two thousand foot solution.
There’s always that odd anxiety at the end of the summer, when you are from a place where the summers end. Often, its not particularly tangible, it mostly just sort of creeps in until you are wearing a heavy jacket wondering where the summer went.
Not this year. A week of fog made the intangible unavoidable. Things were getting heavy and the people I was with unmasked themselves to be predictably what I hoped they would never show me.
All of that at once left no alternative beyond a frantic fling of clothes and cameras through an open rental car window and willing a piece of shit automatic with all the force of my right foot to peel out (which was impossible) against the pacific ocean in search of higher altitude, dry air and a last, bite off more than you can chew helping of the sunshine in solitude before the bitterness of the winter would set in.
This normally would never lead to Las Vegas, but after a day spinning around Mojave the influence of Billy and Ethel was curiously absorbed. The spine of the Sierras would have to wait, before I knew it, I was back in Nevada, the Silver State I had just left a few weeks before and I was returning, assuredly, a changed man.
So, Vegas. When I met up with Stephanie she made a comment about how much cooler her bike was than her car.
Your bike?
In that I’ll ponder the remarkably consistent part of my personality which makes all of the most fun roads lead to girls and their motorcycles.
I always discover this (the bike) after the fact, which of course makes it all the more salacious. There are few things in my history that are as consistent as this.
I need a new helmet, follow me to the bike shop, you can check out my ride.
Deal.
Ok, so, raise your hand if you’ve kicked up into first wearing heels.
And, raise your hand if you wear a kid size helmet.
The combination of these two elements can bring a smile unlike many others.
So much so, in fact, that it’s this afternoon that stands out in the time line among the memorable moments from that trip.
The search continues to understand where I come from, or as a compromise, to discover who dropped me on my head as a toddler to get me on this track as an adult.
Either way, the one conclusion that can absolutely be drawn from this day’s fun is that a bike can accelerate way the fuck faster than the fastest car.
Precisely the reason why I dont have one.