It really was worth the hike.

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Have you ever noticed that our pets sometimes put us to shame.

I think dogs have a mission on this earth to remind us to enjoy life and just be happy to be alive.

Think about it — no matter how bad a day you’ve had, you walk in the house and your dog comes to greet you, tail wagging, just happy because you’ve come home. You go outside and the dog runs about sniffing the air, the trees, the grass or the snow, just enjoying the outdoors. You go back indoors and whether you go about your business or just sit down in a chair for a quiet few minutes, your dog isn’t far away, waiting to see what you want to do next, happy to just tag along. There’s a lesson there for all of us.

I often think of a day last summer when Jake helped Steve and I with that lesson. It was during our trip to New Hampshire (I promise I’ll write about something else soon). We were riding through the White Mountains and had decided to try to see at least one large waterfall. There are a number of them throughout the mountains, some more accessible than others, all laid out in handy travel guides and maps which provide directions and walking distances. But when you’re wearing bike gear in August, accessible is all somewhat relative.

We had chosen a waterfall not too far from Mt. Washington. I don’t remember how it was described now, but as I recall we were expecting maybe a 20-minute walk. The three of us set off in good spirits with Jake, of course, leading the way. He doesn’t always know where we’re going, but he still likes to go first.

The thing about a waterfall is that the water has to fall from somewhere. If you stop to think about it for a minute, it’s not so astonishing that a waterfall in the mountains might involve some climbing. This one was no exception. Too bad we really didn’t stop to think about it.

We hiked (note I didn’t use walked) for what seemed like a very long time. I suspect it was probably only 20 or 30 minutes, but again when you’re wearing jeans and boots in August perception is everything. It wasn’t the distance that was the problem though, it was the terrain. To say this was a mountain path does an injustice to the word path. I don’t really know what to call it. Suffice to say it was rough. The trail was mostly uphill, with lots of rocks and roots. There were times when we kind of felt like we were hanging off the side of the hill, basically because we were.

We talked about turning back once or twice, but kept telling ourselves the beautiful waterfall at the end would be worth the trek. And it was.

But I think what really kept us going was Jake. He scrambled along that trail, jumping up onto rocks and ridges that were taller than he was. Unlike us, he never once whined. He stopped for a drink of water once or twice at our insistence, but was then quite content to keep on going, just happy to be going somewhere to see something, enjoying being outdoors on a great day with us. That kind of unconditional love and trust is rather humbling.

Needless to say, our RoadDog took a dip in the stream at the base of the waterfall, happily scrambling over rocks and cooling off once we arrived. I thought of peeling off a few layers of clothes and joining him, but, aware that other hikers would likely come along behind us (and they did), I had to be content to splash around a bit.

The waterfall was breathtaking, the hike even more so, but what I remember most is our boy happily scrambling along just happy to enjoy the day. Humans can learn a lot from dogs you know.

Steve, Jake and I at the top of Mt. Washington.

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You know those bumper stickers you sometimes see on the back of vehicles that say “This car climbed Mt. Washington.” I had never really given them any thought until last summer.

I admit I’m not a huge fan of bumper stickers. I sometimes enjoy reading them, but I’ve never considered putting one on any of my vehicles.

Time for another admission — I wasn’t really sure where Mt. Washington was located, again until we started planning our trip to New Hampshire. When I started reading about the various attractions in the White Mountains, I quickly learned that Mt. Washington is its highest peak at 6,288 feet above sea level. Mt. Washington Auto Road winds its way up the side of the mountain, that is for those brave enough to take the tour.

Steve and I decided this would be a great way to enjoy the scenic vistas of the White Mountains, so with Jake along for the ride we pulled off the main road and right up to a worker taking payments and handing out bumper stickers. That should have been my first hint that this might not be a stellar idea — they give you the bumper sticker that says, in our case “This bike climbed Mt. Washington,” before you go up the trail.  Is that some indication that you might not come back down? You bet it is.

To be fair, none of the literature I read about Mt. Washington suggested this was a typical Sunday drive along the shore. At the same time, I don’t remember reading anywhere that this could impact (read end) your life.

Therefore let me be the one to tell you this drive is not for the faint of heart. I’ve done some fairly crazy stuff in my life so far, including skydiving and sea kayaking, but I have never been as frightened as I was on the motorcycle that afternoon. It would be scary in a car, but it was terrifying on the bike.

