XC Run Days 27, 28, 29

Been a while.

So much was going on at the Rally that I just didn't have time to write. And tonight I've just finished 11 hours in the saddle gettin' beat to death by that doggone Kansas wind.

Excuses, excuses.

So, I'll make a deal with ya'... I'll put a little bit down on this tonight and do a Paul Harvey ("The Rest of The Story..." for you kiddies) tomorrow.

Lessee -- when we last left our young hero he was blissfully contemplating running the "Pig Trail". (OK, the old goat was tired and wet, holin' up in a Best Western in Russelville, Arkansas.)

So we continue...

I didn't trust the road or my tires.

Came out of Russelville  on Hwy 7, The "Pig Trail" and had one of those rare days when the 'scoot just didn't feel right. Tires felt squirrelly. I know they weren't, had good air in 'em, they've been wearing well, just felt that way. Have days like that sometimes. Can't get right in the seat, handlebars feel wrong -- a myriad of things that I know are all in my head. Usually I just feel the 'scoot in my butt. It's just a part of me. Think something and it happens. But every once in a while...

First thing I noticed was that there were wet patches on the road, that the pavement wasn't too even and that you couldn't trust the camber. And then, in the first decent curve, nice little semi-sweeper, I see (just at that point, about half way through, when it really starts to tighten up, ya know?) a wonderful orange sign:

"Fresh Oil".

Perfect, just bloody perfect.

So I slowed down. Don't think I hit better n' 70 that whole run. But, slowing down I was able to enjoy it. Sometimes it's nice being an old coot. Don't need to impress anyone and, maybe more importantly, one need no longer try to impress one's self.

So it was pretty in those hills. Small, soft mounds, the occasional vista of rounded earth sliding into the haze that was the horizon. Colors easy on the eye as if they were being quiet so as not to disturb these sleepy hills.

I kind of rode that way, too. Easing through the curves, just letting the Ozarks seep in to me.

Then I'd run into some typical Arkansas weirdness:

John boy, I'll never wonder where that off the wall sense of humor of yours comes from again (family joke).







Ran 7 up through the little towns, finally through Jasper and the tight curves runnin' uphill out of town, to the turn off for 7s. A short climb up that steep little hill to the Hub. Turn in, see the 'scoots and Brothers wearing vests with Shields like mine on the back.

And for the first time in 5,100 miles, I wasn't alone.

More tomorrow.