Maui Madness

by Dana Sieben

"Holy moly...Jeeeeeez!" was the first thing that came out of Sandy’s open mouth as her rented bike took the first curve in the series of switchbacks at what seemed to be about one-hundred miles an hour.

The brochure from the hotel that her boyfriend, Joe, had shown her had said it was to be a half-day ride down Mount Haleakala and ending in the beautiful, coastal town of Paia. No biggie. It was nothing like the bungee-jumping, cliff-climbing, hang-gliding vacations that he usually preferred.

The name of the company had even sounded safe; Aloha Bike Tours. It had lulled her into thinking that it would be a nice little ride, see some scenery, you know…relaxing, outdoorsy stuff, see some birdies then go back to the beach. But no, it had to be a non-stop, coasting-down-the-side-of-a-volcano-on-a-road-with-no-guardrails kind of excursion with a lean, browned, Hawaiian guide who was riding backwards, of all things. Backwards!

"Joe is a nut, Joe is a nut," she gritted through her teeth. An absolute certified nut! And she would tell him that as soon as they managed to get off this cinder cone of death. Yep! That’s what she would do, she vowed.

Despite the cool air assailing her body as she careened down the mountain, the sweat on her palms made hanging on for dear life near to impossible. She wiped each palm separately, then regained her kung fu, death-grip on the bars. How had she allowed Joe to talk her into this vacation? She should have known that he would sneak in an extreme sport somewhere.

Not that there wasn’t an absolutely gorgeous view from Haleakala, she allowed, managing a quick glimpse of the Pacific miles below, that is…if one had time or the guts to really notice...

Good gracious, there’s a cow!

Said cow was standing half in the road at the next curve and calmly eating the moist Maui grass, unconcerned that a herd of bikes were cruising its way.

There were three bikers in front of her, including Joe and the guide, Kahoku, who easily steered his way around the cow, still riding backwards. They didn’t seem worried much about the danger.

"The freakin’ guide didn’t hit the cow," she screeched, "He missed the cow. How did he even see the cow?" More than quite a bit amazed, Sandy took a deep breath, gripped the brakes and prepared for her turn to maneuver around the bulging bovine. "OK, the guy in the tan shorts and high black socks made it…Ok, Joe…dang! I should have known this would be cheesecake for him…Oh man! Oh crap! I hate bikes! I hate cows!"

Sandy’s hair had been said to be one her most beautiful features, but now it was just a nuisance. Panicking, she pushed an errant, long, dark brown length of it back under her helmet, causing her bike to wiggle and then…

Wouldn’t you know it?

was her last thought before flying over the handlebars, past the cow, and landing in a meadow.

********

Later that morning at the end of the ride, they rolled into a parking lot in Paia. Sandy stubbornly stayed in the van in which she had been riding the last couple of hours watching the rest of the group. Her butt hurt, her knee hurt, and her nose wrinkled at the smell of the cow manure on the blue tank top she had purchased before leaving Chicago.

"It was great, wasn’t it? I knew you would like it." She heard Joe declare as he climbed into the van. "Well, at least until, The Cow."

Raising her head, Sandy scowled. "Like it? You did that on purpose."

"I didn’t put the cow there."

"No, but you neglected to tell me that this was a bike ride down from a volcano’s summit! This is a…a…" she gestured with her free hand, "…a deathtrap," she continued. "That’s what this is. There weren’t even any guardrails, Joe! You set me up!"

"Whew!" Joe fanned his face, ignoring her rant. "What is that smell? Could it be…ah?"

Sandy’s face heated up. "You know what it is! You saw me crash in the cowpaddies back there. I wish I had never come on this trip. I should have just stayed home."

Joe relented a bit, "I’m sorry, sweetheart. You did good though…for a while."

The van rocked as the rest of the troop clambered aboard and took a seat. A bronzed college-aged surfer dude took the seat in front of them and gave a cocky grin.

"I don’t know about you, Joe", Sandy continued in a slightly lowered tone, "but I am ready for a shower. I have had enough of extreme sports for a lifetime!"

