| Author | Message | ||
     S2no1 |
Hi, Since imitation is the a form of flattery, I borrowed this from Vic (eeeeeek, how many e's are there) at SACBORG. I lurk there from time to time, however I don't post. Ride of January 27, 2001: It was a bit chilly at 7:30 AM but the weather was crisp. The S2 fired up easily and settled into the Potato quickly. I rode along Loop 375 with its high speed sweepers through Ft. Bliss toward Transmountain Road. The temp was in the mid 30's and the skies were overcast with a storm front moving over the Franklin Mountains where the Transmountain peaked. Up through the sweepers running at a pace that was satisfying without being anywhere near the edge. A few cars on the road but no real traffic, typical of a Saturday morning. As I neared the peak I slowed the pace to look up, the the clouds had engulfed the peaks with a swath of dirty gray. The wind was coming off the Bolson to the east and whistling through the road cut pushing me along. On the other side headed down I left the throttle nearly closed and looked out to the west. Clouds and storms were stretched to the Horizon with the chill breeze pushing me from behind and both sides as the air bounced off the cliffs to my left. I was steering the bike with lean and english and gliding down the slopes toward the Rio Grande Valley at a good clip. At the bottom, I turned around to assault the slope from the other direction, a white Corvette, looking soiled from the dirty gray clouds reflected in the hood, was pacing me back up the mountains. You could fell the wind in your face, at 60 the wind was pushing my helmet into my face like I was over a Ton. The wind bouncing from the cliffs was shoving me away. I passed a semi, fighting the wind to the peak, like it was setting still. At the peak, the wind was a full frontal attack, it had to be in the 20's at the top. The clouds were so close, almost where I could touch their wispy vapor. They were rolling in anger headed toward the Bolson and bringing their rolling herd behind them colored like the dust from a stampede. It rained twice during the day, the S2 looking like a stallion, refusing to go in the barn until spent from a ride. Leaving the parking lot, I couldn't resist twisting the throttle and letting the back tire spin on the wet pavement. The ride back along the Loop 375 sweepers was cold from the cloud covering. As the Sun set, it peeked between the mountains and the clouds to glint off the wet pavement and red paint. Finally, the S2 was in the garage, wet, dirty and sated. Arvel | ||
| Chuck |
Very descriptive use of words, Arvel. You get an A. I felt as if I was right there with you  |
