Leaving Hope, AR in the predawn at 22 degrees was an experience, but now that it's 35 degrees, sunny and warming, riding feels absolutely cozy. I can keep both hands on the handlebars for a while if I want to! It feels like I'm sitting in the sun on a beach with my toes in hot sand. It's all about what you're used to, I guess. Good toughening for ski season.
It took 5000 miles and 6 months, but I finally am starting to like this motorcycle. It definitely has its issues and an attitude; I think the only reason it's still running is because I have my dirty, greasy hand shoved up its ass to my elbow, and can give a fistful of its warm guts a squeeze the second it thinks about giving any trouble. Actually, that's mostly just an allegorical description of the relationship. In reality, I haven't been working much on the bike at all. I just keep a screwdriver and some spare fuses in my pocket and stare at it in a commanding fashion when I walk up to it. But it's still about control and imposing my will. That bike won't stop or break because I won't let it; it doesn't have my permission. Yet. It can break in Texas if it wants. But not Arkansas. Definitely not in Arkansas. God.
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