bluetenere

to the Robbers Roast Motel in Green River Utah, after a nice chat with a guy at the gas station on a Harley loaded down with camping and climbing equipment on his way from Portand to Moab, and the five Dad types sitting outside smoking by their bikes (the RR is smoke free, and family owned and operated) come rushing over to check out this new Yamaha they’ve only heard about.

That’s my bike, and there is something strangely prideful in getting off the bike and saying ” well that finishes day eleven.” Pride is a dangerous thing so I tempered it by washing my LDs in the motel sink.

As the sun was setting back a few hours ago I couldn’t help but keep glancing at the shadow of me and my bike speeding along the waving grass on the side of lonely 50.

Like whats his name I kept looking over and admiring… but not so much that I’d run of the road.

Oh and yes one of the Dad types was smoking a pipe on their road adventure. And they were all full of vim, vigor, and bluster. I wonder which one is gonna be Burt and which one is Ned when they get downriver.