A local group gets together for breakfast on sunday mornings and I decided I needed some socializing- got tired of bad vibes after ruining some stupid rare plants of my wife's while mowing grass. I"M SO FREAKING SORRY, OK? I thought they were big fat grass. I digress. Anyway- I decided to take the Chief because I was feeling thoughtful (read- depressed), not especially fast. After a while, the road gets narrower and gets into the country. Bright sun and big chunks of white clouds. I've got pasture on both sides and see a light following me. Eventually it gets up next to me at a straight long enough to have some dotted lines and I see it's Jeffro on his V7 Sport. He is one of 3 guys in the area that ride old Guzzis at jaw-dropping speeds and make it look like pouring a glass of milk. We check each other out while knowing what's coming up soon, flip each other the bird at the same time, and he takes off. Coming up fast is the base of one of our smaller mountains, delineated by a tree line and the road making an upward right-hand sweeper.
I'm tootling along at my own speed. The road now is narrow 2 lane engulfed in shade with only the occasional dapple of sun. In the tree breaks I can see sun and mist rising from the river that I'll be riding next to in the next 10 or 15 miles, but can't see yet. Riding into a clearing, I see Jeffro waiting and I pull up. He gestures at my bike and says, "Man- that thing is running sweet!" "I was able to keep you in sight for a while...", I reply- his eye brows never go up. His eyes narrow like he's looking at you real close- "...until you made that first turn". Comic timing is everything. I can tell his squint has turned into a #$%*-eating grin.
So breakfast was nice; saw some folks I don't see all the time and caught up with some gossip, blah blah blah- and left.
Going back starts with a couple a long sweepers and begins to tighten up. In from deep trees to pasture and back in again. We are dancing now. A waltz; back and forth. The occasional hairpin is like a dip- it doesn't really interrupt the flow if you allow it to show off the rest of the dance. A moment of drama; especially on a Chief. Indians don't lug well like a Harley does. They have higher revving engines yet trying to downshift into first while scrubbing off speed, one foot on the rear brake and one foot on the clutch so that your feet aren't ever really planted on anything feels like Lucy and Ethel at the candy factory. So I just use the gas and spark retard. Seems to work mostly.
Coming out of the woods/mountains the road begins to straighten and finally I get on the freeway. The sky opens up and the air is warm and bright. The engine is very smooth yet there is a buried rhythm down there. I wonder if this is similar to flying in a bi-plane. I'm in a zone I know will end too soon.
The best part for me was watching that V7 leaned over heading right up into the woods- like a bird gliding into a cloud. So graceful. What a memory.
