Hi all. I just wanted to send a quick note out about a few things. The Sturgis blog is done but that doesn't mean that I will stop writing. What would Jerry do while he smokes his cigars down at Castro's? Talk to Mike?
I'll need a new topic and title and when I think of something worthy of your attention and time, I'll let you know. Few people got the joke at the end of the previous post. A blog is the ultimate in literary onanism and the link at the end of the last post was me pulling your leg. I shall not be writing about my toenails any time soon.
My cool cousin Erin (she's cool 'cause she rides and a whole lot of other reasons too) read my Sturgis post (#55) and was unsure if I had a good time on my trip or not. I did. However, I suppose I could have had more fun had I'd made it more fun. Does that make sense? I went into this adventure with no pre-conceived notions and no expectations. Suffice to say, I get bored easily. Or, after the first two or three sleepless nights, camping lost it's appeal for me. C'est la vie.
I'm glad I did the trip, it was an accomplishment and a bit of an adventure and I saw a lot of cool stuff, beautiful vistas and had some new experiences. That's all anyone can hope for from travel. No, we did not get arrested or in any trouble or require bail services from our former bail bondsman. That's all just rumor.
With the cold snap we're having this week, it feels like summer is fading fast. It took so long for it to arrive and then we suffered almost constant rain. But this morning's sub-50 degree temps dislodged me from my scooter in favor of the warm comfort of heated seats and a cupholder. But I'll ride tomorrow anyway, as my bike is now well overdue for another service visit.
We're at the point in the season where the rides get shorter and the starts get later. We tend to linger longer over our hot coffee, take more breaks, talk more and enjoy longer lunches. None of that is a bad thing. It prepares us for the long, cold winter months when we don't see much of one another and get together (at most) monthly for a night out and long discussions about "next year". We fantasize about the coming ride season like a soldier remembers his best girl at home, counting the days until we are together again. But I'm getting ahead of myself. This weather is going to break and we still have a lot of riding yet to do.
I can remember frigid rides up north when it began to snow or the ride to The Cape when our fingers got so numb that hot coffee barely had an effect. I look forward to the change in temps and scenery as New England goes into peacock mode. The bike loves to gulp down that cold air too! It runs so clean on that cold, pure air. And I love to lay my hand on the jugs, to warm them, and feel her heart beating. Yes, John, pure letchery.
Next time, I will post Ken Bateman's short story/poem The Handle of a Pump. Ken is a real talent that most of you have not been exposed to yet. He is our resident poet and his works encompass all manner of his experiences, not just riding. Still, I love the way he captured the events that unfolded around all of us and feel that his viewpoint is so different than my own, I wondered if my eyes were even open. So, stay tuned for that, published here with his permission.
That's all for now. It's late and I am fading fast. As the overly protective father of a teen, I am awaiting his imminent arrival and the juxtaposition of my head and pillow, that will soon follow.
Good night and a low, slow wave,
Joe Rocket
PS - Phil, thanks for your kind words. If you want to start a Joe Rocket Fan Club, that's fine by me. Or, just pass along the link to anyone else you think will enjoy it. Looking forward to future rides with you.
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