Rocky Mountain High

I wonder how many different self-initiated plans of recovery are floating around out there. The last one I tried, about a year and a half before I actually started down the “road of happy destiny,” involved buying a motorcycle. It was a lovely-looking machine, complete with a fancy fairing, saddlebags and a trunk. I was certain that if I bought this wonderful bike, I’d have to quit drinking so that I could learn to ride it and ride it safely. I did enjoy it. That is to say, I enjoyed looking at it—parked outside my house in front of the picture window. I could sit on my couch, drink in hand, and admire it. My imagination took me on many trips through the beautiful scenery in western Montana, but I knew that I was too intoxicated to actually attempt riding it.