The road up the mountain, if I remember correctly, is about eight miles. It twists and turns, switches between pavement to dirt a few times, and when you get above the tree line the winds howl and buffet you around. The most frightening thing for me was the lack of guardrails. They’ve just placed large rocks along the edge of the road a few feet apart, gaps big enough for a bike to pass through unencumbered and rocks large enough to pitch riders up and over if you hit them. Did I mention the next stop if you go over is hundreds of feet down, maybe thousands depending on the specific location?

Then there are the tour vans that transport tourists not brave enough to drive themselves. That wouldn’t be a problem if the vans didn’t just stop in the middle of the road to let people admire the views. If you’re on a motorcycle on a dirt road with a 60-degree incline, that’s a problem.

Since I’m writing this, we obviously made it up safely. Even Steve admitted being a little rattled by the drive, but not our Jake. We opened his carrier and he popped into my arms, tongue out, tail wagging, with a smile on his hairy face.

It was just what we needed.

Would we do it again? Probably not. Are we glad we did it? You bet. Would we recommend it to other bikers? Absolutely, but not without an explanation of what they’re getting into.

We haven’t put the bumper sticker on the bike, but maybe I’ll put it on Jake’s carrier with a line through the word bike. Then it could say “This dog climbed Mt. Washington.”

The view from the top.

Paddling in the New Hampshire pond.

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I often jokingly say that Jake is such a boy dog.

Our RoadDog is all about food. Jake can be sound asleep, but if you rattle some sort of packaging, he’s on the move and don’t anyone step between him and his destination. He devours his food pretty much without chewing and a minute or two after he finishes he announces that completion to all around with what can only be described as a doggie belch. (Sorry guys, but I refuse to think a girl dog would behave in such a manner.)

The other “boy” characteristic (at least as I see it) is that Jake doesn’t like to have a bath, well actually I should say a shower. I decided a long time ago that it was impossible to keep him in the laundry sink or bathtub long enough to get him shampooed and rinsed, so when he needs to get clean I don a swimsuit and carry him into the shower. Once inside, the battle is on as he all but climbs the walls trying to get out. Usually, Steve holds the door shut just in case Jake makes good on his escape.

So it came as no surprise to us that, from the time he was a puppy, Jake really didn’t enjoy the water as any form of recreation. My parents have a swimming pool which he definitely doesn’t like, despite the doggie life jacket we bought to keep him safely above water. Knowing his personality, we were concerned that he might jump in with us. Trust me, our worries were unfounded.

We had also taken Jake to the beach several times, where he studiously avoided the water’s edge. That is, until we made our trip to New Hampshire last summer.

We were travelling through the White Mountains when we stopped at this beautiful park area. There was a little restaurant and store on one side of the road. On the opposite side, at the foot of breathtaking mountains was a pond, a walkway and picnic tables. It was absolutely stunning.

You can imagine my shock when our boy trotted up to the edge of that pond and without the slightest hesitation stepped into the water. It had to be cold. It may have been August, but that pond was fed from mountain streams. Jake didn’t seem to care. He wandered around up to his chest in the water, took a few drinks and seemed quite content. I’m not sure where Steve had wandered off to at this point, but I remember thinking he’d never believe me.

But our Jake didn’t let me down. When Steve came back a few minutes later, our boy kindly obliged by trotting into the water a second time and, after we’d gone across the street and had a snack, he went for a third swim. We were amazed.

Since then Jake doesn’t seem to have the same attitude about the water. He’s taken several salt water dips at beaches and seems a little confused about why the water tastes salty. Mind you, he still doesn’t like to take a shower, but then again he’s still a boy dog.

Those are my boys at the base of the mountain.

He’s not so sure about this at first.

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You already know that Jake, our RoadDog, travels with us on the back of our motorcycle. Like many other dogs, he also rides with us in the car — which, ironically, he doesn’t really like — but last summer he had his first gondola ride.

Steve, Jake and I took a two-week trip to the eastern United States. We travelled through Maine, spent two days in Massachusetts then the bulk of our vacation in New Hampshire before enjoying a few more days in Maine on our return trip.

We loved New Hampshire. It was the first time Steve and I had spent any amount of time there and it was really fantastic. We love the outdoors and the White Mountains are absolutely breathtaking, particularly Mount Washington, but I’ll save that for another story.

