The Long Weekend
I have decided to ignore politics, and all the little disturbances of man, for the long weekend. Katherine and I bustled about yesterday laying in a supply of munchies, doing household chores, and struggling to clear ourselves of the nagging compulsion to fire up our computers. I practiced "bike love"…changed the oil and filter on Katherine’s K75 BMW…and did some preliminary map dreaming for the long ride to the BMW national rally in Charleston West Virginia.
My long-mileage days are slowly disappearing in my rear view mirrors, along with my former passion for interstate highways in the dark of night. So this trip I’m limiting myself to 500 miles a day, and planning to stop at some places I’ve pushed by on previous rides east. Hey, who knows, maybe I’ll actually visit the Confederate Airforce Museum this time by.
God, I do love being on the road. I’m not sure I live to ride, but I’m dead certain I ride to live. The truth behind the second half of that tired old mantra is that when I’m on the bike, booming down the superslab or hip-swinging through blue highway mountain curves, death takes a holiday. I forget all the little aches and pains, the nagging ailments, and the fact that drugs now counterfeit youthfull good health.
Time's winged chariot may be hurrying near, but for a while, while I’m riding, I beat it down life’s road.
