No pain, well, no pain

What a difference a day makes. The old saw was true today.

And for those of you who may have wondered, no, the road was not a metaphor for me. I felt quite good, actually.

But today was a gift. One of those easy days we sometimes get on a scoot, perfect temps., good roads, clear skies. Most of the day was New Mexico. Damn that's a beautiful State.

Here in the west we have vistas. Too bad I have a lousy Internet connection tonight, have some great pictures - but it's beyond me to get them uploaded here.

Guess you'll just have to take my word for it 'till I can get to the Hub and have one of the youngsters figure it out for me.

So here I sit in Vaga, Texas. Little old West Texas town in the middle of pretty much nothin'. I'm only 585 miles from the Hub, so I could push on through tomorrow. Don't know that I will. May just have to be another lazy, extra cup of coffee, visit with some folks kind of morning like today.

There's no poetry in me tonight. Just sort of laid back, enjoying the memories of an easy day; of big vistas and bigger skies. Of the road just hummin' a slow easy tune.

Think I'll lay me down to that tune and dream of tomorrow.

Mother Nature

We have a saying out here on the left edge of the country. There are four seasons: Fire, Flood, Earthquake and Drought.

Right now we're havin' three of 'em at once.

We've been dry up north and, as a result, the Sierras are ablaze. Big storm pushed up from Mexico in the south, so the Mojave is underwater. All we need is for the ground to shake a bit and we'll have the cannon.

My biggest concerns are always the mountains and the desert. Gettin' over one and through the other. So, I figured I'd give myself an edge and head out a day early.

Glad I did.

Not that it was a bad day - there was Hwy. 99, of course, but that's a given - just that it turns out my window for weather was today and it gives me some time to spare and not have to push so hard.

Good thing too. With the northern routes over the hills either closed or slowed, it was not a pleasant run down 99. Add the construction and - well, you get the picture. Piles of wet loose gravel right in the lanes, potholes that looked like they could swallow the scoot and transitions that felt like they would blow a tire when ya' hit 'em. (I swerved, I zigged, I pulled up on the handlebars, it's all OK)

Getting into the desert, my window held for the most part. Ol' Ma Nature didn't chastise me - just a little love tap now and again. Kind of a "well, howdy do, Tim. See you're back on the road, boy...".

I can't complain. 

But I also can not sing the praises of the day.

Oh, it's good to be on a run again. But it was kind of a just get through it day. I-40 is a mess; big headwind; dodge the trucks; get through the traffic.

So I'm sittin' here, just outside of Flagstaff, without much to say. The big roads can do that to one, they are so often impersonal and cold. They have none of the fire, the vibrant humanity, of the lesser, older roads. Today, I-40 seemed tired. When it sang its song there was no power in it and no joy. It was a song of the old; a song of the discomfort of being.

I felt sorry for it.

Tomorrow, however, is another day. Another story. Another chance for the highway to sing. Tomorrow I'll throw that leg over and roll. And, as I roll, the road will tell its story. And I will do, as I always do.

I will listen for the song of the road.

Crankin' It Up.

I've reached that time of life when most things said to me have the same caveat. "...for someone your age."

As in: "Wow, 67? You're in great shape for someone your age." Or: "You sure do shoot well -- for someone your age."

So it was of no surprise to me when, the other day, a friend, upon hearing I was about to fire it up for a run to Arkansas and Louisiana, said: "6,000 miles? That's a long way on a motorcycle -- for someone your age."

Got news for ya' kids. That's a pretty good run for someone of any age.

Not that I mind it. Figure I've earned it. Gotta be some benefits to gettin' old.

But, yes indeedy, I'm heading out for another run to my Club's national rally. And, unlike the last few years, I'm running solo. Not even my Brother and good friend Pablo is making it this year. And that means one thing: the blog is coming back.

A few years ago, I made this statement: "Ridin' solo is an introspective pursuit." Over the last few years I've found that to be more true than I had ever realized. See riding with others, especially Pablo, means that when I get in for the night I want to hang with my Brothers. I don't want to sit down and pound the keys and dump the words that have run through my head all day on to the page. I want to visit and catch up and just be. Riding solo, my goal becomes the same -- I want to visit and catch up and be -- but I want to do those things with you -- those who condescend to read this blog. The other part is that, because of Club protocol, when riding with other Club members I have to lead. Thousands of miles with my eyes in my rear-view mirrors. Everybody running good? Gettin' too strung out? How much room to get us all past that truck?

Whole different dynamic.

So, on Tuesday or Wednesday of next week, I'm gonna throw a leg over the old girl and bust down the highway. One more time onto the Concrete Goddess, she who truly holds my soul.

Just me and the pygmy pony and the wind and the hum of the tires and the rumble of that big V-twin.

I'm makin' a run, Kids.

Wanna come along?