10.01.2007,7:54 AM
Ride-about in Hill Country: Part one

The bike is loaded. Turn the key, pull in the clutch lever and press the run button.
"Whee; time to wake up."

A high-pitched quiet whine, the battery clicks, nervous system and brain engaged. 'Check'. Silence. All systems go. Press the ignition button and Whee growls to life, farting into the blackness of the early morning. A low rumble of muffled combustion. The chemistry of gaseous dead organic matter, oxygen, and an electrical spark under the twinkling stars and a waning moon.

FM 3325 is rough; like riding the vertebrae on a spine. A backbone rolling up and down the hills. In the dark. Will they ever finish resurfacing this road? Not that it needed it; but they tore it up anyway. Is this supposed to be progress?

It's chilly - 62 F. The coldest morning yet. Wind seeps through the mesh jacket and layers of fabric reminding me that fall is approaching. West of Benbrook I turn on the grip heaters. I'm not ready to relent to the cold, relinquish summer. Like grabbing a weak hold on the tail of a slithering snake. I hate to see summer leave me. The world turns, the globe swings away from the sun and I'm stuck here in the never ending cycles of seasons. I can't ride the crest of the wave of summer forever.

Farewell long days, warm nights whispering through all the open windows, night noises and scents wafting over me as I sit on the couch by the soft yellow glow of the table lamp beside me, and caress me as I sleep on the bottom sheet exposed like a sleeping dolphin drifting in the ocean waters. The sun on my face, my skin. Perhaps somewhere in my personal evolution my mitochondria retained remnants of their sister organelles, chloroplasts, and crave the sun. Photosynthesizing human beings; how unique.

On the top of a highway hill a tanker truck has rolled over and emergency vehicles have blocked off all but one lane. There was no warning cone or flare and I have to execute an emergency stop. Vehicles politely stop and accommodate each other. Tanker trucks and drilling rigs are everywhere. Well like vampires sucking the gas and oil, presents left by long-dead giant creatures; the earth blood for our consumption. What goes in must come out. What do we leave behind? Trash and garbage; undecaying coffins of untethered consumption. I see it all around me on a daily basis, littering the roads and homes like off colored X-mas tree lights and tinsel. Only these man-made decorations don't elicit the same jolly.

I stop at Starbuck's in Granbury. Feed me coffee. Infuse my brain matter with the aroma, the bitter earthy flavors. After washing over the tongue and swallowed, a ghostly aftertaste remains of roasted bean juice. Slowly the individual flavors dissipate at different rates; what is left behind is reminiscent of a dark brown concoction of volatile earthiness. Closing my eyes I savor and rejoice in this private titillation of olfactory and taste sensations.

The ties and clamps come off my brain and thoughts spring out like a cacophony of jack-in-the-boxes. And find their way on these pages.

The rising sun hides behind a thin veil of clouds as we turn on this giant globe. Humanity wakens, on the move. Time for me to go, too. Time to go walkabout on two wheels.


The entire trip report is here and begins with the first post at the bottom.

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posted by Macrobe
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