Still groovin' from that ride we did...so much fun. I wish had me that saucy little table washer from the Rhythm Cafe right 'bout now...had to wash & wax Toruk myself this evening. And I don't nearly have the cleavage that girl did (thanks Harv for the dusty off road excursion). Ahhh man, sometimes I wish all I did was ride...and ride...and ride...
Enclosed a couple of pictures from last year in Sedona with another brother in arms. Rode up to the Mogollon Rim for 3 days. Was on a Z1000. Rick was on a ZZR 1200. 151mph across the high desert floor will set you right with the Creator. There is only the Present Moment and a quick prayer that a Jackalope won't step onto the tarmac in front of me.
Later on the same ride some vintage Ferrari's thought they could dust us. We blew by them at a buck thirty like they were motionless. Wealthy elderly gentlemen with wives wearing scarves on their heads. Pulling back into our lane as we crested a rise Johnnie Law came the other way. Grabbed a handful of Nissin and for a second paused (should we slow down? Screw that!)...then flew down that mountain like we was on fire and no old time Italian cars in the rearview again. Johnnie must of busted them instead. Later on (at a Café where the photo was taken) my brother Rick said, "the cops don't much care for chasing down the sportbikes. Usually they're just a single fatality...a couple of old sports cars goin' triple digits is a score for the lawman." Uh huh.
What dream is this? The need for Speed. To be on the edge, yet in control. To feel the front wheel searching for release, lifting skyward as the back wheel seeks traction and grip.
One day my now three year old son Bodhi will remember the days when combustion engines made his father smile. The deep sexy throaty note of a Buell. The percussion thump of a Triumph Speed Master. The glorious back pressure gurgle of a Speed Triple decelerating. Oh man...
One day all we'll hear is the hum of something electric (hearing aid? pacemaker?), something totally devoid of personality. And as we drift off into the ether at the end of this Life, we will Dream of motors powered by petrol. Beastly things blessed with tremendous horsepower. Machines that tap our adrenaline and courage.
One Day We will Dream of days of twisting throttles and endless curvy roads...and of Brothers of The Tarmac and one lone BRMC member on a borrowed Honda Davidson (ripped it up on that thing too!).
Good travels to you Harv. Be assured we will ride much between now & September. But when you do return we will again do a "Harv Ride". Maybe a Western Ride?
I'm in.
Peace out.
Jamie
Enclosed a couple of pictures from last year in Sedona with another brother in arms. Rode up to the Mogollon Rim for 3 days. Was on a Z1000. Rick was on a ZZR 1200. 151mph across the high desert floor will set you right with the Creator. There is only the Present Moment and a quick prayer that a Jackalope won't step onto the tarmac in front of me.
Later on the same ride some vintage Ferrari's thought they could dust us. We blew by them at a buck thirty like they were motionless. Wealthy elderly gentlemen with wives wearing scarves on their heads. Pulling back into our lane as we crested a rise Johnnie Law came the other way. Grabbed a handful of Nissin and for a second paused (should we slow down? Screw that!)...then flew down that mountain like we was on fire and no old time Italian cars in the rearview again. Johnnie must of busted them instead. Later on (at a Café where the photo was taken) my brother Rick said, "the cops don't much care for chasing down the sportbikes. Usually they're just a single fatality...a couple of old sports cars goin' triple digits is a score for the lawman." Uh huh.
What dream is this? The need for Speed. To be on the edge, yet in control. To feel the front wheel searching for release, lifting skyward as the back wheel seeks traction and grip.
One day my now three year old son Bodhi will remember the days when combustion engines made his father smile. The deep sexy throaty note of a Buell. The percussion thump of a Triumph Speed Master. The glorious back pressure gurgle of a Speed Triple decelerating. Oh man...
One day all we'll hear is the hum of something electric (hearing aid? pacemaker?), something totally devoid of personality. And as we drift off into the ether at the end of this Life, we will Dream of motors powered by petrol. Beastly things blessed with tremendous horsepower. Machines that tap our adrenaline and courage.
One Day We will Dream of days of twisting throttles and endless curvy roads...and of Brothers of The Tarmac and one lone BRMC member on a borrowed Honda Davidson (ripped it up on that thing too!).
Good travels to you Harv. Be assured we will ride much between now & September. But when you do return we will again do a "Harv Ride". Maybe a Western Ride?
I'm in.
Peace out.
Jamie
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