One Eye Rises to the early realization of dry throat thirst from a sleep-deprived rest due to scrambled details mixed with love poured into one stepping foot onto the start of a long road. Sliding into the local Java shop to find massive support from so many angles, the details start to settle to the bottom of my empty cup. Wrapped in endless scarves, we bring the bikes to life a file away from the love slung by waving hands.
The cold begins immediately, but not before the game of riding my way through fogged goggles. Knoxville to Chattanooga. Sun was shining, not a cloud in the sky. Snow covered both sides, ice chuncks piled in the median, the chill seeping its way into even the warmest parts. The temperature -- 19 degrees.
The 350's reality is stalling at red lights with tough kick starting high compression, rigged kickstand too far back, oil leaking out of the top end, and no taillight. Meanwhile, my reality is my goggles dripping from liquifying breath from my scarf, tank bag falling off, and my bike dying at random due to an unknown cause.
Tim and his trailer ran pick warm and solid. His Harley roared its authority, its speakers sung its chords, and his electricity warmed his gear. Unasked, he quickly came to the rescue with his heated gloves when we were broken by the cold. He rode behind us the entire way making sure we didn't fall apart and that other people respected our space. Slim is a blessing.
Motorcycles, January...whose idea was this?
-tank
