked that deer good and hard. Hitting a deer is a sobering event under any condition, but in a convertible? It’s downright terrifying! There was nowhere to pull over for several miles, and the car seemed to still be driving just fine. When we were able to stop and inspect the damage, we were astonished to find only a bit of a dent on the driver’s side front panel. I’m pretty sure any modern car would have crumpled like a math test in the hands of a D-student, but this 56-year old Triumph is made of sterner stuff! No wonder it’s called a Triumph!

The doe was huge, and I had visions of it flying up through the air to land on us in the car when we hit it, but this was the only damage. Well done, Phil. Deer? You had it coming.

I end this post feeling grateful for the many friends who enrich our lives, and for the vast amount of steel that went into the production of British roadsters of the 1960s. We live to ride another day.