While in the area, we decided to visit Wildcat Mountain. In the winter, it’s a ski resort, but in the summer it’s still a great place to enjoy nature and fabulous views. I had hoped to try out something called the ZipRider while I was there. Basically, you sit in a sling chair and soar along on a zip-line cable about half a mile above ground at 45 miles an hour. I love that kind of thing. Steve thought I was a little crazy, but he knew that long ago.

I didn’t end up trying the ZipRider. There was a long waiting list (they schedule rides into time slots) and we would have had to wait for hours. That seemed pretty selfish given that we were in bike clothes, it was about 95 degrees there that day and my thrill ride would last about two minutes.

What we did do though was ride up Wildcat in a gondola. It’s a service the resort offers in the warmer season, a chance for visitors to get a bird’s-eye view of the scenery on the way up and down the hill, as well as an opportunity to explore the top of the mountain which is over 4,000 feet high and has a number of trails and scenic vistas all around.

And the best part was, they don’t mind dogs tagging along for the ride. We found a number of attractions in New Hampshire weren’t particularly pet friendly, so we were excited to have a chance to explore something new with Jake. He was less excited — at least at first.

Our fearless Cairn didn’t mind jumping into the gondola with us, he didn’t mind sitting on the seat beside me (although he found it a little slippery for his paws), but when that gondola started going up in the air high above the ground our hairy boy was not very happy. He stood and stared down, then turned and looked at us. I swear he was thinking, “These people must be out of their minds.”

But with a little encouragement and the discovery that all seemed to be well, Jake settled into the ride. He watched the scenery and I’m pretty sure he kept an eye out for any interesting wildlife, although we didn’t see any indications that he spotted anything intriguing. Once we arrived at the top of the mountain, he got out and explored, climbed over some rocks (one of his favourite things — must be the Scottish heritage), had a drink of water and generally appeared to be quite happy with life. When we were finished exploring, he was quite content to get back in the gondola and sat quietly looking out during the downward descent.

It’s all in a day’s ride for a RoadDog.

Then, like anything else, he’s happy to be along for the ride.

Jake’s first Timbit.

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I don’t know if you’ve noticed this or not, but there are a lot of Tim Hortons outlets around this province.

And I don’t know if you’ve happened to observe, but in the warmer months you will often see motorcycles parked outside Tim Hortons. In fact, at the Bridgewater location on LaHave Street they’ve actually painted motorcycle parking spaces.

I have a confession to make. Steve and I love Tim Hortons. It’s a rare day when we go out on the bike that we don’t make a stop at a Tim’s somewhere. That being said, however, we had no idea when we introduced Jake to the outing that we were making a lifetime commitment to always stop at a Tim’s.

The first time we took Jake to a Tim’s was in Lunenburg. Jake was rather concerned when Steve disappeared inside and left us waiting, but it wasn’t long before he reappeared and we all made our way over to the grass near where we’d parked the bike.

What happened next was likely a mistake. Steve had bought not only his coffee and my tea, but also a Timbit for Jake. We thought it would be cute. At that stage we hadn’t fully grasped just how intelligent our dog is and how long his memory lasts.

Steve broke up the Timbit and gradually fed the pieces to Jake, who gobbled them down like a treat from the gods. We never noticed we were creating a monster right before our eyes — albeit and cute, hairy monster with a constant smile and a tongue slightly too long for the rest of him — but still … a Timbit monster.

Jake loves Timbits. You probably won’t believe this (sometimes I don’t really believe it myself), but we’re also fairly certain that he recognizes the red Tim Hortons sign. Or maybe he can smell Timbits in the air from outside, I don’t know, but make no mistake about this, the dog knows when we pull up outside a Tim’s and he’ll have a Timbit, thank you very much.

We’ve stopped at Tim Hortons outlets all over the province. At some of our usual locations, such as Mahone Bay, Lunenburg, Chester and Liverpool, we even have our “usual” parking spaces. Jake and I hang out on the sidewalk or on the grass if there is any and wait for Steve to return and hand out the goodies. Jake understands that routine now. But just like home or travelling, Jake always eats first.

Then we chat with the other bike owners who usually wander over to meet Jake. We aren’t the only riders who like a Tim’s stop.

Jake does love a Tim’s treat.