Rubbing his nose, Joe chuckled. "Honey, that was nowhere near extreme."

Sandy’s head lifted. "You know what I mean. I like things nice and easy… and with guardrails."

"You know how it made me feel, Sandy? Like I was sitting on top of the world. All the colors of the island were so bright and crisp! It really gave me a rush."

The surfer-dude snorted. "Hey dude, you want a rush? Go surfin’."

Sandy ignored the guy and furiously brushed her dusty shorts. "All it gave me was a poop bath and a scraped-up knee."

"Come on now. You have to admit it is really cool. Not many people can say they have biked down a volcano."

"And I’d have liked to have stayed one of them," she mumbled as the van made its way back to their hotel.

"OK, I give. I’ll tell you what…how about we try a new beach tomorrow?" Joe said in exasperation as he finger-combed his short brown hair.

Surfer-dude perked up. "Hey brah, I know a good beach." The two turned and looked at him in exasperation. "It’s clothing-optional," he said with a grin.

*****

The shades-of-purple sunset over the Pacific that evening was spectacular seen from behind her floppy-brimmed hat. She lay in a rope hammock on the hotel’s beach and life was good. Soothing drums playing in the distance, the sound of the waves caressing her ears, the personal waiter who kept refreshing her Hawaiian iced tea without her asking. Sandy sipped her drink, sighed and closed her eyes. Oh yes…she thought, This is a vacation!

Joe stretched on the matching hammock next to her and looked down over his amber sunglasses. "So, ya’ still mad?"

Sandy considered it for a moment. "The vacation has barely begun, so I guess I can’t stay mad too long."

"I didn’t think so." Swallowing a mouthful of his Mai Tai, Joe began reciting again the benefits of the bike ride to a pretending-to-be-deaf Sandy who then butted in,

"That is the kind of sports that only adrenaline junkies can appreciate."

Sandy had learned to live with her fears by not subjecting herself to anything unnecessarily dangerous. It had worked for a long time, but times like this tested her. Maybe, she mused; I really am a coward. It was a sobering thought that she decided to push away for now and just enjoy the rest of the vacation.

The sun was almost completely set and the stars were appearing ever so slightly in the tropical sky as she swung the hammock with one foot in the cooling sand.

"…and do you think you will mind?" came Joe’s voice, intruding once again on her musings.

"Mind what?"

"If I go back up the summit."

"Back to the top?" she waved her hand at her, "Oh, no. Go ahead. I am sure you would enjoy another bike ride better than I would."

"Not a bike ride," he explained patiently, "Didn’t you hear a word I’ve said? A camping trip. In the crater. There was a brochure for it at the hotel," he paused, "In fact, why don’t we both go."

At this Sandy’s hair stood up on her arms in alarm, "Oh no! I am staying right here. There is no way…"

"But Sandy…"

"No. I am not setting foot on that infernal volcano again. Nope. Knowing you, we would end up having to rappel down into the crater or hang-glide down. Or…or…the volcano would erupt and we would both die horrible deaths. No way, "she repeated firmly.

"Camping in the crater wouldn’t be so bad," frowned Joe. "Camping isn’t considered an ‘extreme sport’ even by your standards. Come on, it will be fun!"

Sandy took another sip of her tea and shook her head. "No thanks, dear, but I have my own ideas of fun that I plan on trying tomorrow."

"What? Basket weaving?" Joe snorted, peering out over his sunglasses.

"No, shopping, and besides, neither one requires a doctor standing by in case of emergencies." Sandy laughed at the look of chagrin on his face and enjoyed the sweet smell of paradise.

Dana is a writer of poetry and short fiction. She is currently residing in the suburbs of Chicago, IL with her husband and two children. Dana has been published in a variety of online magazines and can be reached at www.Bamaalum91@wideopenwest.com or at her blog, Southern Gal Goes North (www.southerngalgoesnorth.blogspot.com).  Contact Dana.