Writer's Ramblings

From My Perspective

Written by  July 31, 2007

05:45 the alarm goes off; straddle the saddle at 06:20. I ask Iron Pants if she has any preferences and she declines but adds, 'Just ride.' We head east towards a brilliant Harley orange sun hanging low in the sky. Temperatures are in the high sixties already and humidity is in the air, ten minutes and we clear the city limits, finding a cooler countryside.

A gentleman is running a string trimmer in his bathrobe, that's kind of unusual; a cat tries to walk through the early morning dew in search of a mouse; the aroma of bacon frying in some farm house reaches our noses; we disturb a covey of vultures having their breakfast of road kill possum. A doe is spotted in a field, her ears perk at the sound of the Harley but she remains motionless. A guy running his lawn tractor waves as we pass; his wife is wiping the dew off their truck while still wearing her nightgown.

We pull into a small roadside diner and order scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, grits, Cat Head biscuits, and molasses with coffee, only $3.99 each. How do they make any money? Some kid on a Honda 250 approaches and is startled when we wave. We fill up to the tune of $2.89 per gallon for premium. With our tank full, belly full, and bladder empty we continue our journey.

We come to a field of brilliant yellow school buses. A fat beaver cuts a large V through the calm water of a lake; Canadian geese drop down from the blue and convert from fliers to swimmers in the blink of an eye. A string of bicyclists coming our way are bent over but wave as they silently slip by; a Heritage pulls out from a side road and they join up behind us and ride for 40 or 50 miles before honking and waving on their way down a different fork in the road. 'Witches pools' shimmer in the distance as we roll down the asphalt strip.

The temperature has reached into the upper eighties and we set a course for home, a different route as always. We have similar sights and aromas on the return leg of our little journey. Stopping at a gas station I spot a newspaper, some towel heads want to take all this away from me. The heat index is now 110; home for a cool shower.

God Bless America! And, thank you for another day.

There just isn't any better way to tour than on a motorcycle.


Bill Barham – a.k.a. Greasy Rider