Sunday, April 27, 2014
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
Under heavy fire
Springtime is more than pretty flowers and warmer weather. Last week the insects came back. The first wave is the small ones. Initially, you may think you've entered a rainstorm, little ticky tacks on your helmet in rapid succesion. In reality, you are flying through a compulating insect swarm, decimating their population with your body and machine. The junebugs are swarming now, so it's a real good idea to park your bike somewhere with less light if you'll be there in the evening. Finding out that you can't leave your destination till you remove all of the bugs from your bike is not a pleasing chore.
Later in the season will be the butterfly migration as they head back north out of Mexico. You'll arrive at your destination with monarch wings, and soft yellow wings, jutting out from your road armor, pieces of these beautiful creatures will be splattered all over the bike.
I experienced a first this past friday- hail. I saw the stormclouds gathering as I drove up north and then the first raindrop hit. It was a big one, but I've been in rainstorms before. Then cars started pulling off the road as the first bits of hail started coming down. The tiny balls of ice exploded off my windshield and gained size. More and more cars abandoned the highway for the safety of the overpasses. I came up over a hill as I'm being pelted with ice at 50 mph. Every once in a while I'd take a direct hit in the hand, forearm or bicep. Unprotected, it was fairly painful. As I crested the hill I saw a sea of cars on the medians and a row of cars stopped in the middle of their lanes. I was worried about floodwaters but saw one brave soul drive his toyota through the low lands and back up without trouble. I manuevered through the cars and kept riding as people who had gotten out to document the event with their cell phones filmed me ride through the barrage of ice and cruise on. I saw a few of our brothers, both without protective gear, responsibly hanging out under a piece of concrete overpass, giving me the thumbs up.
It was a win. The storm cleared up, and the highway was all mine for a few miles.
Car folk don't have the kind of relationship with their climate like motorcyclists do. We experience the weather in all its tempetuous glory. We share the experiences of the land in that we stand bare before the elements, no metal cages, or wooden coffins to hide us.
It ain't glamourous, but there's no way I'd rather travel through space and time than with my trusted machine. Ride on.
Later in the season will be the butterfly migration as they head back north out of Mexico. You'll arrive at your destination with monarch wings, and soft yellow wings, jutting out from your road armor, pieces of these beautiful creatures will be splattered all over the bike.
I experienced a first this past friday- hail. I saw the stormclouds gathering as I drove up north and then the first raindrop hit. It was a big one, but I've been in rainstorms before. Then cars started pulling off the road as the first bits of hail started coming down. The tiny balls of ice exploded off my windshield and gained size. More and more cars abandoned the highway for the safety of the overpasses. I came up over a hill as I'm being pelted with ice at 50 mph. Every once in a while I'd take a direct hit in the hand, forearm or bicep. Unprotected, it was fairly painful. As I crested the hill I saw a sea of cars on the medians and a row of cars stopped in the middle of their lanes. I was worried about floodwaters but saw one brave soul drive his toyota through the low lands and back up without trouble. I manuevered through the cars and kept riding as people who had gotten out to document the event with their cell phones filmed me ride through the barrage of ice and cruise on. I saw a few of our brothers, both without protective gear, responsibly hanging out under a piece of concrete overpass, giving me the thumbs up.
It was a win. The storm cleared up, and the highway was all mine for a few miles.
Car folk don't have the kind of relationship with their climate like motorcyclists do. We experience the weather in all its tempetuous glory. We share the experiences of the land in that we stand bare before the elements, no metal cages, or wooden coffins to hide us.
It ain't glamourous, but there's no way I'd rather travel through space and time than with my trusted machine. Ride on.
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