KingBear
Hooligan
I'm a fairly early riser, often awake before my radio comes on at 5:00am. But not today. It's a Monday morning and I hit the snooze bar on my 30-year-old Realistic once before rolling out of bed. As I shower I begin my mental transition, from how I need to replace the trap in the shower drain to the shipments I need to send to the engineers in New Hampshire.
I dress with my ride to work in mind. Summer is giving way to autumn and the temperatures are falling fast. If I had a choice I might reconsider riding at all, but with my Toyota in the body shop because of damage from a falling pine tree during a recent storm, the Bonneville is my primary form of transportation. So substituting my usual shoulder bag for a backpack I roll her out of the garage. Damn, it's colder that I expected. I wish I had something other than my perforated Rochester jacket to cut the wind. Fifty degrees will feel like forty once I get going.
The sun is still below the horizon as I set out. The wind stings on my freshly shaven face, unprotected by my Bell Custom 500 open-face helmet. It feels good, invigorating. This is going to be a good morning.
I flick the headlight to bright. The trees lining the country road I live on block most of the ambient sunlight, and there are no street lights or houses to provided illumination. But that's what I love most about living out here, close enough to the conveniences of the suburbs and city, but dark enough to see the stars on a clear night, and quiet so I can hear a train a mile or two away.
I break out of the trees alongside a field and the red horizon comes into view. The surroundings become visible, including the wildlife. I stare down a deer, freezing her in place so she doesn't jump out in front of me. They are my greatest concern for the first half of my journey. Hitting a deer with an automobile is an inconvenience, but hitting one on a motorcycle could prove fatal.
I dress with my ride to work in mind. Summer is giving way to autumn and the temperatures are falling fast. If I had a choice I might reconsider riding at all, but with my Toyota in the body shop because of damage from a falling pine tree during a recent storm, the Bonneville is my primary form of transportation. So substituting my usual shoulder bag for a backpack I roll her out of the garage. Damn, it's colder that I expected. I wish I had something other than my perforated Rochester jacket to cut the wind. Fifty degrees will feel like forty once I get going.
The sun is still below the horizon as I set out. The wind stings on my freshly shaven face, unprotected by my Bell Custom 500 open-face helmet. It feels good, invigorating. This is going to be a good morning.
I flick the headlight to bright. The trees lining the country road I live on block most of the ambient sunlight, and there are no street lights or houses to provided illumination. But that's what I love most about living out here, close enough to the conveniences of the suburbs and city, but dark enough to see the stars on a clear night, and quiet so I can hear a train a mile or two away.
I break out of the trees alongside a field and the red horizon comes into view. The surroundings become visible, including the wildlife. I stare down a deer, freezing her in place so she doesn't jump out in front of me. They are my greatest concern for the first half of my journey. Hitting a deer with an automobile is an inconvenience, but hitting one on a motorcycle could prove fatal.
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