It seems to be Summer...

Blue sky with puffy white clouds ringing Mount Rainier, the work week is over and I ride my Triumph over the bridge crossing I-5 and look at the slowly moving herd moving back to the barn or the Summer pastures. Too many, too crowded, too slow and for them, too bad. I twist my throttle and lift the front forks and smile. I am going home and feel fine, instant response from my bike and power enough to feel young in heart, again... or always.

As I come up the street to the house I see my departing wife, who rolls down her window and tells me she is leaving for Home (someone else's) Bible Study and I will have to make my own supper, I tell her she doesn't love me anymore (singing it and embarrassing her in front of the other women) I will pay for that later, and I laugh and tell her to have a good time. I microwave food, change boots and drop the tie and the keys and stuff from work. I am going to ride off into the sunset, well, as close as a non-cowboy is going to get on his trusty Triumph.

I know I am going to ride the backroads, between forty to fifty miles per hour - the roads are all thirty-five but that must be for someone that can't lean as deep as I can (foolish thought, and lean deeper and roll on that throttle!). If I need more I can go deeper, but I won't. I think about how tentative I was last year on these same roads on the same corners, when I was finding my level of comfort, I haven't dropped the motorcycle much since, but that first year was full of Gravity. Now I believe I should have spent more time with gyroscopic toys longer. The ride always brings a smile to my lips. I do spend a lot of time looking at blonds driving Vets with the tops down, saw five in two hours, it is the last of Summer. Everyone wants to come out to play, Friday evening and the weekend is for partying (or so I have been told).

I can see the new riders, or the ones that think they must be careful because the machines can cost a lot of money and look at the shine on that chrome, listen to the rumble of the pipes. My motorcycle doesn't rumble, it purrs and stirs and I fly by... There are some one per centers, loud bikes, loud pipes and bad attitude - but they do lean deep as they roar ripping by you like you are sitting with your mouth hanging open - or so they think, but they are wrong. They have to prove themselves every day, and fight to be taken seriously; real riders just ride with little to prove, just more miles done safely with a touch of insanity, a little risk anyone? Want to race? how long does it take to get to Yellowstone? If you spend some time in the hospital or with a broken bike waiting parts, you could be the slowest racer out there...

But look at the water gleaming, and the full green of the grass and the trees swaying with the breeze. Lean away from the Sun blinding as you ride into it's glare, do you see the road? No, and nothing that is on it will be seen until you get into shadow, slow down and look at the road... where are those sunglasses when you need them, you remember where you left them. In a car you pack all the extras, on the bike you ride with the minimum, lighter and faster. Why do you weigh yourself down with extras for what-if? Because you are old and wise, or afraid of failure and alone? I make the the turn around noticing the strange car and open door - it isn't for me so I don't stop, I am planning a different return route to race at highway speeds.

On to the access ramp to I-5, and the dribbles of commuters coming late from Seattle, I find only one small Japanese car doing sixty, everyone else can't read the signs and are moving at seventy or a little better. I merge and lean and merge and lean and am in the outside lanes and climbing the hill into the Sun again- the road disappears and so do those cars going seventy - oops, they are only going sixty now - red brake lights ahead. How fast can I down shift, brake, release and roll back on the throttle? I make it neatly, but spooked and glad the turn is ahead and away from the Sun, passed by some young fools on crotch rockets - lovely fearless fools, go get them young hormones on track and at speed... but remember Darwin's Rules - only survivors reproduce and that is most of the point of life... just saying.

Nothing like being alive, on a fine motorcycle and enjoying the end of Summer. Not too many riders flashing the secret V sign, too many other bikes and they don't seem to want to bother... but I like to think I am grinning like a fool when I flash the sign - that grin they can't see behind my face shield and in my head and warming my heart.