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.