|*She waits impatient in the fading light*
...not sitting here unmoving in the Desert. We should be together. I should be carrying you through the wind!
Come. Turn me on. Light me up and let's fly.
It's been too long since I rode the dark roads.
Too many riders fear the dark and pull the key before the sun sets...
I love the road at night.
I may love the night more than the day. The timid run for the lighted safety inside the walls... fearing what might come out of the dark. They hide from the dark, from the rain, from the wind, from the heat and the cold; and in the hiding miss too much of the living.
The quiet and the lonely roads with the moon shining above are a joy. The cool of a summer night... High above, stars sparkling in the velvety blackness. The silhouettes of the mountains against the dark of the moonlit horizon.
It is a beautiful time for a rider. The rumbling of the machine through the night wraps a quiet serenity around my soul.
Night roads, Un-peopled by dangerous unseeing, uncaring cagers, hurling unguided, two ton weapons down the pavement... eyes on their phones, rather than the road... are a sweetness to the soul.
Abandoned by the texters and commuters, with the center line winding off into the darkness, the night road leads those on who have learned to love its personality after sunset.
Life has a way of diverting a man from his loves... the night road is a joy I miss... I shall return.
But with the dawn we did ride...
|*Sonja waiting as the sun lights the Sierras*
... My Sonja carried me south through the morning chill.
|*Yamaha Raider and Mt Whitney ~ A pair of Beauties*
Mt. Whitney and the Sierras painted a glorious picture blocking our way west...
We split the wind down U.S. 395... through the Southern end of the Owens Valley. Past Owens Lake. Her V Twin rumbled through Olancha and past Haiwee Reservoir...
A thin layer of chilling overcast moved in to block out the sun... and tease me with unconquered blue sky to the west.
When 395 cut off to the SE where it entered the Indian Wells Valley, She led me onto Hwy14 and in a short ways we could finally turn west on Hwy 178, run around the end of the long chain of high peaks and leave the clouds behind.
The road climbed up out of the Valley to a low crest... Though it wasn't high, and the sun had finally found me again, the morning chill had not yet broken.
We were able to race out from under that overcast that had crawled across the sky and covered us as we rolled south. The sky was bright and blue but its power still struggled to chase away the chill of the night.
Looking back... the clouds couldn't keep pace with the machine that carried me...
Ahead lay the South fork of the Kern River, Weldon and Lake Isabella, the goal for my ride...
In that last small town I dealt with the business that was the excuse for the ride... and climbed back on the machine that keeps my soul fulfilled.
As the day warmed, together we tested yet again the bonds of man and machine. We danced through the hills in a rumbling waltz that never fails to lift a worn spirit.
Upon our return to camp... a sunset whispered... Come... Ride... the Night belongs the the Riders...
... but that will wait for another night...
Grab Your Handles and Ride