First Taste of Spring

It was a beautiful early spring day and it was my day off. I was looking forward to visiting a couple of friends, taking a few pictures, enjoying some truck stop food, browsing a second hand store or two, maybe even taking a short hike in the hills. But it was the first really nice day that I had free, and there were things to do around the house. Garage needed tidying up, plants needed to be tended, grass was tall enough for a first cutting. You get the idea. So I was feeling a little sorry for myself about all the work I had to do instead of being out having fun. Then, at some point, I realized the work I was doing was good work. Apparently I had forgotten that taking care of plants and flowers was fun. And it felt good to see the results of my efforts. Even the Spring Quartz we planted on the patio a few years ago was still looking shiny and healthy.

Now I figured it was time for a different kind of fun. It was time to wake up the Ol' F6 from a long hibernation. That turned out to be easier said than done. The battery was weak, and because the bike is not fuel injected, too many cranks caused it to run all the way down. A few jolts from the jumper cables brought it back to life and I roared off...around the block. At least it was a ride, even if it was short and quick. I still had a few things to do at home, and then it would be dinner time, so I could see my chances for a longer more fulfilling ride slipping away. However, after I finally settled in to doing nothing at about 7:30, I started thinking about going for an evening ride. It wasn't that late, and still warm outside. Why not? I extended an invitation to my favorite passenger and was promptly turned down, which was probably wise on her part due to the unpredictability of the duration and distance of my impromptu spur of the moment motorcycle sojourns. It was a little before 8 when I took off for the Canyon. It was nearly dark by the time I stopped. The blue tint of dusk created an interesting scene before darkness took over. 

When night falls in the Black Hills, it falls hard. A few minutes later it was completely dark. I walked a short distance into the trees and sat down on a rock. Then I just listened. The loud roar and crackle from those Cobra pipes I had been hearing for the past 15 miles had already faded away. Now there was only silence, interrupted occasionally by a passing car or the rustle of branches on trees above and behind me. I love it at night up there. My imagination can sometimes cause it to be a little a scary, though, as thoughts creep into my head about who or what may be lurking close by. But I guess that's part of the mystery and thrill of it. 

As it turns out, nobody got me. After a period of time...could have been minutes or could have been hours...I powered up and headed home. The crisp air and smell of new grass along the road filled my senses, and it tasted good. This is why I love to ride, and hope to do it a lot more this year. Just might need to get up a little earlier to make sure my work is done first. If it's good work.

 Roger O'Dea     5/06/2016