One compulsion. One trip. One gear. One flat constant drone for 8.5-hours; and another 8.5 back. One vindictive gravel patch. One wreck. One iPod shaped bruise. One set of road-rashed hands. One meal at Chiplote. One wrong turn. One great push. One northern expansion by scooter. One long trip home. One too many accidental jaunts on the freeway. One set of directions ignored. One secret road found. No map. No A/C. No ass-less chaps. No sense. No point. No villages pillaged or plundered. No better way to spend a weekend.
Huzzah boys. The beast was bested. The road is ours.
Bravo! Huzzah!
ReplyDeleteYour finest post ever. Your most artful post yet. Your most moving post as well.
I lived vicariously through you this weekend. Way to LIVE lad!
A near life experience if I ever heard of one. The drone of the motor coupled with the melting landscape is most serene. There is nothing like cruising.
The Ride of the Sickle; let freedome ring!
This is awesome, I commented first!
I figth 4 freedome! The freedome to spell how I pleez.
ReplyDeleteone husband returned safely. oh boys.
ReplyDeletejealous of your slow crawl across lovely country, I am.
ReplyDeleteShoot me some deets plz.
You animal. You god of the road, sun, and sky. May you kick ass forever and ever.
ReplyDelete