This morning when I got up it was 60* already. NICE! Grabbed a hoodie, one of my ever faithful Biltwell lids & a pair of gloves. Strolled out the door to hear the 6:15 coming down the line, pushed the sled for the day out the door & lit the fire. The exhaust note broke the silence of neighborhood. Roll on the throttle ease off the clutch & my world changed. Nice cool breeze in the face as I headed down the highway bike running like a champ as I dropped down into the low spots & back out again the temperature fluctuated in unison with my elevation changes. Ponds that were frozen 2 weeks ago now are smooth as glass with small pockets of fog rolling off them. The sky now is baby blue with pink streaks and you can just make out the shapes of the still black leafless trees. There are silhouettes of deer making their way from the corn stubble fields back into the shade & protection of the woods. Farm houses have kitchen lights on no doubt having breakfast before getting started on the days chores.
Work for the day was nice, moderate effort required but you don’t give a crap about that.
End of the day couldn’t come soon enough it’s 80 and light clouds. Pack the sweatshirt & gloves away strap the BW to the sissy bar and in the wind. Now the breeze is at temp where it’s nothing (you know not hot and not cold just perfect comfort) took the windy way home through small towns, over hills and through sweepers with yellow lines rolling under my left foot as if I were heading to see the wizard. In all the small towns people are out on their front pouches and swings, little kids are playing in their yards and the smell of grilles fill the air. Some boys run to the street & wave at bikes going by which leads me to wonder how many of those kids will grow into the kind of man who spends countless hours at night in his garage welding & cutting till he has the suicide wheels of his dreams. Farmers that were eating breakfast 10 hours ago are out plowing and spraying fields. The smell of freshly turned dirt and spray fill my senses. As I roll through town and stop at a light Joe dirt rolls up in his rusty ass Nova and yells over the rod knock “Nice Road King bro!” “Thanks.” I return (it’s my actual brothers Suizuki that I have at the shop to service among other things) As the light turns the air is filled with burning oil and rust dust as Joe dirt impresses me with the sheer awesomeness of his American muscle. Last leg of the ride are a blur I was in that mind clearing zone where miles fly by to the drum roll like note of the exhaust.
What can be better than riding on a suicide machine?
Good Friday indeed